cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
When I was a girl, my grandmother used to buy me the most beautiful books. I’d sit and study them. I’d weave myself into their magical illustrations and storylines—the heroes within, the longings of main characters, the mythical power of nature’s forces—and I’d get lost in the rhythm of beginning, middle, and end. I’d imagine…
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As we sat on the concrete porch surrounded by a white fence and antique corbels, we sipped our Keurig coffee and ate homemade blueberry scones I had prepared the night before. She wiped a single tear from her mocha-colored cheek between yawns and said, “I’ve never known the love of God before.” She was a…
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From the moment she and her mom walked into my office I wondered if she deserved more of a professional than me or more tenderness than I felt like I was able to offer. I felt like she could’ve been me had some things gone differently in my life. We started by talking about her…
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“Please stop watching.” The round, green eyes of my traveling companion flash as she whispers these words toward me. We are sitting in a crowded, delayed airplane stuck on the runway. Hot, stuffy, and impossibly close. Bodies of all sizes are wadded into same-sized seats like so many sausage parts stuffed into casings. The man next to me,…
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I consider myself an expert packer. I learned years ago to find a place in the bag the same shape as the item I am adding. Using this process, every square inch gets filled—no wasted space. I am not, however, adept at unpacking. I take out a little here and a little there, but my…
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Lately, so much pain has confronted me. So many people I know facing such grief.
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