My name is Anna Grist and I live in a hamlet in southern Alberta with my husband and our two slightly feral children, right smack next to the Rockies, about an hour west of Calgary. We routinely get warnings from our bus driver about cougar and bear sightings, and it occasionally snows in months that have no business messing with that tomfoolery. My husband and I both work from home, when he’s not off gallivanting and saving the technical side of the broadcasting industry from itself.
Most of my life I’ve expressed myself through visual art, but I’ve recently renewed my love of the written word and am attempting to take captive the scattered thoughts that I let slip one too many times and put them down on a page.
I don’t know where it’ll go, but you’re welcome to see if you find me a kindred spirit along the way. I vacillate between taking myself too seriously and not seriously enough. Enjoy the whiplash. I’ll also probably tell you what you should be reading once in awhile.
This is definitely not a mom blog, although I will probably mention my offspring from time to time in passing, as occasionally they say something hilarious. I talk a lot about the books I’m reading, being an Enneagram 4, what I’m learning from the wildlife around us, and am just starting to write about finally figuring out that I’ve been fighting my brain most of my life with undiagnosed ADHD (fun times, I promise).
Some of my artwork can be found locally at Hooked On Bragg, a local artisan shop in Bragg Creek, and online at my Etsy shop. My writing and design work can be found within the pages of archived issues of Paper&String, a digital care package from Lisa-Jo Baker, Christie Purifoy, and Elrena Evans, a la the Maplehurst Black Barn.
In my spare time I hike in Kananaskis Country and near Canmore and Banff with bear spray, and read like a fish as much as I can. I talk like a Gilmore Girl with the addition of about ten puns per minute. Thanks for being here, feel free to drop me a line (or a book recommendation!)
“And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.”
Jane Austen
