Good morning, Sunday Letter friends!
I’m still here — in case you were wondering. (And also in case you weren’t. 😊) If you’ve reached out lately wondering why my newsletters went quiet, my apologies. It’s not that you stopped receiving them… it’s that I stopped writing them.
I’m fixing that today.
And there’s much to report.
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Happy 1st Birthday to our grandson!
Our grandson Liam turned one a couple of weeks ago, and we traveled to Austin for a Wild One–themed party. It was joyful and completely surreal — a reminder of just how fast time is moving.
He cruises everywhere now, holding on to walls, chairs, toys revealing a cautious determination. Any day, he’ll let go and realize he can cross the room on his own. For now, I suspect his parents are savoring this last sliver of partial mobility.
Time really does need to slow down.
The Year of the House
Speaking of birthdays, our house turns 150 years old this year.
To honor such a remarkable milestone, we decided it was time to repaint the interior. Not just a room or two — every room, every inch of trim.
After twelve years here, we’ve left our marks everywhere. Nail holes. Scuff marks. Dog scratches by the front door. The occasional mysterious wall nick. You know, evidence of ordinary life.
And honestly, what better month to paint than fickle February?
February loves to tease us with false spring. One warm afternoon and we’re ready to plant tomatoes and clean out garden beds that wildlife still depends on.
We started the first week of the month and have made steady progress.
Here’s something you might not know about me: I actually enjoy painting. I’ve painted every house I’ve ever lived in (and wallpapered quite a few). It’s oddly therapeutic — not unlike gardening. You get to know a space intimately. And nothing feels cleaner than freshly painted walls.
Later this year — spring or summer — we plan to celebrate with a proper house birthday party. After all, turning 150 deserves cake.
Squirrel!!
Speaking of our house, a few weeks ago, a squirrel sneaked inside by way of the chimney flue.
photo via Shutterstock
I wish I could say this in a metaphorical, “life is chaos” sort of way, but no — an actual squirrel. In the house. This happens about once a year, so we have a system: open doors, create an exit path, wait. Usually it works.
Not this time.
This squirrel scampered from windowsill to windowsill, claws skittering, panic escalating. In the process, one of my favorite terra-cotta pots (made by our son in preschool) did not survive.
I saved the shards and thought this would be a great opportunity to try my hand at Kintsugi. Do you know about the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold? I had great hopes for the final result and thought it would be a fun way to spend a cold afternoon.
At first, it was fun.
And then it was frustrating.
In the end, I couldn’t get the pieces to hold. Some things simply don’t go back together, even with the best intentions. And maybe that’s okay too.
If you’ve successfully tried Kintsugi, I’d love to hear what products you used.
Spring is Coming but Winter is Still Here
Outside, spring is quietly practicing its lines.
Tulips are pushing up tidy green spears. Daffodils are everywhere. Candytuft, thrift, and crocus are beginning to bloom. Trees are greening up. Each day brings something new, though nothing is loud or showy yet.
It’s the season of noticing small things.
A quiet insistence: We’re still here. We’re coming back.
And honestly — yay for that.
My Next Book.
In the early morning hours, I’ve been working on my next novel — a sequel to Gracie Lee.
Returning to a familiar character feels like opening a long-closed door and finding everything exactly where you left it… and also completely changed.
Sequels are tricky. They must honor what came before while making space for what comes next. Some mornings the words arrive easily. Other days they resist like stubborn paint refusing to cover the old color beneath. Sometimes the story gathers momentum; sometimes it feels like it may never see the light of day.
But I am writing. And I wanted you to know.
Alabama Fire Crackers
Do you know about these?
If not, you may be better off — they are dangerously addictive and contain exactly zero health benefits (unless shared with friends, which surely counts for something).
After a long day of painting, however, a treat feels justified.
They’re called Alabama Fire Crackers because they’re beloved across the South and generously loaded with red pepper flakes. I follow THIS recipe, with one change: I bake them at 300°F for about 20 minutes to make them extra toasty.
Proceed at your own risk.
Things Momma Says
I eat most of my meals standing up.
😂
So this month has held broken pottery, early blossoms, a few paint spatters, an almost-walking toddler, and fictional lives unfolding sentence by sentence.
In other words: ordinary life, with a few unexpected plot twists.
If there’s a theme running through it all, maybe it’s this — things break, things grow, things get refreshed, things continue. Even after a squirrel invasion. Even in the middle of winter. Even when progress feels slow or invisible.
Especially then.
Wishing you a peaceful Sunday, a glimpse of something blooming where you didn’t expect it, and absolutely no wildlife inside your house.
Talya 🌿
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
I love your newsletter. They always give me hope and always make me laugh. Thank you. Enjoy your Sunday.