Author Archives: Jaclynn Loibl

I may have overdone stuffing my belly on doughnuts, but hey, they’re homemade, and we live once. Once stationed in the office, the space heater has made its way to the bedroom, and let me tell you—it’s a game changer. Central air is great, but sometimes, you just want to control the temperature of oneContinue reading “Providence Canyon Joy”

I’m dragging myself here—hand to wrist, yanking, sitting myself down. To write. I don’t want to. I don’t quite know why. I think I’m miserable, but I’m skeptical of how true that is. There’s a bigness, a drama to my feelings that I don’t fully understand. Does the rotisserie chicken and Ritz cracker casserole thatContinue reading “Through the Rapids”

T-minus 20 minutes until I check on my sourdough loaf in the oven. With that time, I write. About bread. About the joy of having an uncut loaf, where I get to decide the width of each slice. Thick for decadent, fluffy French toast. Then thin when I just need a little something to holdContinue reading “Doughing Out the Welcome Mat”

While sitting on the back porch past bedtime with Dave, between a barred owl’s hoots, little Evelyn appeared in her full-length, cheetah-patterned pajamas. Her innocence, cuteness, and articulation were almost too much for any mother. But then came the question that gutted me: “When people die, can they come back alive?” Pulling her into myContinue reading “A Hard Truth”

Day two at the water park was a good one. I’m tired and stuffed, and honestly, writing is getting in the way of snuggling up in some jammies and drifting off. Oh, and I feel the itch of dried pool chlorine water. A sudsy shower and heapings of lotion could help. Rest assured, I’ll beContinue reading “Waterlogged and Worn Out”

I’m in go mode. Whenever I take a trip, I get the zoomies—oober-cleaning and organizing the house as if preparing for guests and their guests, too. It’s not because I like working that hard or stressing myself to the “n”th degree. No, it’s because returning home to a freshly aired, laundered, white-glove-worthy space is oneContinue reading “Sliding into Memories”

You know that sooooo-eeeeee call pig farmers make, with its high-pitched, trailing, echoey ending? Take that and replace it with “Hey, chicky babies!”—and that’s the cluck-gathering song my neighbor-slash-sister-in-law, Maria, performs daily. It’s sweet and always brings a smile to my face when I’m out roaming the yard. Not to mention, I’m egg-rich because ofContinue reading “Eggstitential Thoughts”

I love conflict—well, as much as one can love it in a healthy, productive way. I’m not into the no-holds-barred, low-blow, tantrum-throwing, “I’m not talking to you” punishment kind. During a recent counseling session, as I was educating a client on positive conflict and how to navigate it, I thought, “Dang, you know your stuff.”Continue reading “Turning Conflict into Connection”