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Hi there!

I’m Adi - an accidental yogi, trail runner, and lover of words. And I LOVE to make delicious messes in my kitchen. Thanks for stopping by!

paused by flowers

paused by flowers

It was the smell that stopped me in my tracks this time. A week ago, I was standing on her front porch with my niece and stepdad trying to decide what type of flowers they were. White and perfumey and the subject of small talk that carried us through the half hour before it was time to leave for her funeral. It was notable to me only because I couldn’t say that she would or wouldn’t know what they are. I didn’t know much about her as a woman in her sixties. Or fifties or forties, for that matter, because as soon as I could leave, I did. I thought about this as I navigated roots and holes and snakes on my run, this morning. I didn’t like her. I loved her because she was my mother, and I gave her bits of credit where I was certain she deserved them (she was an excellent grandmother, she loved her husband fiercely, etc), but I didn’t like her. And as the familiar smell of those white, perfumey flowers paused my feet, I realized that I didn’t give myself the chance to, because I didn’t really know her anymore.

road to leadville perfumey flowers

the road to leadville

is sometimes paved with perfumey flowers

up, down, and bushwhacking around on coffee water

up, down, and bushwhacking around on coffee water

we toasted her and watched the office

we toasted her and watched the office