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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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. Jennifer Owens joined us in 2015 with her signature winsome vulnerability. This post was one of her first as a regular contributor and originally appeared in October…
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This is not a eulogy. This is a wild ce-le-bra-tion. Lived out in staccato, fast breaths and clapped hands. This is a reverie of light that actively stomped the darkness. She was a determined, defiant dance. This is ce-le-bra-tion. She was coffee and cocoa-bean, sugar cane and deep earth. Caribbean and cradle of civilization. She was…
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When I was growing up, basements were a place to put things that no longer had value. Basements were the place in homes where you spent the least amount of time. They became a container for keeping stuff out of sight and out of mind. The things which once held value would be forgotten and…
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I look down at my phone and see an Instagram story. It catches my eye. This is not very unique for me, but I get in these rabbit holes chasing interesting stories. Maybe because it’s fall 2021, and the kid’s schooling is back online. For me, meandering through other people’s vacations, or sipping extra coffee…
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Belonging In the balance. When you stand On a tight rope, You belong nowhere. Not the right. Not to the left. Certainly not the middle. To be accepted. To be loved.
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What are you? demands the bag boy as his hand makes sweeping, circular motions in front of his face. I am fire and I am frail. I am strength and sarcasm. Demonstrative and demure. I cry, I am human.
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(for Judy) I may not be firstborn, nor am I male. Yet I’m a member of your Levitical tribe. Ordained before you, a minister just like my father. And in his image, I speak light into darkness.
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In the wilds of motherhood, professional work, and various other creative endeavors, as an Indigenous/Mexican/Spanish/German woman, I find the spaces shrinking in which I feel intuitively understood. In the ongoing pandemic integration into real-life realities, paired with friction-filled sociopolitical conversations and an ever-emerging mental health crisis, I often “turtle,” or go inward. A few weeks…
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Vashti Thank you For the way You sacrificed Your crown Refusing To allow Your God-given Beauty To be
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