Home remedy.

Dear friends,

I took a few days off over Spring Break with ambitious plans, most of which didn’t come to fruition.

I spent my first day cleaning house and my second day re-organizing my dish pantry. Over the course of several months, the pantry had become a junk closet — one you  could no longer walk into because the floor was covered with piles of objects I was too lazy to put away. But by day’s end, it was clean, tidy and organized.


Despite my early productivity, additional plans to clean out my quilting cabinet, wash windows, take care of some nagging paperwork, and finish a quilt-in-progress never materialized.

Instead I watched television, took more naps than I can count, and abandoned my dreams of vacation productivity in favor of a very slow pace — so much so that by Friday evening, I was feeling pretty let down.

Whenever I’m feeling lethargic, there’s nothing like a day in the kitchen to re-charge my batteries. Cooking has long been my fail-safe home remedy to cure what ails me. Cooking and baking are both my motivation and my therapy.

I started early with a tried-and-true cake recipe. By the time Mr. Mom woke up and joined me for coffee, he wondered if someone had lent me a hand in the kitchen.


Note to self: Black yoga pants aren’t the best baking attire. No wonder pastry chefs wear white.

After the cake, I set my mind to three new recipes culled from a cookbook by Food and Wine and one from a food blog. By 5:00 pm dinner was on the table, and oh what a table it was!


There was Maple Glazed Chicken with Mustard Jus; Brown Rice and Barley Tabbouleh with Apricot and Mint; Roast Zucchini with Ricotta; Romaine and Avocado Salad with Garlic-Anchovy Dressing; and Vanilla Layer Cake with Raspberry-Cointreau Filling and Chocolate Buttercream Icing.

When food is this good, it’s a treat.

When it’s beautiful too . . .


It’s almost too good to be true.

And it totally makes up for a few undone projects.

With gratitude {for a happy Saturday to end my vacation and the best Spring Break meal in a million years},

Joan, who urges you to try every single one of these recipes because aren’t you hungry now? And PS: Is there anything that perks up a table more than a cheery vintage tablecloth?

Day 23: Gone to bed.

Dear friends,


On the 23rd day of this month of Thanksgiving, I am grateful for the coziest place in my home, my bed.

It says a lot about me that the place I most enjoy being is in bed. In our household, the most common answer to “Where’s Mom?” is “She’s in bed.”

If I had my druthers, I’d put a bed in the living room. I have a daydream about living in a Manhatten studio where the bed and sofa compete for precious space and the bed wins out. After all, there’s nothing you can do on a sofa that you can’t do better and more comfortably in a great bed. Read, watch television, work, snack, nap, sleep — I do it all in our king-sized bed.

There’s nothing particularly luxe about my bed. My linens are standard fare from Macy’s and my pillows and comforter are from Ikea, But like the princess who hated the pea, I’ve stacked three foam pads on my department store mattress to create an improvised pillow-top surface worthy of the most delicate royalty.

That’s why our bed appears lopsided. Mr. Mom prefers firm mattresses, where firm equals a slab of stone. He chose an extra-firm Sealy while I chose an extra soft Sealy — and our marriage has been all the happier since we put two twin size mattresses together on our king sized bed frame some five years ago.

We also differ on blanket preferences, so this time of year his side of the bed is covered with a Pendleton wool blanket featuring a Native American motif I gave him as a birthday gift many years ago. My side of the bed is covered with a Vera Bradley floral fleece blanket that satisfies my feminine aesthetic and tactile sensibilities.  As a woman who’s known to have a very discerning sense of decor, I find it strange that the clash of the two very different blankets vying for space on top of our comforter doesn’t unnerve me.  But when I look at our bed, all I see is an idyllic Island of Comfort piled high with linens and pillows and blankets just waiting to envelop me.

Friday morning, it was 33 degrees with a stiff wind and  a light rain. To say I got a little chilled during my pre-dawn run is a bit of an understatement. I was so cold I came home and — instead of answering email and getting a head-start on the day’s work as I usually do — I crawled back under the covers and invited Mr. Mom to share some warmth with his frozen wife. The view outside our bedroom window was like a pen and ink drawing of a winter day, gray sky framing a stand of black, sculptural trees. As I savored the coziness and stillness and beauty of the moment, I thanked my lucky stars for the comfort of a good bed and a generous man.

