cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
My words went live on Red Tent Living for the first time on my 40th birthday. Ten years and over 60 posts later, I now know that they were more than words. They’ve always been so much more than words. In the space so generously offered to me, I gave generously back. I let you…
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We set off in June from the only home our children knew. We left an international concrete jungle and arrived at a Pacific Northwest house we rented off Craigslist, sight unseen, but for the large pine trees and lime-green grass in the photos. Without knowing a soul, we enjoyed the space of a new city,…
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On the morning before the rest of our group arrives, Tracy and I follow Google Maps through the twisting, narrow, congested streets of old Istanbul to a cafe I’ve found. I want a famous Turkish breakfast spread. The kind with multiple breads, meats, cheeses, olives, honeys, and jams. The kind that makes you linger into…
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We cross the Bosphorus Strait via a steamer ferry that has been running nonstop for decades, so we can wander through my old neighborhood. Europe to Asia. Two continents split a city that knows more splits than I can count. On the hill above, the newest and biggest mosque is rivaled in height by the…
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I could list the number of friends I’ve driven away from; the number of car (or airplane) windows my slobbery nose has pressed up against; the times I’ve been the one left, particularly by my own children at this stage of life. If not people, I could name the habits I’ve attempted to say good…
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I interviewed for my graduate program without planning to. You see, I was on a mission. Ever since watching a documentary on sex slavery in India that turned my world upside down, I had been meeting with a few counseling graduate students at my husband’s school. We combed through magazine ads and randomly drove down…
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The woman said it was from the early 20th century—her mother’s from Illinois. It was a sturdy and solid piece of furniture, but more importantly, it was the exact size and shape of what I had been looking for. I would strip the varnish, get down to the wood grain, and stain it back to…
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First, I wrote Leyla. She was a teen I thought my own teen girls might like. Leyla was for them. A Turkish girl, wandering the old city, who falls into an epic adventure to uncover a secret passed among women for two millennia. As she learns to embrace her own strength, she must also accept…
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I see you hovering at the base of the big slide, ready to catch your little daredevil as he proudly descends the last of the challenges this big kid playground has presented. And I am aware of your young mama heart, a little sad that he’s already conquering these obstacles.
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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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