cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Considering the avid reader I was during my childhood and adolescence, it still surprises me that I never read The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. It wasn’t until the theatrical release of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in 2005 that I finally took my first trip to Aslan’s country. I remember feeling…
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And on the day when she comes to the end of all she will learn, she will still be yours. No matter where she runs, no matter if she hides, no matter. She is inescapable to you. You are inescapable to her. Maybe this is what she already knows.* She has “wise eyes.”
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Who is the woman in black? Is she you? Is she me? Is she a woman with stunning beauty, wearing a little black dress? Is she a woman hiding her body, hoping to distract you with a slimming dark color? Is she a woman in mourning, grieving a loss so deep? Or is she a…
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My critical eye takes in my form in the long oak-framed mirror as I tuck the billowy white top into my jeans. On principle, I don’t wear white. “White” is my lunch, make-up, and pit stains on display for the world to see. It’s impracticality, stamped with an expiration date.
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Who is the woman in white? I found myself on a journey to understand more clearly how to respond to a theme where my mind went…blank.
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Time. The word ticks and tocks loudly in my mind as I look back on my 32 years. I can see the chances I wasted from fear-based reasoning and opportunities never given despite my best intentions. I mourn the talents that never blossomed into full potential and the dreams I squashed because of other’s preconceived…
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