With gratitude {for every moment spent in my favorite place},

Joan, who takes after her father who often said “There’s few pleasures in life more enjoyable than sleeping”

Day 7: Friends and beans.

Dear friends,


I’ve long been a fan of Martha Stewart, even after she went to jail for insider trading. I’ve watched her show, purchased many of her books, and plopped down more than a few bills at Macy’s for her signature home goods. But when she recently criticized food bloggers — well, that’s more than I can stomach.

Practically all the new recipes I cook come from food bloggers. Some of my favorites are Rebecca at Foodie with Family, Lisa at the Cutting Edge of Ordinary, Ree at Pioneer Woman, Krysta at Evil Chef Mom and Annie at Phoo-D.

Krysta and Annie fall squarely into the “not professional” category that Martha dared to snark about — meaning they do it for the love of food and aren’t professional chefs, stylists or writers. Both have been on long hiatuses (they have real life to attend to), but I continue to go back to their archives regularly for favorite recipes. And I can only imagine how much Martha must look down her nose at Pioneer Woman. A home cook who landed on the NY Times Bestseller List and scored her own cooking show? Sacre bleu!

Every single one of women I’ve mentioned on my short list are individuals I’ve gotten to know outside their blogdom and whom I consider friends, even if our relationships are purely virtual. And who wouldn’t rather turn to a friend first for a great recipe?

So suck it, Martha. You’re talking out of your you-know-what on this one.

Case in point: Krysta reappeared on her blog this week with a new recipe that Mr. Mom made for me last night. It’s pure heaven and I want you — no I IMPLORE you — to try it.

Frijoles con todo, otherwise known as bean magic.

Click here for Krysta’s recipe. I won’t bother to say anything more than you deserve to cry in your beans in you never try these beans.

Mr. Mom wants you to know he doubled the recipe and thought it was just right for our family of three. That probably says more about our lumberjack appetites than Krysta’s recipe. I will simply say we ate 2-3 bowls each, because they’re that good, so you really might want to cook more.

With gratitude {for friends with great recipes and frijoles con todo, the perfect comfort food for a chilly fall night},

Joan, who’s also offering a shout-out for her home cook who takes requests, aka Mr. Mom

Space Jam.

Dear friends,

I’m seriously in need of help.

Organizational . . . financial . . . spatial/dimensional . . . psychological. Yep, maybe all four.


This is my dining room table. My dining room table is not supposed to look this way.

It’s supposed to look this way:


We haven’t eaten a meal at the dining room table in more than a month — ever since I permanently camped out with my sewing machine and fabric. Right now I’ve got several projects going. A gift quilt for a friend. A mini-quilt for an online swap meet. Four new quilts for Magpie Quilts.

I desperately need a studio. A light and bright studio. One with a cutting station, a sewing station, a comfortable spot to bind, a design wall, fabric storage. I swear if Kate were one year farther along in college, I would evict her things from her bedroom and set up shop. Or if I could just sell that ratcha-fratching Oklahoma house, I’d demand to build a studio out back, college funds be damned.

I’m one of those women whose tidiness is well-documented. I can walk into a room and tell instantly if a book or a vase or a candle has been moved. We make our beds every day. Our car keys are hung on a hook by the back door. My throw pillows are plumped and positioned just so. My bathroom counters are pleasingly clear and my kitchen island causes me frustration if so much as the day’s mail clutters it. Heck, even our laundry is put away on a regular basis.

I do not leave piles on the dining room table.

Until now.

All I can say is I must really love quilting to tolerate this mess.

Quilting has even usurped Gunsmoke. I’ve been so busy I haven’t been able to concentrate on my nightly television/cocktail ritual with Mr. Mom. Fortunately, he’s tolerant of both the disruption and the mess. (I know because I apologized to him. Yes, I’m the kind of nut who apologizes for leaving a mess on the dining room table because if the tables were turned — no pun intended, I promise — it would really annoy me. Just ask him about his laundry room desk.)

I don’t have a solution to my problem. I guess I’m just venting, which goes against my gratitude grain AND my problem-solver grain. I suppose I’m going to have to embrace the situation or risk rubbing my Buddhist-acceptance grain the wrong way, too.

