I wanted to introduce myself honestly, because this is one of the few kinds of spaces where honesty actually belongs. I’ve lived with a lot of loss. I’m the only surviving member of my family of origin. My mother died when I was 27 and pregnant with my second child. My brother died at 49.My niece was murdered in 2011 at the age of 18. My husband lives with CLL — it’s quiet right now and likely will be for years, but the not-knowing is part of our daily weather. Because of this, I think about death, grief, and legacy a lot. Not in a morbid way — more as companions. They’ve shaped how I love, how I choose, and how I pay attention to what matters. I’m deeply grateful for a community where we can name the ugly, tender, unsayable parts out loud — without rushing to make meaning or turn pain into inspiration. I’m here to listen, to learn, and to be alongside others who know that grief doesn’t make us broken — it makes us human.

✨🕯️As 2026 opens its quiet door, I’m wishing you true prosperity—the kind you can feel in your bones. Prosperity isn’t just money in the bank. It’s peace in the nervous system. It’s relationships you can lean on. It’s time spent on what you’ll never regret. And for those stepping into this new year with an empty chair… I see you. The calendar may change overnight, but the heart doesn’t follow deadlines. If you’re celebrating and aching at the same time, you’re not doing it wrong—you’re loving. So before the year gets loud, here’s my gentle invitation: Choose meaning over motion. Choose presence over performance. Choose truth over habit. Choose love—again and again. One honest question to carry with you: What do I want my life to stand for in 2026? Not what looks impressive. Not what keeps everyone else comfortable. What’s meaningful. What’s real. What leaves you more you? If you’d like, drop one word that you want to guide your 2026—or share a name of someone you’re carrying into this year. We’ll make room at the table. 🫖✨ I'll put the kettle on................ Pam

You forgive them by allowing yourself to feel everything—every wave of pain, every tear, every moment of disbelief. Healing doesn’t come swiftly; it doesn’t arrive like a sudden sunrise. It creeps in slowly, like the soft glow of twilight. One moment, you’ll feel like you’ve made progress, and the next, you’re falling back into the ache. And that’s okay. Forgiveness isn’t linear—it’s messy, unpredictable, and deeply human. You forgive them by choosing you. By taking the love you once gave so freely to them and pouring it back into yourself. Unplug from their world. Unfollow their shadows. Surround yourself with people who remind you of your worth—friends who make you laugh so hard it feels like your heart might burst from joy instead of pain. Let the things you love become your safe haven. Revisit the books that feel like home, walk under the stars, and remember that life holds more beauty than you can see right now. You forgive them by stepping away—not just physically, but emotionally. Leave behind the questions that will never have satisfying answers. Stop replaying the “what ifs” and “whys” in your mind. The pain may beg for your attention, but you have to let it go, like a balloon slipping from your hand. Watch it drift away, becoming smaller and smaller until it’s no longer yours to hold. You forgive them by accepting the truth of what happened. Not because it was okay, not because it hurt any less, but because clinging to the past won’t change it. Acceptance doesn’t mean approval. It doesn’t erase the scars or absolve them of responsibility. It simply means you’ve chosen to stop reliving the moment they broke you. Acceptance is the first step to freedom. You forgive them by reclaiming your story. They may have written a painful chapter, but your life is so much bigger than that one page. There’s a whole world waiting for you—people to meet, places to explore, dreams to chase. Forgiveness is not about excusing them; it’s about releasing yourself. It’s about refusing to let the person who broke your heart have the power to keep you broken.

Hey friends—wishing you a warm, peaceful holiday season, whatever you celebrate and however you’re spending it. May it hold small moments that matter: a soft laugh, a steady breath, a hand held, a memory made. Kettle & Candle will be away for the holidays so we can rest, be with our people, and let the year settle into its rightful place. ✨ We’ll be back on Monday, January 5, 2026—with fresh gatherings, new conversations, and a beautiful year ahead. Until then… put the kettle on, be gentle with yourself, and take care of what’s truly sacred. With love, Pam 🕯️

The season is arriving the way it always does—soft at first… then suddenly everywhere. Lights in windows. Songs in grocery aisles.A kind of collective remembering. And with it comes the old pressure: lists, carts, wrapping paper, deadlines, receipts—the loud, glittering chorus of more. But under all of that…there’s a quieter invitation. To return to what can’t be bought to remember what actually lasts. Because the truest gifts of the season don’t come with bows. They come like this: - a call you almost didn’t make - a name spoken with tenderness - Forgiveness offered without a speech - a chair pulled out for someone who feels alone - a story told again… because it matters who remembers it - a moment of peace where fear used to sit - a “I’m here” that costs nothing—and means everything This time of year holds many sacred languages. Some call it Christmas. Some call it light returning. Some call it love, community, mercy, remembrance, or grace. Whatever words you use, most of us are longing for the same thing: To belong to-To be seen To be held—without having to earn it. So here’s our gentle question for Kettle & Candle this week: What is one “spiritual gift” you want to give (or receive) this season—something you can’t put in a box? If you want a few prompts to choose from, pick one: 1. A gift I’m giving this year is… (presence, patience, listening, honesty, kindness, repair) 2. A gift I’m craving is… (peace, time, forgiveness, laughter, rest, belonging) 3. One small ritual that brings me back to what matters is… 4. A person I want to reach for—before the season passes—is… (no details needed) If your season is joyful, bring that joy here. If your season is tender or complicated, bring that too. There’s room at this table for all of it. 🕯️ Put the kettle on… We’ll meet each other in the simple, sacred things.