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  • Margie's Candies Strawberry Milkshake

    That thing I call balance…

    Back in January, I made a promise to myself that I was going to write two blog posts a week, every week, all year, no matter what. I needed to get back into writing. I needed to sit down and just do i...

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  • Growing a fig - Week 1

    First fig.

    The sun had moved, just enough, to start flooding though my living room window again. It gave the whole room the same glow that made me fall in love with the apartment in the first place. My fig tree ...

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  • Taste of Aruba

    Like a March Twig.

    Sometimes I step back and think, “where did the time go?” OK, so by sometimes I mean often, and by often I mean at least monthly, here, in this end-of-month blog-post recap. Every month I ...

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  • Pretty in Pink Bathroom - Owl Candle Holder

    All my owls.

    I have my collection of owls from around the world. But those aren't the only owls in my apartment. Somehow that little souvenir collection that started in Thailand morphed into a running theme throug...

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I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.


Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Val Bromann - Choosing FIgs

Hi, I'm Val. I spent most of my 20s in a standstill, unable to pick which path in life I wanted to take. I wanted the nomadic life of a traveler but also wanted the husband, the condo, and the kitten named Bacon. Unable to decide which life I wanted more, I did nothing. When I turned 30 I’d had enough of putting my life on hold and decided to start “choosing my figs.” So, I quit my job and bought a one-way ticket to Europe. After 3 years on the road I’m back in Chicago, exploring the city, decorating my apartment in too much teal, and planning my next adventure. Learn more.

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Where do you want to go?

My life list. What have I checked off? What do YOU want to check off?