With gratitude {for grains that mostly keep me in line},

Joan, who won’t be quilting OR watching Gunsmoke this weekend because she’s meeting some Okie friends for an overnight excursion to see the Crystal Bridges museum in Bentonville, AR, and — for once — might have something nice to say about the Walton family fortune

My new favorite salad. Plus a perfect summer supper.

Dear friends,

This is one post where the food takes center stage.

Or in which I was more interested in eating my supper than taking photographs for my blog.

You decide, but either way you’ll have to trust me when I say this is a supper you’ll want to make . . . even without the obligatory photographs of mouth-watering food on a beautiful table to tempt you.

Here’s my token shot of beautiful food — then we’ll move on to the recipes:


Interested now?

I thought so.

Here’s the line up:

  • Grilled flank steak
  • Tomato and Cucumber Salad with Yogurt Dressing
  • Turkish Potatoes

First — the steak. It couldn’t be simpler and here’s the recipe. I’ve made it several times with a tri-tip, but I tried it last night with a flank steak and achieved similarly spectacular results.  Give it a try and let me know what you think. I predict you’ll think it’s a go-to recipe that will significantly improve your life at the grill, but I’d like to hear it from you.

Second — the salad. Mr. Mom and I had dinner at a friend’s house Saturday night and she served this salad. It’s one of those dishes that the first time you eat it, you immediately begin planning the next time you’ll eat it. In our case, that meant the very next evening. I might have it two or three more times this week because it’s that good.

The salad is my friend’s concoction. The dressing is a recipe she modified from one in Southern Living. In total, it’s simply a plate layered with slices of yellow and red tomato, cucumber, shelled edamame, and white onion rings, then drizzled with fresh yogurt dressing. You can easily use less or more of each salad ingredient depending on your own taste and the number of people to be served.

Tomato and Cucumber Salad

  • 1 large yellow tomato, sliced thinly
  • 3 Roma tomatoes, sliced thinly
  • 1 cucumber, peeled, seeded, split in half lengthwise, then sliced
  • 1 small white onion, sliced into rings
  • Half of a 1-lb bag of shelled edamame, thawed

Arrange all ingredients on a platter in a layered fashion. Cover with plastic wrap and chill for two hours. Serves 4.

Yogurt Dressing

  • 1 4-oz container of plain nonfat Greek Yogurt
  • 1/2 cup of mayonnaise
  • 1 tsp onion powder
  • 1 tsp sugar
  • 1/4 cup buttermilk
  • 1/4 cup lemon juice
  • 1/4 cup chopped fresh basil
  • Optional: 1/4 cup blue cheese crumbles

Combine all ingredients in a small bowl. Stir well. Cover and refrigerate at least two hours so flavors can meld. Optional: Serve the dressing with blue cheese crumbles on the side. Makes about 1.5 cups of dressing.

Now for the potatoes. They are also a gift from a friend. Because Dilek and her family are from Turkey, I call them simply “Dilek’s Turkish Potatoes.” When I make them, they taste fabulous but never look as good as hers. I can’t figure out why, but since taste rules, I’m okay with it.

Turkish Potatoes

  • 5-6 medium potatoes (I used Idaho)
  • 1 bunch cilantro, chopped
  • 1 bunch parsley, chopped
  • 1/3 cup olive oil (or a little less, depending on your taste)
  • Salt and pepper to taste
  • Optional: lemon juice

Scrub and boil the potatoes in salted water until just tender. Drain and let cool to the touch. When cool, the peelings should easily come off the cooked potatoes with your fingers. After peeling the potatoes, shred them with a box grater. Add the chopped herbs to the potatoes, along with salt and pepper to taste, then toss. Drizzle the potatoes with the olive oil — and, if desired, the juice of half a lemon — then gently stir to combine. Serves 6.

I love these potatoes because of their simple, fresh flavor. I also love these potatoes because they taste just as good warm, room temperature, or chilled. I often make them early in the day and let them sit on the kitchen counter until dinner. (They’re great for getting a jump-start on meal time.) Sometimes I re-heat them in the microwave, but trust me when I tell you they are just as good served at room temperature. For some reason, my potatoes never hold their shredded shape and look a bit crumbled. My friend’s potatoes were perfect and I can’t help but wonder if I have managed to overcook them every time. I’ve also wondered if it would improve the texture if I cooked them several hours in advance and chilled them before shredding. I have no idea, but I do know that even if you overcook your potatoes and they crumble instead of shred, they’ll still taste fabulous.

