cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
As I sit down to write this essay, I am wiping the smeared mascara that coats the skin just below my eyelashes. The black smudges cover up the bags underneath my eyes, which reminds me of the layers of exhaustion most of my days have held. My eyes aren’t smudged from crying this time, but…
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What does it mean, now, for me to show up? Is it me, my body, clean, clothed, and correct, a physical form occupying space? Saying yes, smiling, sorting through small talk while inside my heart races?
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For the month of June the women of Red Tent Living will be considering the theme, “Flipping Tables”. Please join us by reading along, and by hosting a circle of women gathered at your own table to share stories provoked by this theme. For more information on hosting a Red Tent Dinner visit the “Dinner”…
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It was one of those Saturday morning moments for which I long. Both of my girls were in their playroom, happily occupying themselves (without screens!). There were no sounds of whining, fighting, or Peppa Pig jumping in muddy puddles. It was blissfully quiet. And it was that exact quietness that allowed me to more quickly…
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“I don’t think you’ve ever experienced a good ending,” my therapist said, as we once again discussed ending our work together. As usual, I had become weepy at the mere suggestion that it was time. A good ending? What was that? How was it even possible? He kindly assured me that we could explore my…
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Decades ago, I was at the home of an older woman. She said, “My husband will be 70 this year, and we’ve started thinking about how to finish well.” This stuck with me, even though, at the time, I was comfortably middle-aged. This couple was well known in Christian circles. They had authored books and…
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The funeral home came to remove Mom’s body a few hours after death. As they wheeled her out, maneuvering through the dining room, I leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, Mom,” I whispered. I also thought, “If you sit up right now and say, ‘Just kidding!’ I will yell and say, ‘Just leave already!’” …
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Cold January rain pelted the windshield of my red Ford Expedition as I drove toward Barnes and Noble. I parked and swiftly exited the car, retrieving the stroller. I deftly popped it open with one hand, a finely honed skill. Unfastening Elly from her seat behind me, I securely strapped her into the stroller, tucking…
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It has been a long journey, nothing like expected. So many detours from a pre-planned route. Potholes, accidents, missed signs— Decades ago I started out, destination unknown, but expectant and hopeful: Somewhere things settled into a rhythm. Rhythms help us press into the mist; we live in familiar cycles.
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I met my best friend when I was four and she was five. We were in the same dance class and became instant friends. Almost all of my childhood memories include her, almost all of my high school sleepovers, as well as my college and young adult happy hours. We went to different colleges but…
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