I have to confess that the holiday-version of me is intense.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I have to confess that the holiday-version of me is intense.
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As a young girl, I loved the rain. I loved dancing in the rain, running in the rain, just being in the rain.
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During fourth grade, my Mom signed me up for an entire year of jazz class.
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It takes tremendous faith and trust to follow.
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Today, I ran the vacuum cleaner close to where my nephew Andrew was reading, in my own house, at mid-day. I had every right to clean, but what tumbled reflexively from my core was, “Oh, I am so sorry.”
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Put a band-aid on your heart.
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Three days after Christmas in 1999, I found out that my mom had died her in sleep.
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I’m unsure of how to start the conversation about honor.
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Lately, so much pain has confronted me. So many people I know facing such grief.
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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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