cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I once knew a girl who was free. She wasn’t weighed down by worry or shame, and she got lost in adventures led by her fearless feet. Occasional scrapes and snags were part of the passion. Mending her wings seemed to require just a little rest, and then she’d fly off again. I long for…
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I can hear her. On the nights The wind screams through the trees And the waves crash In rhythmic chaos On the shore. When night is darkest And bejeweled skies Tell no secrets.
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As I sit here, sipping my morning coffee and gazing out the window at my two teenage sons, I can’t help but daydream about the days when they’ll be off to college and my husband and I will be empty nesters. I love my kids more than anything in this world. They’re the light of…
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I’m a Boomer. In my childhood home, our telephone hung on the kitchen wall, and every time it rang, shouts of “I’ve got it!” resounded throughout the house as my brothers and I raced from every direction to get there first. Competition often provided the tension that held us close to one another: who got…
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Wild woman dances in the trees, Her feet caked with mud. Hair in knots, She twirls and yells The songs of her ancient soul.
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The hours are ticking down on the year and snow is blanketing the roads, sticking in clumps on branches and bistro lights. The inside thermometer reads a number as ridiculously high as the outside number is low, and I am still chilled to the bone. My husband and I are reviewing the year and finishing…
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As she spoke of wedding plans, her eyebrows drew together, lines becoming visible on her young face. I watched the weight of exhaustion sweep over her, pulling her shoulders forward. She sighed. It is clear she is in love with her partner. He is absolutely smitten and she is equally adoring of him. I had…
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Every Body – Any Body All are welcome – HERE! In this moment, there is peace. You are free to lay your burden down. What is the name of the weight you carry so patiently on those strong and weary shoulders? What are the accusations, those judgments, shouting and whispering to you?
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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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What felt like the bitter end was really the sweet beginning. The sweet beginning to a new life. The bitter end to oppression. The bitter end to patterned, repeated, intentional, and willful systematic oppression. The sweet beginning to freedom from suppression and systemic fear.
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