cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
In honor of the tenth anniversary of Red Tent Living, we are featuring a monthly legacy post written by one of our regular contributors from the past decade. Jan Meyers Proett is one of the original ten writers. The presence of her words, both here and in her books, has been life giving and restorative…
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She is the ultimate weatherer of storms, a lifetime of inevitable storms because living means storms. You can’t have one without the other. A post-World War I childhood, adolescence forged during the Great Depression, entering adulthood as the nation entered World War II, she lived through storms.
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I can feel myself slowing down as the end of the year approaches. I feel like a ball running out of steam, making its last few rotations before coming full stop. I have one last trip coming up before December waves goodbye. There are bits of tape and scraps of wrapping paper stuck to my…
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The spring before I found out I was pregnant with my first child I was at a craft fair with my best friends. I came across a booth that was selling baby girls clothing. There was this lace dress. It was frilly and girly and perfect. I bought it. I wasn’t pregnant yet. We weren’t…
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I was in the kitchen while my two daughters—ages 2 and 4—sat in front of me eating breakfast. Always curious about what happens in their little minds, I stayed quiet to give space for them to share their thoughts, knowing something conversation-worthy would arise. My oldest soon spoke up. “Mom, do you love your face?”
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Am I where I’m supposed to be? Do I have the inner strength, gentleness, and wisdom to venture out once again into the unknown?
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I kept staring at the door—the half-open door. I didn’t want it to be closed. I already felt violated enough and wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being shut in a room, alone with this man. I didn’t want it to be open. I didn’t want anyone to hear my answers to his pointed questions.…
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“Auny” was part godmother and part adopted grandmother to me. She had a pet name all of her own, as she held a treasured and unique place in our family. She worked as a hostess in my grandparents’ midwestern Chinese restaurant. This was in a time before friendship between races was considered acceptable. For decades, she rubbed…
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More grey splashes against dark curls. Cheeks sag and skin spots darken. Aging creeps in with Crow’s feet around my eyes.
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There is a place I like to go that makes me feel brave and beautiful. From the congested street corner you might miss it. If you didn’t know what to look for, you would be carefully watching for the tram or from which direction the long line of honking taxis will emerge first. You might…
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