cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I am passionate about mothers. Or more specifically, those who grew up without one. Maybe they grew up with a mom who was there but addicted to a substance. Or perhaps they had a mom who was in the home but in her mind was longing to be somewhere else and did not engage with…
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Jesus, Savior, pilot me, Over life’s tempestuous sea; Unknown waves before me roll, Hiding rock and treacherous shoal. Chart and compass come from Thee; Jesus, Savior, pilot me. (Edward Hopper, 1871) One of the things my mother inherited from her parents was a metal, three-dimensional plaque of Jesus walking on storm-tossed waves. It is about…
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