How powerful it would be to name the truth: That as a little girl I was full of goodness and beauty And the people around me— bullies on playgrounds, abusers in dark bedrooms, and addicts— consumed me.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
How powerful it would be to name the truth: That as a little girl I was full of goodness and beauty And the people around me— bullies on playgrounds, abusers in dark bedrooms, and addicts— consumed me.
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I sat down to write, opening my Pages program and automatically formatting the first page to center the words…”off center.” The words looked back at me, perfectly aligned, and I chuckled to myself. “How is this like my life?” We used to ask each other that question in a women’s group, and it often sparked an “aha”…
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As a child, a dark closet was the safest ground to play with my dolls. My mother was not a cruel woman, but she didn’t play, nor did she give room for anything other than work. She grew up in the aftermath of the Great Depression with a mother who gave two of her children…
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Through my work at a cancer support center, I have met a number of people who ponder why they got cancer or why they got a particular cancer. So many cancers seem to be random.
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