It feels like forever since I last sat down to write, and a lot has happened. Back in September of 2025, James and I packed up our life in West Sacramento and made the big move to Aberdeen, Washington. We landed in this quirky mid‑century house on the outskirts of town—lots of trees, lots of green, lots of space—and we’ve been slowly renovating it into something that feels like “us.” There’s something really grounding about having acreage to wander, even if half the time we’re just staring at the trees trying to figure out what we’re supposed to do with them.
The move has stirred up a lot of emotions, especially around the dogs. Over the last four and a half years, we lost two of our three pups—Willow and Norbu. Their absence still hits hard. But our sweet Lucy, now 15, is still going strong. She absolutely loves the new place. Watching her trot around the yard like she owns the forest has been one of the best parts of this transition.
One of the hardest parts, though, has been leaving my Loomis FUMC family. Thirteen years is a long time to be rooted somewhere, and those folks held me with so much love and compassion. I miss them deeply. I’ve been attending Montesano United Methodist for about a month now, and as of today, I’m officially singing in their choir. It feels good to be making music again, even though I’ll be honest—given the political climate right now, I’ve wrestled with whether I even want to be in church. My heart just isn’t in it the way it used to be. There’s so much hate and violence in the air, and if we had the means, I think we’d seriously consider leaving the country until things calm down.
On the practical side of life, I’m grateful I can keep working remotely. It’s been a blessing, even if it means I haven’t met many people yet. I’m keeping my eyes open for new musical opportunities, hoping something will click.
James, meanwhile, has adapted beautifully. We spent Christmas with his stepmom and family, and it was honestly one of the warmest, most joyful holidays we’ve had in a long time.
And somewhere in the middle of all this chaos, I released my very first solo album—a tribute to the one and only Barry Manilow. It’s called Forever Fanilow, and it’s out on Spotify if you want to give it a listen. Creating it was such a labor of love.
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I miss my dear friends Ashley and Anne‑Marie. I miss our walks, our diva outings, our spontaneous day trips. I’m really hoping they’ll make their way up here soon so we can pick up right where we left off.
Turning 65 at the end of November was its own kind of surreal. I honestly have no idea how to be this age. It feels strange, especially knowing how many dear friends didn’t get to make it this far with me. I wasn’t sure how to mark the milestone, so I did the only thing that felt right in the moment: I recorded a one‑hour virtual concert. If you want to check it out, you can find it here:
Life in Aberdeen is still new, still unfolding, still finding its rhythm. But I’m here, I’m trying, and I’m grateful for the people who continue to walk with me—near or far.
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