My Love-Hate Relationship with To-Do Lists

I don't remember when I became a list person.

Actually...

That's not true.

I've always been a list person.

The difference is, I used to make lists so I wouldn't forget what I needed to do.

Now I make lists because I'm afraid I'll forget what I needed to do.

There's a subtle difference.

I don't know if that's part of getting older or if my brain has simply run out of storage space.

Either way, it's a little unsettling.

I used to trust myself to remember things.

Now I walk into a room and immediately wonder why I went there.

I open the refrigerator and stand there looking around as if the answer might magically appear between the milk and the mustard.

So...

I make lists.

Sticky notes.

Notepads.

The backs of receipts.

Random scraps of paper that seem like a perfectly reasonable place to write something important.

Until I can't remember which scrap of paper it was.

Recently I decided to embrace technology.

Yes...

Me.

I found an app where I can make lists on my phone.

And here's the best part...

I can actually check things off.

I didn't realize how satisfying that little checkmark would be.

It's ridiculously rewarding.

In fact, I may or may not have added something to the list after I'd already done it...

just so I could check it off.

If you've done this too...

we don't have to talk about it.

The funny thing is, no matter how many things I cross off...

the list never seems to get shorter.

Maybe that's just life.

As soon as one thing is finished, another takes its place.

So I've decided my lists aren't really about remembering.

They're about hope.

They're a reminder that there are still things I want to do.

Places I want to go.

Books I want to read.

Recipes I want to try.

People I want to call.

Dreams I haven't crossed off yet.

If You’re Going to Begin Anywhere…

If You’re Going to Begin Anywhere…

If you’re going to begin anywhere, it might as well be with scones.

Because that’s where I began.

There are recipes you make once because they sounded interesting.

And then there are recipes that quietly become part of your life before you even realize it’s happening.

This was one of those.

Scones became part of the rhythm of the tea room early on.

Not fancy.Not complicated.

Just warm from the oven with lemon curd, jam, or whatever happened to be nearby that day.

And over the years, I think I’ve learned something important about recipes.

The ones people return to most are rarely the complicated ones.

They’re the ones that feel familiar.

Basic Scones

Ingredients

• 2 cups flour

• 2 ½ teaspoons baking powder

• ¼ teaspoon salt

• ¼ cup sugar

• 4 tablespoons butter

• ¾ cup milk

Directions

Sift all dry ingredients together.

Cut in butter until crumbly.

(A food processor works too, but I still tend to do it by hand half the time.)

Add milk and stir until combined. The dough will be sticky.

Turn onto a floured surface and knead gently.

Don’t overwork it or the scones will get tough.

Roll to about ½-inch thick and cut into triangles or circles.

Bake at 400 degrees for 12–15 minutes.

Makes approximately one dozen depending on size.

You can add dried fruit, chocolate chips, orange zest, or just leave them exactly as they are.

Sometimes simple is the whole point.

They’re best warm.

Actually… most things are.

And next time, we’ll talk about lemon curd.

Because the two were never really meant to be separated.

Sometimes Creativity Is the Attraction

Not every community has mountains.

Not every town sits beside the ocean or has waterfalls, canyons,

or natural wonders people travel across the country to see.

Some places were simply handed geography that makes people stop.

Others have to think differently.

And I think more communities are starting to realize that.

For years, tourism was often tied to the obvious things.

Nature.

Landmarks.

History.

Major attractions.

But today, people are searching for something else too.

Something memorable.

Something unexpected.

Something worth pulling over for.

That’s why you’re seeing more murals, immersive art, quirky roadside attractions, public spaces designed for photos, giant sculptures, restored neon signs, creative downtown districts, and places that lean into personality instead of perfection.

Not because communities are trying to be ridiculous.

But because they’re trying to be remembered.

And honestly, I think there’s something hopeful about that.

Many small towns and overlooked places are being forced to ask themselves difficult questions.

Who are we now?

What makes us unique?

Why would someone stop here instead of somewhere else?

And the answer isn’t always found in what a community naturally has.

Sometimes it’s found in what people are willing to imagine.

Because not every place can compete by being bigger.

Some places have to compete by being memorable.

Tourism today isn’t just about sightseeing.

It’s about experience.

People want stories.

Photo opportunities.

Unexpected moments.

Places that make them smile, wonder, laugh, or feel nostalgic for something they can’t quite explain.

And sometimes creativity itself becomes the attraction.

I know not everyone understands that right away.

A giant sculpture or oversized roadside prop can seem silly at first glance.

But maybe silliness isn’t always a bad thing.

Maybe joy matters too.

Maybe giving people a reason to explore a place they otherwise would have driven past matters too.

And underneath all of it is something even bigger.

Because if communities can’t see value in who they are and what makes them unique, how can they expect anyone else to?

I think the places people remember most are rarely the ones trying to look like everywhere else.

They’re the places willing to lean into their stories, their history, their weirdness, their creativity, and their sense of identity.

The places willing to become something unexpected.

Communities don’t become destinations overnight.

They become destinations because somebody cared enough to imagine more for them.

Even when other people couldn’t see it yet.

And maybe that’s what placemaking really is.

Looking at an ordinary space and choosing to believe it can become part of someone’s memory.