Thinkingdog Publishing

When people ask me what I miss most about Germany, they expect me to say something dramatic like castles, cobblestones, or perhaps men in lederhosen playing accordions under ancient oak trees. But no. The truth is far simpler—and far sweeter. I miss Kaffee und Kuchen. In Germany, Sunday afternoons have a rhythm as steady as a church bell. Around three or four o’clock, no matter how busy the week has been, people pause. Coffee is brewed. Cakes—sometimes rich and chocolatey like a proper Black Forest, sometimes fruity, tart, and dusted with sugar, sometimes streusel-strewn and buttery—are sliced and plated. Families and friends gather around tables, whether in kitchens or crowded cafés, and for one golden hour the world slows down. It isn’t really about the cake, though heaven knows the cake is reason enough. It’s about connection. It’s about talking face to face rather than through texts or rushed phone calls. It’s about traditions that stitch the week together, offering the promise t...

  I once read that inspiration strikes like lightning. That’s a lie. At least for me. Inspiration sneaks up on me like a cat deciding whether to knock over a glass of water. It circles, it considers, it waits until I’m in the shower with no access to a notebook and then it pounces. So where does my inspiration come from? Well, buckle up, because it’s a weird and wonderful mix. First, there’s nature. And not just in a “how poetic, the whispering pines” kind of way. No, I mean nature nature . The kind where I go on my daily walks and see a squirrel making direct eye contact with me while committing crimes against a bird feeder. Or when a branch creaks ominously in the wind, and I’m instantly imagining a Victorian ghost lady pointing toward a hidden clue. Or that one time I saw a crow drop an acorn directly on a jogger’s head, and I started wondering if animals hold grudges. And speaking of animals, let’s talk about the real queen of my inspiration: my Papillon dog. My tiny, f...