white porcelain kitchen sink

This is a blog about living. And body. And food. And home.
I started this site at the end of February 2012, because I had a burning desire to write about the things that mattered most to me. I’ve been a corporate or freelance writer since 1996, and most of the time I write about the things that other people pay me to write about. This blog is different. It’s a cup into which I can pour my passion for authentic living. I like to think of it as an online version of the simplest lifestyle magazine you can imagine… only without the annoying banner ads. Or recipes for cupcakes, next to stern articles about fitness and diet. And with more soul. For the times when you need it.

Some of my posts are random. Others are part of bigger, over-arching themes. I’ve written about bedrooms – everything from how to wash wool blankets to reminders to enjoy deeper rest – and also a month’s worth of whimsical meditations on the idea of home. For two months I explored the theme of ritual, which probably sounds daunting and scary, but is simply about bringing bringing consciousness, presence, alignment, meaning, purpose, and connectedness to your daily activities. And in the summer of 2015 I was diagnosed with breast cancer, which of course I immediately started writing about.

In my own life I’m looking for clarity, simplicity, and alignment. I write about the treasures, tools and techniques that I pick up along the way. I sincerely hope that some of what I’ve discovered may speak to you, and help you.

You know best how to live your own life. Sometimes you just like to be reminded that you know. Thanks for letting me inspire you.

How does this site work?
I didn’t want to create a space that enticed people to buy or acquire stuff. I don’t want you to feel dissatisfied with the place where you are – with the glorious being you are. I wanted the focus to be on my favorite parts of living – the looking, the listening, the inhaling, the tasting, the touching, the experiencing, the reflecting.

I wanted a place filled with stunning images of mundane things. A place where it was okay to be imperfect. A place where time was taken to hear whispers and dreams. A place where the food and the words were voluptuously nourishing. A place filled with texture.

There may be instructions from time to time, but I don’t pretend to know anything better than you. I speak from my own experience, and always invite you to reconnect with your personal knowledge.

Why Kitchen Sink?
We didn’t own a dishwasher when I was growing up. Hardly anybody I knew did. Dishes got done in the kitchen sink, and at family holidays or church events, all the women pitched in to help.

(Sometimes the men helped too. It depended on whether or not there were other more manly things that needed doing at the same time.)

The dishwater was steaming hot. When I sometimes tried to fish out a spoon or saucer from underneath an aunt’s or grandmother’s arm, I was sure my fingers would burn. I didn’t know how they could keep their hands in the water for so long. Their knuckles were bright red and plump, the veins on the backs of their hands glistening.

Children were given linen dishtowels and handed plates to dry. The towels got damp, and then wet. If there were a lot of dishes, sometimes you got a second dishtowel. Or a third.

If it was a strange kitchen, you never knew where to put the clean dishes. They got piled in stacks on any spare counter space until someone who lived there, or was familiar with the kitchen, whisked them away to their proper homes.

I hated doing dishes, but I loved the conversations. Deaths, births, marriages, anniversaries, illnesses, moves – all the news of the family or the town or the congregation was handed from person to person along with the clattering plates. I carefully rolled each new piece of information around in my head, turning it this way and that, inspecting it closely before tucking it away for future use, like treasure.

In January 2012, I started taking pictures of my kitchen sink. They remind me of the elemental nature of life, and the humility and steadfastness of our kitchens.

My wish for you
I want this website to be a place where information about living and feeding and growing and caring is shared as freely as it was around the kitchen sinks of my childhood. Where people speak from experience that has lived for a time in their bodies, and is measured by wet towels or the number of loved ones within arms’ reach. Here’s a blessing I wrote for you, when I created this site.

About Michelle Lynne Goodfellow. My copyright and disclosure information.