"You can’t go back,” Matt said to me while we were enjoying what could quite possibly be one of our few last evenings out just the two of us bef...
Some of the most profound moments in our lives are, in fact, defined by silence. Sometimes there is silence because time is needed. Sometimes ther...
I don't know about you, but I've been treating myself right this holiday season. French Toast, cinnamon rolls, ginger molasses cookies...you know ...
I’ve been slowly — very, very slowly — reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Big Magic. Every couple of nights when I’m not up late working,...
I distinctly remember when smoothies became a presence in my life. It was in high school, when the first Jamba Juice opened in a strip mall near m...
Anna has been a lovely reader of Turntable Kitchen for some time, so when she came to us suggesting she pull together a special playlist and recip...
Melissa and I have never met in person but like many of my other 'blogger friends' she feels like a real life friend. We're emailed about babies a...
I recently joked to a friend that if my content of the past 6 months were turned into a haiku (ignoring the whole 5-7-5 rule), it would go somethi...
Currently, my refrigerator is so bursting with berries and stone fruits that every day starts with a mission to consume. The fruit to yogurt ratio...
My hair stylist told me the other day that the mullet is coming back. I'm not sure how to feel about this, but if the mullet means scrunchies, neo...
We women are constantly reminding each other that we support one another. We welcome and share each other's ideas. We compliment each other on our...
I used to write a lot of poetry. I have notebooks filled with raw, young angst. In college, I went up on a stage, terrified, and read one of my po...