my father died this week. parkinson’s disease robbed him of his loquacity, but uncovered a grace and gratitude heretofore not always so evident. i have complicated feelings about this platform. good things: reading about friends lives; seeing their cheese, their children, all their dogs, cats, puppies, kittens, lambs, calves, and kids; all of the glorious art they are making. and the joy of flowers. there are also the images, stories, and statistics that otherwise would not make it into my consciousness. the nearness of terror, war, illness, murder, injustice. the hopelessness and helplessness that overtakes. i’ve been warned to keep this a place for business, for marketing and selling, for telling a very particular story. i hope that if you read this far, you know that i am not just that, and the tendrils and connections are important and valuable in and of themselves.