(It has been a while, babies. I thought it might be time for a re-introduction and a few words about my intentions for this space now that 2022 finds me sweeping all the cobwebs away.)
Welcome! This space is for my creative projects and other things I think are worth sharing. A curio cabinet, if you will. Kara’s collection of oddities, pretty rocks, and feathers. This space is also a daybook, a place for lists and plans and daydreams.
I must warn you that some of the scraps and bits around here are shoved into drawers and stacked in corners. Most of the boxes aren’t unpacked yet. You might have to do a little digging while I figure out exactly how I want to move back into this online space.
Who is Kara?
My name is Kara. I’m moody, have a crooked smile, and several bad habits.
One good habit I have is that I am excellent at making lists. Recently, I started to wonder if maybe it wasn’t time for me to start sharing those lists and thoughts online again? Trust me, no one was more suprised than I when the answer to the question, “what would make you happy right now?” was “dust off my old blog and start writing about daily life again.”
But, I miss it. I miss blogs.* I miss old fashioned daily journals and a time when the internet seemed … well, simpler and, if not kinder, at least less competitve and full of hustle.
Four children who range in age from ten to twenty call me “mom.” One man calls me “wife” and has for nearly 22 years. This is my 48th trip around the sun.
I‘ve lived in the same home for almost two decades, but it took a pandemic and being here every day and night before I finally started to fall in love with it.
We haven’t renovated or made major changes. There are plenty of worn out, run down, and rough edges.
This home that, once upon a time I thought could sense somehow when we had extra money and that it would purposefully work against us, cursing us with leaks and creaks and ill-timed appliance revolts. For a number of years I saw this home as my enemy, which is dramatic, but also true.
That’s changed now. I find myself wanting to nurture this space, to say thank you for being our haven, to forgive it for it’s faults. My children have grown up here, my marriage was saved here, and this space is our shelter while the storms of the world rage outside.
Why KEF, these images, these words?
I love a filtered view. Enough reality to be true, enough fantasy to maintain hope. You know what lends itself really well to a filtered view? A blog.
Can a blog bring hope?
I’m not sure. It seems silly to try, but that’s why I feel like perhaps I ought to. I need some hope. I think many of us do. Some low stakes, silly, slightly indulgent, definitely foolish hope.
That is a part of the battle, isn’t it? To refuse to believe, no matter how much evidence to the contrary, that a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table or turning up the music while we cook dinner or watching a sunset while the dishes dry in the sink are meaningless moments.
Why am I telling you this? Who will care about these lists, thoughts, words, and daydreams but me?
Perhaps no one.
I’m at peace with that.
These are the words that I write down to make sure that I’m paying attention to my own life.
And so, K. Elizabeth Fleck the webspace gets dusted off and becomes a daybook. I flip the lights back on and discover a place for lists and plans and daydreams. I scooch some furniture around and here’s space for an online curio cabinet to fill with pretty things.
Please know that I don’t take fresh starts for granted. I have been reinventing myself in these virtual spaces for almost 20 years, trying on new dress after new dress. Right now, today, this one fits me best. Imagine me, twirling around the room, so happy to be here after all these years.
Some of you have been with me for a long time. That is humbling.
Some of us are rediscovering each other and wondering if we still fit together. That’s exciting! People grow and change and it’s such a privilege when our journeys overlap.
Some of you are brand new and I’m thankful to welcome you.
Some know my story. Some are strangers.
I’m glad I’m still around.
I’m glad you’re still around, too.
I hope you find beauty here, a tiny joy that you can tuck away in your breast pocket until you stumble upon this space again. We can place our hands over our hearts and think of each other.
Be brave. Be kind. Keep going.
March 15, 2022
*I do not miss comments, which is why I've shut them off.