Stories Told, Interactively Reimagined
For nearly all of human history, we taught each other how to be human in a circle, around a fire, close enough to touch. Not by reading — by telling. Each time a familiar story was told it changed a little, because the teller was different and the needs of the community were different. And it changed the teller and the listener, because story and myth are animate.
STIR is different from traditional storytelling in that it is interactive. In some gatherings I will be telling the story — but you will not be sitting quietly. You will be invited into it, and in some stories you will change where it goes based on what you bring to the circle. In other gatherings we build a story together that none of us walked in with. What comes out of a night depends entirely on who is in the room, which is the whole point. It happens once and it is not repeatable. That is where the magic stays alive.
These events happen in a home sanctuary, not a sterile public event space. A rented room is not where the heart of community lives. Sharing space in someone’s home is fundamentally different — more intimate, closer in. I bought this home specifically for this purpose: to gather people around a kitchen table, the fireplace in the living room, the backyard, because that is where friends actually hang out. So, my friends, you are not simply attending an event. You are coming over.
The Next Gathering
STIR #1: Stone Soup · Friday, October 23rd, 2026 · 5:30 PM
You may have heard the story of Stone Soup, but you don’t know this version. Even I don’t fully know this version, as it will be shaped by the people and the offerings that arrive.
Here’s your part. Bring two things for the soup. Anything. A carrot or three. A piece of meat. The half-bag of something that has been in your freezer since spring. Neither one needs to be fresh, fancy, or thought about for more than nine seconds — the entire premise of Stone Soup is that nobody brings enough and everybody eats anyway. If you can make one of the two a vegetable, do. I will have the base, likely every spice that we might need.
One rule: everything has to be low-FODMAP. I am on a pretty strict low-FODMAP diet due to some medical issues, and I would like to eat what we make together. If you do not know what that means, you do not need to — type “is [your thing] low FODMAP” into your phone. Ten seconds. If the answer is no, bring something else.
Eight seats, and they go quickly. The soup does not work without a full circle of ingredients.
Join Us
A night like this is made entirely of the people in it. A story shaped by everyone in the room needs everyone in the room.
STIR happens in my home — sometimes upstairs around the stove and the open kitchen, sometimes in the sanctuary space below, sometimes outside around the fire, depending on what the story needs. Either way it is a different kind of intimacy than a room you rent, and it is why these evenings are by invitation. These gatherings ask something of you, to fully engage in these mythopoetic stories, to play, to be inside the story rather than just watching it, and the willingness to share the space, to step up and to step back. One person watching or one person filling all the air pulls the life force out of the story we are cocreating.
If you have read the agreements and something in you says yes, use the contact button below to ask for an invitation — and if someone sent you my way, tell me who. If you have already sat with us, or are already in my inner world, you can just text me a request at 303.955.8945.
Where Your Contribution Goes
Everything I had went into this house: into buying it, into all the supplies, and into renovating it as a place where people could gather. Your contribution helps carry that, in mortgage payments and heat and in the hours of cleaning and designing and preparing that happen long before you arrive. It is not a price and it is not a ticket. It is a share in the keeping of a place that belongs to everyone who gathers in it.
There are other ways to hold this place too. Come to a gardening day. Tell someone about the sanctuary when they are looking for a room to gather in, or about a circle that might be theirs. And the one that matters most to me: become part of this community, and keep coming back. A sanctuary is not a building. It is the people who keep showing up in it.