cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I slowly rise up from the bathroom floor while I grab a tissue to wipe my dripping nose. I shakily stand at the sink mesmerized by the water falling through my fingers. My cupped hands fill with water and I bring them up to my face longing to erase what just happened, just as the…
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My roommate Emily gets home from work earlier than I expect and knocks gently on my door asking, “Are you ok?”. “Don’t come in,” I try to sound as normal as possible, swallowing my tears before they escape me. I’m thrown off balance. I intended to get all my feelings out before she got home—to…
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I am laying on the couch under the warmest blanket in our house waiting for our children to wake up. I open the thermos filled with hot coffee my husband left for me on the table. Tendrils of steam rise to greet my chilled face and I deeply inhale the scent of french vanilla. Just…
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Standing in the bathroom, a place of horrific and shameful abuse. I am getting another haircut that strips away my femininity. I’m 11 years old and in the midst of a war that revolves around my hair length. Much of my childhood has already been stolen. My inner little girl is screaming “Please mom, stop! Don’t…
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I’m getting divorced. Three simple words. Three simple words that don’t convey the pain and messiness of this season. Three simple words that don’t feel real. Three simple words that represent an impossibly complicated emotional state of being.
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The hand of a distinguished celebrity judge moves through the air in slow motion. The contestant’s eyes widen and mouth drops open in disbelief, in hope. Contact is made with a large round button, rocketing golden confetti up. It gently rains back down in real time, showering the chosen one in worth and honor. Often…
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With one hand I hold tightly to my husband, in desperate need of his support, and with the other I push him away. It’s confusing and frustrating, but this is how the young and scared part of me struggles for control and acts out in fear. My mature and wise adult self knows better. I have…
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Our histories leave trails behind us Whether we remember, or not Clues, leaves of Lórien let fall By our younger selves In hopes We might come back someday To rescue the little child within In hopes We might remember To find healing In hopes That we might forgive The child within And finally remember Who…
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I have a vague memory from my early years — perhaps I was 3 or 4 — of swimming with my siblings and cousins at my aunt’s apartment pool on a golden summer afternoon. At some point amidst the fun, I went from sweet and splashy to exhausted and unwound. Having the self-awareness of the…
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The downtown central library in San Antonio is lovingly referred to by locals as the “Enchilada.” The color of its skin can only be likened to the chili con carne sauce draped over a steaming plate of enchiladas. There are multiple floors to this library and extensive collections, and the most recent addition is a…
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