Five of us crowded together on the bow of our beloved family sail boat.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Five of us crowded together on the bow of our beloved family sail boat.
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Whistling and gusting wind in the oak trees outside my bedroom window woke me this morning. I tried to stay in bed, but something about the wind felt beckoning to my soul. I came downstairs and opened the blinds, the tree tops ferociously swaying, bending back and forth as the wind had its way with…
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I knocked on the door of my parent’s house, tears streaming down my face one dark February night.
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My history does not lend itself to be very forgiving or much less welcoming of others into my kitchen.
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There is a place in my body that feels in ruins.
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“Forgive me.” Ugh…I will admit that I have not practiced the art of asking for forgiveness.
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More than any other time in my life I am navigating a place that feels deep, unknown and intentional.
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I remember the feeling like it was yesterday. I was terrified.
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“In the middle of a storm, I am holding on to you…”
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“London Bridges falling down, falling down, falling down. London Bridges falling down, My Fair Lady.”
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