TAYLOR ENGLE ANDERSON BRAIN

When I was a young stoner, the smoking accessories—to be found at the local gas station or “hookah shop”—were gauche af. Neon pot leaves, badly airbrushed aliens (always, always aliens), tie-dye everything, and fonts that would make Times New Roman roll his regal eyes. We didn’t think too much about it. We were too concerned with…not getting caught. Imagine me seeing today’s rolling paper packs, which look like they belong in a design bookstore. Over the past few years, can

My husband and I spent much of our honeymoon slamming back lattes in Kona. We chased the scent of parchment coffee drying in the sun, using each day (and all of the miles on our rental car) to lazily make our way up the coast to the local farms. As a result, coffee in our home is a ritual: our quiet language of care for one another. Before the world begins asking anything of me, Shaun grinds whole beans and pulls espresso while I am still wrapped in a blanket and halfway ins