Start with Love

The Guest House
Rumi

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

With Gratitude

. . . for all we are given.

Produce Stand, Leavells Road, Spotsylvania | November 2025

Today’s post is in memory of my mother-in-law, Alice, who passed away peacefully in her sleep yesterday morning at the age of 93. She was a guiding light for our family; strong-willed, determined, generous, and steadfast. We will miss her dearly. She was a practical person. More prone to show her love through actions than words, but she never failed to show-up when needed, and always with love and humor and a can-do attitude.

Alice Hopkins, June 2021

To celebrate Alice’s life, I meandered here and there, taking a few pictures along the way. I stopped at the local produce stand just a mile from my home. The stand is situated near a gas station/convenience market in a small strip mall. In the early morning light, the owner had not yet opened and the offerings were slim. The last of the little pie pumpkins scattered here and there. Mums faded and toppled over. A few gourds and squash on the wooden tables. I took my photographs, leaving every element just as I found it, and then headed on my way. As I drove home, late in the afternoon, I noticed the stand had been cleared out leaving only the tent and bare tables. I know from past history, the Christmas trees and wreaths will come next. Time will move on, and we will savor every minute. It’s not about slowing time down, but rather, filling time up.

Second-hand Art

I love sourcing art from second-hand stores. I have a hard time leaving behind art that speaks to my heart and is handmade, especially if it is signed. There is something incredibly endearing about placing your name on your art and claiming it as a part of yourself. When people visit our home, they often ask me, “Where did you get all of these paintings?” The answer is always a thrift shop. I love to collect old photographs, vintage oil landscapes, maps, ephemera, architectural drawings, and botanical prints. I’m always on the lookout for art with texture, patina, and a bit of wear. My house is my canvas and the art is ever-changing.

Lately I’ve been photographing second-hand oil landscapes with the intention of creating a small collection of vintage art prints. Maybe for note cards? Or small artworks to share with friends? Or maybe just as my way of documenting the art and the craft of making things.

I added one still life oil panting to this collection, too. I am fascinated by the art of combining simple everyday objects—a slice of cantaloupe, an apple, spring onions, a cup or a bowl—to create vignettes. Styling for still life, whether photography or painting, can feel contrived and disconnected. But when it’s done right, the placement of things can make for art that is deeply moving.