Here’s one final shot that I managed to snap with my iPhone before our family devoured the entire meal.


With gratitude {for a perfect summer supper thanks to friends},

Joan, who wishes she could claim she eats this fresh and healthy every day, but has a pantry full of snacks that tell the real truth

Feeling blue.

Dear friends,

There inevitably comes a time in every vacation when the “Sunday night blues” set in. For me and my recent long stretch of time off, it started yesterday. I had four days left and I made the mistake of reading a few work-related emails. All of a sudden, my free-and-easy mindset evaporated and I started feeling edgy and glum.

I figured there was no better solution than to a tackle a project. Checking a box on my to-do list usually lifts my mood so I went blue-on-blue in an effort to shake my doldrums.

Here’s what I started with:


I have eight of these chairs surrounding my dining room table. I recovered the seats in a silk fabric featuring red, gold, and camel stripes not long after I purchased them from an antiques dealer seven years ago.  They’ve seen plenty of wear as you can tell from the stains. I should have recovered them as soon as we moved, but you know how that goes. Plus, I could never make up my mind on a fabric choice.

Earlier this week, I received a shipment of fabric intended for a quilt. Turns out, I didn’t like a couple of my choices for a quilt project, but one was perfect for my chairs. Now they look like this:


How’s that for perked up?

I’m loving how well they (unintentionally) coordinate with my drapes and my new rug.

When we purchased this house two years ago, I spent a fair amount of time deriding the former owner’s proclivity for shades of blue. (I’d always been a green girl.) I immediately banished her blue Formica counter-tops but decided to live for a while with her high-end, blue shades in two rooms. Over time, I realized my green and her blue are awfully close together on the color wheel and can peacefully cohabitate.

bluehouse Collage

So I’m still feeling blue, but I’m no longer gloomy.

With gratitude {for pick-me-up projects done fast and cheap},

Joan, who welcomed a renter this week to her favorite house still for sale back home and is thrilled there’s a family living in the big white house in Mayberry


A kitchen-counter supper.

Dear friends,

Despite my well-known evangelism regarding family suppers, especially those served on “properly set” tables, I thought you ought to know our household regularly shares informal meals around the kitchen island.

To wit, here’s a spread from earlier this week:


There’s marinated, grilled chicken legs; deviled egg pasta salad; sauteed medley of mushrooms, spinach and yellow bell peppers; chocolate-banana cake; and a new dish of my own imagination I’m calling cauliflower panzanella.

Our kitchen island seats four — a bit of kismet since we are a family of the same number — so on nights where we don’t bother to set the table, we plop down around the island, sans linens and flowers, and dig in.

You know I’m unusually devoted to the rituals surrounding family meals. For me, the act of setting the table reflects the value I place on thoughtfully preparing and arranging our sustenance, which is also our best opportunity to connect and share with each other. Still, there’s usually no more than a couple of occasions each week where we gather around a dressed table, no matter how simple, so I also try to be thoughtful about our casual meals.

For me, that includes things like keeping the island clear (just because we’re eating in the kitchen doesn’t mean we have to do so amidst the prep mess); turning off the television (which I tend to watch while cooking) in order to nurture conversation; and maintaining a commitment to culinary variety.

Mr. Mom tends to believe 1 protein + 1 starch = a meal. Me? I like to see no fewer than three dishes, preferably four or five, on our menu. Some might see this as a conflict. I view it as a perfect example of the yin-yang alchemy of our marriage. When he cooks, he gets his way. When I cook, I get mine. As a result, we all get a little variety of both approaches and preparations.

In the end, there are no rules for family meals. But I like to think there are a few standards worth upholding. (Rules are imposed from an outside authority, whereas standards are embraced by choice. I think life could be made a whole lot better by fewer rules and more standards.) My standards include:

  1. Cooking a meal at home, no matter your definition of cooking. Don’t spend an ounce of energy on the argument between “from scratch” cooking and the “meals in a box” variety. Do what you enjoy and have time for, otherwise the whole point is lost in aggravation — and family meals are supposed to ease irritation.
  2. Sitting around a table or a counter together. Don’t be tempted to sit in the living room/den/television viewing area as it kills the opportunity for conversation and decompression. And by all means, don’t watch the news!
  3. Expressing interest in and gratitude for the food on your table and the person who prepared it. It’s just good manners and you might learn something along the way, as well as cultivate a greater understanding of nutrition.

