The Teacup Chronicles

Category: Uncategorized

Blog has moved!

Hello All! Just wanted to let you know, the blog has moved to a new home, which you can find here.

If you are subscribed to the blog via email, I have automatically transferred your subscription over to the new site – meaning you will continue to receive email notifications of any new posts that I post there.

However, if you are a WordPress subscriber, you will have to resubscribe to the blog yourself, either via RSS (just copy and paste that link into your RSS feeder) or via email which you can do in the appropriate spot in the side bar over at the new blog (you’ll see it!). I’m sorry for the inconvenience, I wish there was a way I could just whisk you all to the new site with me without making you resubscribe, but alas there is not!

All my new posts will be over on the new site from here on out, so do be sure to head over there.

Looking forward to welcoming you all at!

Smile because it happened


Just wanted to stop by for a minute and say hello – hello and thank you. I know I haven’t had a chance to respond personally as of yet, but I wanted to let you know in the meantime how much your comments have meant to me over the past few weeks. The words you’ve all shared with me have just been so heart warming and so staggeringly beautiful to read. And they helped me through some very tough days. I truly feel honored and blessed to have such wonderful readers!

I am back home now and settling into the rhythm of normal life. Wonderful friends, June sunshine, a garden full of delicious things and a most amazing family have been helping me through this process of change. As Dr. Seuss said, “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.” So I am smiling, I am celebrating, I am finding that my father is not gone after all. He is everywhere. He is in my heart. 

I will be back soon with a new recipe (minted pea dip in case you are wondering) and I so look forward to continuing to share with you all here, and to have you share with me. Much love. 


To live in this world

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it:
and, when the time comes to let it go,
to let it go.
–Mary Oliver

Yesterday, my father took his last breath and passed from this world.  I can find comfort in the thought that there will not be any more pain, no more sadness and despair and panic to witness in his eyes. That we were there to hold his hand, to let our tears fall onto him as his heart beat its last song to our murmurs of love and gratitude and consoling.

I can find reprieve in the stories we told and will tell. Laughing about his quirks, finding now that the things that used to annoy us – jingling his change in his pockets, his impatience, his knack for getting irritable about little things –  are so endearing and wonderful now that we might give anything to experience them again.

But when I walk through the house and I see his empty bed – see the place he always sat on the couch, where the cushions are worn and sunken in – the keys to his car on the table, his jacket in the hall. When the realization awakens within me that I will never again hear his voice, touch his hand, see him smile – something gives way within me that there are no words for. I hold it back because it feels if that dam of sadness and grief were to burst, it would shatter me in two. So I move through the hours with my heart in a vice grip, wondering to myself, how can this be, how can this be? Expecting that any minute now, I will hear his footsteps in the hall and my heart will never have to grasp this truth that seems wholly ungraspable.

And I realize that absence has a presence too. A presence that sucks the breath out of me and begins to grow beside me – a thing that is so palpable that it cannot be escaped, but so fathomless it cannot be known.

Thank you to you all for your kind words through this, your support, your warmth, your understanding. They meant so much to me and still they help to carry me through the moments when the bottom falls out.