The Week That Holds Both

Where Yesterday Still Lives
Yesterday marked twenty years since my dad passed, and I carried that knowing with me from the moment I woke. There are dates that do not simply arrive and pass, they settle in, asking to be felt, asking to be honored. We chose to spend the day the way he would have loved most, outside, moving, breathing in the open air that always seemed to bring him back to himself.

We went on a hike, and as we walked, we talked about him, not just the loss, but the life he lived and what he gave to each of us. He believed in challenging himself, physically and mentally, not for the sake of achievement, but because he knew it strengthened something deeper. He found clarity there. He found his center.

And in some quiet way, I think we were all searching for that same sense of grounding as we walked.

What Found Me
Later in the day, as I began to prepare for the week ahead, I found myself in the garage, organizing what I will need for the upcoming bakes and for the farmers market. It was ordinary work, familiar in its rhythm, until it was not.

Tucked beneath a stack of old books was something I had not seen in years. My dad’s baby book.

I opened it, and there was my grandmother’s handwriting, carefully documenting the earliest days of his life, small details held with such care, preserved in a way that felt almost sacred. I stood there for a long moment, holding the beginning of his story while missing him at the other end of it.

There are times when something like this feels like more than coincidence. A quiet reminder. A gentle reassurance that love does not disappear. It finds its way back to us when we need it most.

Where This Week Begins
Today is Monday, and the emotions from yesterday have not faded. They have simply settled into the beginning of this week, which now holds its own kind of weight and anticipation.

The rhythm of my baking has shifted. Not randomly, but because of what lies ahead. Preparing for the farmers market has changed the structure of my days. Feeding times have moved. Bake days have adjusted. What once felt steady now asks for a different kind of attention.

And with that shift comes more than just baking. It is the gathering of everything needed to step outside of my kitchen and into a space that will exist, even if only for a few hours, as a reflection of this work. Tables, a tent, linens, crates, bags, signs, all of it becoming part of what I am building.

I felt the weight of it as I wrote it all down. Not in a way that overwhelmed me, but in a way that made me pause and recognize that this is becoming something more.

What This Season Is Teaching Me
I am learning that change is not something I naturally move toward with ease. There is a part of me that wants to hold onto what is familiar, what feels known and predictable.

But this season is asking something different of me. It is asking me to shift, to adjust, to trust what is unfolding even when I cannot yet see the full picture.

There was a time when this might have felt like too much. When the weight of change would have caused me to pull back. But that is not where I stand today.

Instead, I find myself leaning in. Not perfectly, not without moments of hesitation, but with a willingness that was not always there before.

What Remains
As I move into this week, I carry both things with me. The tenderness of yesterday and the anticipation of what is ahead.

My dad’s life, the way he moved through the world, the way he challenged himself, the way he sought clarity and strength, all of it remains. Not in the past, but in the way it continues to shape how I choose to live.

And maybe that is what I was reminded of most this weekend. That what we are given, the love, the lessons, the example, does not leave us. It becomes part of us.

Where I Stand Today
This week feels like a beginning. Not a sudden one, but one that has been building quietly over time. A threshold I am stepping toward with both reverence and anticipation.

I can feel the stretching. I can feel the learning. I can feel the invitation to become more than I was before.

And through it all, there is gratitude. Not just for what is ahead, but for everything that has brought me here.

Still grateful.

Still becoming.

Warmly~

Kathy
Art of The Crumb