Everything else — dishes and linens and flowers and special menus — is just gravy. And as much as I love me a good gravy, we all know it’s a condiment not an entree.

With gratitude {for the grace of family meals and all they bring},

Joan, who shouted hallelujah when she discovered panzanella because bread salad? Heck yes!

PS: For the curious among you, my cauliflower panzanella was nothing more than cauliflower florets toasted with olive oil, salt, pepper, and a hearty helping of minced garlic, then roasted in a 425 degree oven for 20 minutes, then tossed with day-old Italian bread cubes, sauteed in plenty of butter in a cast-iron skillet until brown and slightly crunchy. You can eat it warm, room temperature, or cold. I’ll eat buttery bread cubes and roasted cauliflower nearly any ol’ way you can serve it, including with my fingers out of a bowl while watching late-night television (not that I did that or anything).

Home by phone.

Dear friends,

Of late, I’ve been fascinated with the quality and variety of photos that people I know have shot and edited with their phones. A couple of the very ordinary friends I follow on Instagram have posted photos that are anything but. Some of the photos that have regularly appeared in my feed are mini works of art, captured images of objects and moments that surprise and delight me.  It’s a trend that has made me lazy with my expensive DSLR and profligate with cheap and easy phone apps.

In our former home, which I affectionately referred to as Magpie Manor, I spent hours and hours photographing every room of our house.  Despite trying really hard to learn as much as I could about lighting and metering and photo staging, I never got very good at it. Still, I enjoyed the pursuit, especially all the photos I took of our meals and tables, and I treasure the photo archive I’ve amassed (and that I hope my children and grand-childen will someday appreciate and enjoy).

I haven’t really photographed much beyond the food in our new house — mostly because I’ve been lazy. So yesterday, with time on my hands thanks to a rainy afternoon, I grabbed my phone and started snapping. In less than 30 minutes, I had photographed nearly every corner of our house. The photos are heavily edited because I’m like a kid in a candy store when it comes to app features.  Less may be more in style, but more is more in cheap phone apps.

Thus, I present, my home by phone.


The living room.


A vignette in the entry.

(Longtime reader and friend Maridel will recognize the vintage sign letter. I purchased it in her company. It’s one of my all-time favorite flea-market finds.)


The mantle.


One of a matched pair of ferns by my front door.


The dining room.


An ottoman, a tray, a book.


The den.


A vignette in the kitchen.


My beloved Jadite.


A favorite — the vintage wood cart in the kitchen.


The keeping room.


The back hall.


The mud room.


The bar, aka the pre-Gunsmoke cocktail station.


The master.


My vanity in the bathroom.

(Yeah, it’s cluttered. I like all my most important stuff within reach.)


The angel in my bathroom.

(I know. It’s kinda weird to have an angel in your bathroom. But I find her to be a calming presence during long, hot soaks in the bathtub.)


The turtle in my driveway.

(It’s not weird at all to have a turtle in your driveway. It is, however, unusual to find one undisturbed with two rowdy dogs in the yard.)


The view from my patio door.


Flowers by the patio door.

(Because I can see them from my living room and they make me happy.)

With gratitude {for homey things from Angels to Zigzag rugs that make me happy},

Joan, the photographer formerly known as the Mayberry Magpie, now the Missouri Magpie, with credit to the iPhone 5, Instagram, and Snapseed

Mesmerized by the food.

Dear friends,


Remember in my last post when I said nothing makes Mama happier than being in the kitchen? Holy smokes — I put that thought to the test after I spent three hours Saturday and five hours Sunday preparing a single meal.

The test results:

Mama cooking = happy camper.

Mama surveying the mess after =UGH.

Here’s a slice of happy:


Here’s a hunk of UGH:


I shouldn’t complain too much.  Mr. Mom helped with some of the prep and he and Kate did most of the dish washing. It clearly takes a village to prep, cook and clean up after a meal for eight hungry souls and a menu that features:

  • Baked ham
  • Fried chicken tenders
  • Classic Parmesan risotto
  • Pasta salad
  • Buttered new potatoes
  • Roast medley of broccoli, cauliflower and Brussels sprouts
  • Green salad with homemade bacon bits, croutons and blue cheese dressing
  • Sweet and sour radishes
  • Jalapeno deviled eggs
  • Buttermilk biscuits
  • Blueberry bundt cake with lemon glaze
  • Sweet iced tea

Kate recorded our elaborate spread in a Vine video, which she labeled “Feist for 8.” When I tweeted a jab for her spelling, she replied “Not my fault! I was mesmerized by the food!”

