cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I could list the number of friends I’ve driven away from; the number of car (or airplane) windows my slobbery nose has pressed up against; the times I’ve been the one left, particularly by my own children at this stage of life. If not people, I could name the habits I’ve attempted to say good…
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As I navigate the deep end of the pool, each stroke propelling me forward, I can’t help but draw a parallel to life’s journey. It’s a constant balancing act of letting go, surrendering to the unknown depths, while also setting boundaries to protect my own well-being and navigate the currents with wisdom and resilience. Amidst…
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One night, sitting in front of the family television, for the first time in my life, I sobbed at the end of a touching movie. The year was 1966, and the film Born Free aired in homes across America. The movie, based on a true story, tells of a lioness named Elsa, an orphaned lion…
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I am not ready to let go. The tears and memories still come to the surface, far too quickly, and for this I hold immense gratitude. I am still holding the glorious faces, stories, words, and brilliant questions of those who went through our institute. The beautiful work was done in partnership and communion alongside…
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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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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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When he was a young child, my son’s body felt like an extension of mine. His nuzzling, nursing lips on my breast, his feel, his smell, his desires—all of it was an extension of me. Even now, as a teenager, his desires and motives are astonishingly transparent to me when I consider how hard it…
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“The days are long, but the years are short.” Gretchen Rubin “And just like that, my youngest is a senior…”My friend’s words, appearing on my laptop screen, snap me out of my social medial reverie. My youngest is a senior too…just like that. I glance toward his bedroom door, and I feel that if I…
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A curious rhythmic beat worked its way into my half sleep. It was barely dawn and as I listened, even before I opened my eyes, I heard first the chorus of birdsong that is the ritual of the Northwest Spring. I had taught myself how to tune into each voice of this holy choir, raising…
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I walk past the bike rack and into the familiar place with different eyes today. I push through the first set of wide metal doors into the entryway, past the water fountain and the “park scooters here” sign.
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