Reflection – summer capsule

Here in Virginia, it is late Summer. The grass is dry, but our trees are in full bloom. Visited by hummingbirds and bees. Butterflies blessing us with kisses and flutters.

It is the last month of my summer capsule, I am not quite sure how that happened. The minimal, seasonal closet I curated for three months of wear has served me so well.

It saw me through trips to the beach, visits to sister’s house, parks and pools and a vacation to California.

Each summer piece is full of light and life and memories. Because my items are so few, I have strong memories tied to each and every one.

The shorts I wore to a dear friend’s bachelorette. The top I wore to the most outrageous, fever-dream of a birthday party. The sweater I wore breathing in the cool breeze on the harbor. Holding my baby close and inhaling the sweet scent of him. The rainbow sandals I wear with just about everything.

5 dresses, 1 jacket, 1 sweater, 3 shorts, 10 tops, 1 co-ord set, 1 sandal, 1 sneaker, 3 necklaces.

I do not worry about clothes. I love them, I honor them, I use them to feel beautiful and comfortable – but I do not worry about them.

I do not keep items that no longer fit, I do not have a closet packed with items I will never wear, I do not have storage bins or bags full of “just in case” items.

I have what I will use. And I use what I have.

And in the coming weeks, I will tuck away the warm weather items and bring forth the bright yellows, rusts, and deep greens. Colors I wear to welcome fall, she is nearly here.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx


“The most anti-capitalist protest is to care for another and to care for yourself. To take on the historically feminized and therefore invisible practice of nursing, nurturing, caring. To take seriously each other’s vulnerability and fragility and precarity, and to support it, honor it, empower it. To protect each other, to enact and practice community. A radical kinship, an interdependent sociality, a politics of care.” Johanna Hedva

Our American culture exists in direct opposition to my nature. I wake wanting to walk outside with my coffee, bare feet in the tall grass. Checking our garden for signs of growth, thanking the worms for being so purposeful in their digging.

I do this for a while. Playing and laughing with my little one, greeting our dogs and the morning sun.

But, eventually, my coffee goes cold and the anxiety in me rises. It’s time.

Time to start the checklist. Get everyone breakfast, get myself and my little dressed. He protests, “But I want to stay in my jammies and play mama.”

“I know little one, me too.” I answer

I don’t want to go exchange my energy, light, and love for money. I don’t want to make white men richer and richer as I become sad and tired. I don’t want to listen to them talk about numbers and growth for the sake of growth.

I don’t want to listen to the supposed leaders of this mess tell me, “Well that’s just the way the world works.”

There is another way. There are one million other ways. We created this system, we can just as easily break it and form something new. A new way of being that honors the earth and the creatures that live here, including us.

This pandemic was an awakening. More people than ever are questioning this system, this mess we are in. The one that glorifies money and pleasures for the richest at the expense of all others.

So, what can we do?

For those of us with privilege and time, we start changing. We start making decisions and choices that slowly turn us away from the current system and toward something new. We take action for the good of all instead of the good of a few, and we watch it ripple.

We start to imagine. What sort of world is utopia to you? Not what you want, what your heart and soul yearn for.

For me, it is one where all beings, who are our relatives after all, are honored and cared for. One where there are no police and prisons, but restorative justice and healing.

I yearn for a world where we stop focusing on growth and only do what is sustainable and good for all.

And I’m not the only one. It’s time to live better.

Because, once we are all ill and confined to the bed, sharing our stories of therapies and comforts,
forming support groups, bearing witness to each other’s tales of trauma, prioritizing the care and
love of our sick, pained, expensive, sensitive, fantastic bodies, and there is no one left to go to
work, perhaps then, finally, capitalism will screech to its much-needed, long-overdue, and
motherfucking glorious halt.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx


I do not dream of labor


other ways of living

Beauty in ordinary living

Sick Woman


What if everything was okay.

What if we had plenty of money, plenty of love, plenty of safety and beauty and fun.

What if the way he wanted me was filling and trustworthy, and the way he loved my baby was pure.

What if this house made me weep with joy because it was just what I had always wanted.

What if just two years after everything fell apart, I found myself exactly where I had always dreamed I would be.

Not perfect, no. Plenty of exhaustion and bickering. Too much pet hair and laundry to fold. Home projects to complete and grass that is somehow always too tall.

Not perfect, just good. Really good and safe and real.

What if for the first time in my life, or in a very long while, I am safe.

Full and content and safe.

What if I stopped running and searching and working and longing just long enough to stop and see where I am.

The place I have been looking for.

The place I knew, then lost, then thought I had built, then lost again.


More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx


For a moment, I appreciate the silence.

I fold the mountains of laundry and take my time sorting the recycling.

I drink rose and listen to seven hours of my brand new audiobook, decluttering and puttering around the house.

I take a long evening bath, with bubbles and candles and a sense of calm I have not been able to reach in some time.

I think, “What do I want to eat?” Reaching for fresh asparagus and arugula salad, thinly sliced apple and home made strawberry vinaigrette.

Then, after the things are put away and the projects done. With nothing else to distract myself with. I slowly open the door.

Into the little green room, with stars on the wall and fancy dress costumes scattered on the floor. With tiny little clothes, so handsome and sweet.

I pick up trains and cars, tiny tea cups, and furry friends.

I sit on the soft duvet, and silent tears roll down my cheeks.

I give in to the sorrow.

The sorrow of having to say goodbye to your little one each month, sending him off to have a grand and beautiful time with his dad, but missing him every single second he is gone.

The extra sleep and time are not to be taken for granted, it is when I find myself again, it is when I find time to write to you.

But I miss him. Every single second I miss him.

I miss the sun soaked smell of his hair, the wild laughter too big for a person so small. I miss the sweet little chirp of, “Mama,” so very early in the morning.

“Are you my mommy!?” he asks, “Oh yes, are you my baby!?” I answer. We fall into fits of laughter and kisses and love.

He will soon be home, and I will soon be desperate for sleep and time to think. But the truth is, being his mama is my favorite thing I have ever done.

I have never had another adventure so beautiful and real.

I am so wholly and unabashedly his.

Forever and ever, I will be his.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx