I am Tal.
I’m married (four times!) to Haffy and mother to Ella and Oliver (just the once!).
Together we traveled the world for two years, in search of our new home.
We made it all the way to Hawaii, then followed an elusive but persistent summons to the French Pyrenees, and eventually ended up in Northern Portugal. We were incredibly lucky to have found our home there in 2019, where we have been busily homesteading and homing in ever since.
In 2018, in honor of our one-year questiversary, I decided to fulfill a promise I made to myself on my 38th birthday, pretend it was the 90s and finally launch my blog. Geeks of the world, rejoice!
Devoid of college or work deadlines, people being wrong on the Internet, people just being very wrong in real-life (still a thing), and despite the rare availability of streaming, I have miraculously chosen, voluntarily, to sit on my ass, Pyrenees in full view, children adequately ignored, and write about life.
Expect many run-on sentences.
In my imagination it is an autobiographical blog, which means it’s also inevitably a travel blog, a quest blog, a feminist blog, a parenting blog, a birthing blog, a death and grieving blog, an everything in between blog—but mostly, a how it’s all connected blog. Very niche.
The name is taken from the blog’s inaugural post, All the Love in All of the Worlds. If you read it, I think you will understand why.
When my sister first read it, she wrote me this: “P. S. Hate to tell you this but—רִבּוֹן כָּל הָעוֹלָמִים—our ancestors are hanging out in your braaaaaain.”
I had just woken up, eager to get her edits in and meet my self-imposed deadline. So I was only semi-conscious when I read her comment, and this strange, other-worldly cackle emerged from deep inside my kishkes. I couldn’t stop. Ella, who was playing upstairs, called down in alarm to see if I was okay. I reassured her that I was—I was just laughing.
You sounded like a witch, she said.
I know, I said, I did.
I do.
Come sit by my fire, I have stories to share.
All of the Worlds 