cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
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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It was way past my bedtime as I drove to pick up my husband from the airport, and I was surprised to find nerves gnawing away in the pit of my stomach. My mind was racing as I drove the familiar route, wondering aloud what reuniting would look like after seven months apart.
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December beckons me with a fair amount of sentimentality and ambivalence. I’ve had difficulty embracing all that this month holds for my life especially now as I anticipate turning 70 years old.
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The ache to belong rests in such a young part of our hearts. It is a tender thing, holding so many other questions like “Can I come?” “Am I welcome?” “Am I ok?” “Am I wanted?” “Do you love me?”.
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I was in fourth grade when I first experienced the beauty of community.
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The date had been on the calendar for months. My oldest nephew and his soon-to-be-bride were celebrating with an engagement party at my sister’s house.
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“Can you believe he will be getting married in one week?”
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A celebration was necessary, or so I thought.
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It is here…it is finished! This inspirational book on gratitude took me one year to write.
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The word, Moira, is a Greek word for fate.
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