Which, I figure, is as lovely a compliment as a chef can get.

With gratitude {for my favorite Sunday ritual, aka cooking up loads of love},

Joan, who can’t understand why radishes are so under-appreciated among Millennials, particularly when sliced and marinated in vinegar and sugar

PS: In case you’re curious, most of the recipes were mine, except the cake (from Lisa at The Cutting Edge of Ordinary), the potatoes (from Rebecca at Foodie with Family) and the blue cheese dressing (from My Baking Addiction). Take my word for it: make the cake, like now; stop buying bottled dressing and you can thank me later; once you make these potatoes, you’ll be addicted.

The odd and slightly unsettling convergance of my late Grandmother, pimento cheese, and my secret, imaginary love life.

Dear friends,


The strangest thing happened Saturday morning and it all started with pimento cheese for breakfast.

Why I was I eating such an odd thing for breakfast?

Because Trisha Yearwood was too and she was in my living room. Granted, she was on television. And she was making lunch, not breakfast. But I was watching her show in the morning and I suddenly got a hankering for the wonderfully creamy, cheesy spread that I first ate in my Grandmother’s kitchen as a young child.

By the way, I love Trisha. I’m not a fan of her music (or her genre), but she lives not far from my hometown and she seems like a cool gal and I enjoy her show. Most of the time I think her recipes aren’t that great (a few too many shortcuts and prepared ingredients for my taste) but I sure do relate to her love of food, family and southern traditions.

Anyway, Trisha says there’s only three ingredients in pimento cheese — shredded cheese, pimentos, and mayo. I beg to differ.

I started by grating an entire (1-lb) block of cheddar cheese. (Trisha recommends sharp cheddar and I do, too, but I only had mild on hand.) To that, I added:

  • A jar (4-oz) of diced pimentos
  • A sprinkling of salt (1/4 to 1/2 tsp?)
  • A sprinkling of sugar (1/2 tsp?)
  • Two pinches of paprika (where pinch literally equals the amount I can pinch between my thumb and forefinger)
  • One pinch of cayenne pepper
  • Mayo to taste, which for me was probably close to a cup

I stirred it all up real good, then spread it thick on soft Italian bread. It was the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time and I’ve got enough leftover for lunch tomorrow. Plus, I was pretty darn excited that at the exact moment I was inspired to make pimento cheese, I just happened to have all the ingredients to do so. Let this be a lesson to you to never underestimate the blessings that can come your way as a result of a well-stocked pantry.

Anyway . . . I posted a photo of my breakfast on Facebook because, you know, that’s what I live for other than this blog, and next thing you know my friend Elizabeth pointed out that she likes Trisha, too, but loves Jamie Deen even more.

And suddenly my sweet and nostalgic memories of my Grandmother’s loving care collided with my secret desire to be swept off my feet by Jamie Deen. I responded to Elizabeth saying that I’d like Jamie to cook for me in his gorgeous kitchen while I sip wine, appear irresistibly beautiful and charming, and otherwise help him recover from the tragic and untimely death of his wife.

And that could happen.

Just like Bill Clinton could fall in love with me and John Cusack could run away with me as they do in my slumber.

Actually, I dreamed about Bill a long time ago. He’s getting a little old for my taste at this point. (I’m ageless you know.) And John — well, once I started following him on Twitter, he’s not so sexy anymore. I always joke I’m about as far left as Noam Chomsky, but John’s pretty out there at this point even for me. And, you know, he’s getting old too.

But Jamie — he’s just right. And I’m certain Mr. Mom wouldn’t mind because in my secret, imaginary love life, there are never complications or broken hearts.

Just gorgeous men, pimento cheese, and sweet dreams.

With gratitude {for tasty sandwiches and Saturday morning diversions},

Joan, who encourages you to never fall for the pre-made pimento cheese available in your grocery store because it’s too easy to make the really good stuff at home


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 614 other followers

%d bloggers like this: