cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Steven climbed into the passenger seat of the Toyota Sequoia. “Let’s take the back way to Holland, Mom.” I back down our angled driveway and head for H Avenue and then over to Sixth Street. The quiet backroads of Kalamazoo are lined with trees and sprawling green grass in the summertime. Hand-painted signs lean against…
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“I’m wondering what you would think about me going to the parade this weekend?” His eyes were locked on mine, searching for the first sign of hesitation or judgement. I don’t know what he saw for sure. I wanted to be that mom full of “yes” energy, cheering him on and making sure he knew…
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The desert has a distinct feel, one that makes each pore of your body gasp. I forget, as years pile up between visits, what this feeling is. It takes a couple of days to reacquaint myself with the arid mountains, weathered cacti, and unrelenting heat. But then, amidst misters and tank tops, I once again…
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When I was in high school, there was a girl named Becca who was labeled as the social outcast.
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