The Museum of Life’s Extraordinary Moments

What if the most extraordinary moments of your life are already here, quietly tucked away in the smallest memories? In the Muse-eum, we’ll explore the treasures that shape us, from the tiniest legacies to the big stories, each one adding something unique to our journey.

Some life legacies are small—so tiny they drift past us like dandelion fluff. But if we catch them, if we dare to blow a wish into the world, they can take root and grow. This Muse-eum is a home for all those little legacies: the tiny wishes, the big stories, and everything in between.

Sifting through old photos and envisioning my new space here at A Muse 4 Mama, I came across this photo. Alex remembers it was a restaurant someplace in New York. I don’t remember, actually. It’s just that whenever I see anything with “Muse” in it, I get pumped.

Given a name like A Muse 4 Mama, and spending the month of April writing about Cunningham’s Court, I either have to ditch the name (it does sound like a mom blog)—or redefine it.

For those of you who’ve been through my growing pains (I love you more than words for sticking with me), you know that I’m so much more than that. I’m more than basketball stories. Heck, I’m more than a storyteller.

Somehow, through Cunningham’s Court, I realized: this is more than a place. It’s a consortium of ideas, well-curated like a museum.

And as much as I love puns, how could I resist calling it the Muse-eum?

If you know me, you know I can’t resist a good pun. It’s like a museum for all these muses—they need a home.

And as for the name Mama, I can’t get rid of it just yet. It’s the first word the girls ever said (I’m sticking by that story since I didn’t technically write down their first words), and it will always remind me to have a little bit of Mamma Mia in my life.

Mamma Mia Memory

Why Mamma Mia?
It started off so innocently. It was the second book attempt (this one nonfiction) I failed to write, inspired by my real-life experiences being in Mamma Mia the ensemble—with my two daughters—when I couldn’t sing, act, or dance.

I’ll never forget the inside jokes, the camaraderie, coming together and doing something bigger than ourselves (even though we were tennis players in Money, Money, Money). Could you imagine? Today, it would have had to be pickleball players.

But back then, we never worried about whether these roles were even in the original Mamma Mia! We thought the whole thing was brilliant.

When I stood backstage, ready for the final curtain bows, we were all squished together—no place to go except maybe knock someone over or tumble down the stairs.

It was one of the rare opportunities we weren’t singing up in the lighting attic (the only place they could fit us all when we weren’t on stage), and I remember thinking: This is what heaven sounds like.

If someone had told me a bunch of angels were singing, I would have believed them.

I remember looking upward, feeling one with the universe.
This is what it feels like to be part of something bigger than yourself.

I had so much fun it swept away my mid-life blues and brought in a wave of joy I hadn’t felt in so long—because for so long, I had put all my heart, soul, and creativity into raising my kids.

But who was I kidding?
I got middle-aged cancer next.

Life had a different encore planned.

Plot Twist

Middle-aged cancer.
Smack in the middle of COVID.
Forget figuring out my blog—I had to figure out my life.

Somewhere between chemo and chaos, I wrote my way through it.
Spoiler: I survived.
But the muse? She ghosted me.

So What’s the Muse-eum Really About?

All muses—even my long and laborious ones written pre- and post-cancer—need a home.
A home where this crazy (and not-so-crazy) disorganized mess can converge.

We’re finally getting to our roots.
Who knows what we’ll be when we grow up?
But in the meantime, welcome to the Muse-eum.

There, you’ll find all the parts of me I haven’t figured out yet—on full display, and always free.

So here we are on opening day.
The fire’s on.
You can grab a cup of tea or head straight to Cunningham’s Court if you’re more in the mood for a beer.
No matter where you go, the lights are always on.

We’re not just for mamas anymore—though because of Mamma Mia, this place will always be closest to my heart.

And what better way to welcome you to the Muse-eum than to say:
This month is reunion month—a homecoming for all those who need to be here.
The welcome mat says it all: Welcome, Muse!

The Muse-eum isn’t just a place for old memories or half-finished dreams.

It’s a reminder: every part of your story belongs–even the ones you haven’t written yet. They tug at our hearts until we give them notice, set them free, and father them someplace safe until next time.

Welcome.
The adventure awaits.
The light is always on.