The joys of bread and butter, conversations about hope, and a dramatic ceiling

Plus, tiny friendship bracelets (for your sandals)

I'm writing from a coffee shop in Baltimore, where I'm spending the weekend with my oldest son, Alex. There's something magical about breaking free from our usual rhythms of homework and laundry to simply exist in motion together. The change of scenery also opened up space for conversations that might not have emerged at home—about politics and hope.

Notes from the Drive

Our drive was a podcast marathon. We wandered through topics from artificial intelligence's role in relationships to the raw human drama of mountain climbing. The second season of Extreme Peak Danger particularly captured us both—the account of the 2008 mountain climbing tragedy on K2 sparked discussions about risk, decision-making, and how we navigate uncertain terrain - both literal and metaphorical.

Between episodes, we found ourselves talking about the state of the world. Two articles I shared with Alex highlighted how little we truly understand about fundamental aspects of our society - from the actual state of our economy to something as seemingly simple as understanding television viewership. The revelation that true unemployment is closer to 24% led to a particularly thoughtful discussion about how profoundly technology has reshaped every industry I know. It was a sobering reminder of how fragmented our shared reality has become. Then, the last podcast we listened to was an interview with Ed Yong, whose reporting on COVID kept me sane during those wild months in 2020 and 2021. His thoughts about hope as a discipline (around the 36-minute mark) resonated deeply with Alex and me. The idea that hope needs to be cultivated daily - combined with brutal realism and unshakeable optimism - led to a conversation about how we can keep working toward the world we want, even when that world feels desperately far away.

Design Notes

A. Sometimes, a detail in a restaurant or home is so good that I can't stop thinking about it for months afterward. The use of marbleized wallpaper on the ceiling of the restaurant of the Beacon Hill Hotel is one of these —we stayed nearby over Thanksgiving and had a (delicious) dinner here one night.

B. After discovering that Astek offers peel-and-stick versions of similar marbleized patterns, I've been playing with samples in our downstairs guest bathroom.

C. This butter rug makes me laugh every time I see it online. I almost bought it to hang in our kitchen. Maybe someday—it would look nice as part of a gallery wall. Sometimes, the most charming design choices are the ones that make us smile.

Kitchen Notes & Found Objects

Bread and butter is my favorite simple pleasure, so it’s no surprise I've become slightly obsessed with the ‘artful’ butter trend. I recently had lunch with a chic woman in her 70s who, when the waiter brought the dessert menu, asked for the bread basket to be returned, and she blissfully (gleefully!) enjoyed it as dessert. Life goal: knowing what you love and asking for it with abandon! There's something deeply satisfying about these perfectly molded pats of butter - tiny flowers, delicate sunbursts, coral patterns pressed into something as humble as butter. For those of you wondering how you would use these silicone molds to make the butter pats, here's a good explainer. E. Tiny Flowers! F. Tiny sunbursts! G. Coral! H. Clouds! There are truly an endless number of possibilities—just look up "silicone mold" and whatever butter shape your heart desires.

D. And speaking of transforming the everyday, I keep thinking about these tiny friendship bracelets for Birkenstocks. Like the butter molds and marbleized ceilings, it's the unexpected that captures my imagination - taking something familiar and making it new.

Garden Notes

As spring approaches, I'm drawn back to the garden.

I. This rustic yet elegant hose solution (found on Pinterest) is very satisfying to those who a) hate the look of a messy hose and b) have ever wrestled a heavy hose onto a hose basket or into a hose stand. PS Here is a lightweight hose we tried last year and were happy with.

J. This tool caddy was my favorite garden purchase last year. I use an old Ikea bag for weeding, which works well and is self-limiting as it fills up before it can get too heavy. But, I've found that I tend to leave garden tools (clippers, trowels, gardening gloves, shovels, weeding tools) in the most random spots. This caddy keeps everything together (plus, it holds my phone, water bottle, extra bug spray, and hair ties) and is easy to push with one hand.

K. I'm working on a list of my favorite gardening books - Planting The Dry Shade Garden is in the top 10 in terms of practical advice for the most challenging spot in any garden - the dry and dark spots.

L. Shiseido Clear Sunscreen Stick SPF 50+ I am impatient (the thing I'd most like to change about myself), which means I often skip putting on sunblock before leaving the house (I know! I know!). I love EltaMD UV Clear Face Sunscreen SPF 46, but after a few disasters with the pump when I threw it in my bag, I knew I needed to find something more portable and less messy. I bought this sunblock stick to keep in my bag. I have sensitive skin and am annoyingly bothered by anything scented - as in, promptly get a migraine - and this, while lightly scented, does not bother me.

A Final Note

Driving home from Baltimore this evening, I kept thinking of the unsettling reality of how differently we can see the same world. The fragmentation of our shared experience feels like one of the defining challenges of our time. Waves of hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me. And then, I realized I hold so many versions of hope: the marbleized ceiling that makes me dream bigger about my own space, my friend choosing the dessert that brings her joy, and the conversations with Alex about imagining different and better futures. None of these moments erase the complexity of our political moment or the weight of our divisions. But they remind me of what Ed Yong said about hope being a discipline - something we practice through active effort, day after day.

Perhaps that's what these weekends away from our routines offer - not just a change of scenery but a chance to notice how beauty and possibility appear in unexpected places. Sometimes in grand gestures like a dramatically decorated ceiling, sometimes in humble ones like butter on warm bread, and sometimes in the quiet miracle of sitting in the car with someone you love, talking for hours as the miles unfold.