And then vacation happened.

Rama and I went to Miami to visit Barbara, his (and now, my) grandmother. I brought my macbook with me with the idea that I’d do more work than play, but oh. The idea of vacation was too irresistible. I did enough work to satisfy my clients, and then I turned it off, spending the rest of the week chatting and laughing, relaxing and exploring, eating and shopping with Rama and Barbara. I slept in, I took naps, I went swimming. I even started–and finished–reading a book for the first time since I don’t know when.

Even though we’ve been back for a week, I feel like I’m still riding that high. I feel like a teenager on summer vacation, and I probably act like one too. (We’ve flown kites, thrown frisbees, chased ice cream trucks and, today, picnicked on the lawn.)

I’m still working hard and I’m blessed to have as much work as I do. But I am playing hard too. And I can’t help but think that this is the way it should be.

I am thrilled to announce the debut of True*Stories, a series of art prints featuring my original stories and illustrations. I have been wanting — needing — to do this for far too long, and I’ve finally made it happen. (Cue theme song from Lavern & Shirley, which has been looping in my head since I launched the print, “On your marks, get set and go now!”)

This first piece, titled Look Up, was inspired by a serendipitous walk that Rama and I took around our neighborhood. It comes in a limited edition of 50 prints, each lovingly screenprinted by hand.

This collection of work is especially near and dear to my heart because all proceeds will go toward my Send Christine to Squam Fund. There’s been a tugging on my heart to join my fellow artists in the woods, and I have been trying to figure out a way to do it. What a beautiful thing it would be, I realized, to fund one creative adventure with another!

If you need a reminder to look up (and forward and closely),
If you want to help out this artist on a quest for adventure,
If you believe in the power and beauty of true stories,

please check out and purchase my print here. Thank you.

*Although they may or may not have actually happened, there’s truth to these stories.

Wherever we do end up, I vow to have more brunches and dinner parties and people over for no reason at all. I love setting the table just right, turning up the tunes and making a meal that makes me proud. I love looking around the table and seeing the faces of people I adore. I love eating, talking and laughing until our bellies slightly ache and we are content.

Someday, I want to have the house where everyone knows they can stop by any time, where you are always welcome to stay for dinner and where you want  to stay long after dinner is through.

The term “housewarming” never made more sense to me. There is always a light and warmth lingering in our home long after the company has gone.

It’s not so much that I don’t have anything to write. No, a quick conversation with Rama reminded me that a lot is going on in our lives right now–in my life right now–and that I could write novels about it all. I could, but I just don’t feel like it. Not yet.

For now, I’m just soaking it all in. The good, the bad, the ugly, the pretty, the thrill, the calm, the quiet, the every day, the life. This life.

Our second year of marriage had more bumps and twists and turns than we’d expected (and probably would have liked). But a little bit of faith, a whole lotta laughter and an endless supply of googly-eyed love has pulled us through.

I know our marriage is just a toddler, but like any good parent is, I am so ridiculously proud to call it mine and show it off to everyone I know.

Happy anniversary, Rama.

I still see the sunny blooms–on the LA highways like I did two years ago and everywhere else–and they never fail to bring me some peace and hope. It’s that simple.

My dear friend, Becky, recently launched define 23, her playground on the web. There are so many fun bits to the beautifully designed site, including daily doodles and gorgeous photo galleries.

An anonymous sweetheart sent me a wonderfully kind surprise this week. So many others have reached out to me the past few weeks. Thank you. The kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me.

Most of the photos I took while in the Philippines were of the house where Grandma and Grandpa lived. My mom, an architect, designed it in the ’60s, and my family stayed there whenever we visited. I love that house.

I realized that with Grandma now gone, the house may never be the same, and I wanted to capture its spirit while I could.

Normally, I fall asleep before the plane takes off. This time, I didn’t–couldn’t–sleep a wink. Instead, I watched five movies on my personal video player, ate fists full of jelly beans and wiped tears away with the sleeve of my hoodie.

When I arrived, I was startled to see that the wake was being held in my grandparents’ living room. I was instructed to say “hello” to my grandma who looked beautiful, peaceful and even happy.

The week was filled with visits from family and friends, colleagues and students–people from all walks of life who knew my grandma, loved and appreciated her, and wanted to pay their respects. I heard so many stories about Grandma, some that I knew by heart and others that I’d never heard before.

Grandma wasn’t just a grandmother. She was a mother, a wife, a sister, a friend. She was a principal, a teacher, a choral group leader, a women’s league president, a girl scout leader. She was a sponsor, a donor, a volunteer, a caregiver. She was truly special.

The grief hit(s) in waves. I broke down sobbing three days into my visit. I don’t know how the tears started but once they did, I couldn’t stop.

My mom asked me to write a eulogy, but I couldn’t. I felt like I’d already paid tribute through a biography I wrote for the funeral program, and I knew I would fall apart if I tried to say anything in front of hundreds of people. Mom joked that Grandma expected me to write something, but I knew that wasn’t true. I’d already said all I could.

Grandma and I wrote letters most of my adult life. I’d even written a note to send with Mom when she went a few days ahead of me. I’m sure Grandma knew I loved her up until the end.

A few days before she died, we spoke on the phone. I was told that she was in a bit of pain at that point, and she would often cry because she was so uncomfortable. When she handed the phone back to my Uncle after our quick chat, though, he said Grandma was smiling.

That’s how I’ll always remember my grandma. Smiling. Sweetly, after another dear and heartfelt exchange.

What do I know?

That I am so grateful to have a husband who is here for me. I am so out of sorts as it is, I can’t imagine how lost I’d feel without him.

That I will miss him while I’m gone. It will be the longest we’ve been apart since getting married nearly 2 years ago, and it’s not just the other side of the country. It’s oceans and time zones away, and there’s no email.

That I am glad I can be there for my mom, even though I have no idea what to say to her when we speak.

That I am sad. Just really, really, really sad. Even though I know all the wise and beautiful things people say about life and death–and I believe in God and heaven and that things all happen for a reason–I am still sad. (And I know that is okay that I am.)

Please send your thoughts and prayers to my grandma, my family and myself. We need–and so appreciate–them.

See you in 2 weeks, dear friends. xo