cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
*Trigger warning that today’s post contains a story of sexual violence. Through very little thought or planning on my part, my work life fell into place and eventually developed into a career plan. When I was twenty, I started working in a clerical job at a federal law enforcement agency, and over the next eight…
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There is a black-and-white photo that sits in my office. The photo is of a favorite four-year-old. In it, she is outside. Even in black and white, I know the sky in the photo is brilliant blue. She is looking straight into the camera lens. Her lovely little face fills the frame, blonde strands of…
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In honor of the tenth anniversary of Red Tent Living, we are featuring a monthly legacy post written by one of our regular contributors from the past decade. Maureen Gebben was one of the original Red Tent Writers; this post originally appeared in September 2013. I’ve had a bolus of change in my life with…
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His voice is hushed when he answers the phone. “I’m in Memeem’s duck blind.” For my entire life my brother has not been known for getting up early. In fact, historically, I don’t call him before noon. Yet my brother is like most men from the small Southern Louisiana town where I grew up, and…
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Finally. After weeks of pain shooting up my spine and into my neck, I was finally getting some relief. I had been okay with makeshift back-cracking mechanisms—over my desk chair, bending over with my arms pushing against the wall until I felt a crrrriiiickkk go up my back—but that could not go on any longer.…
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It was 3:57 AM. As I bounced back and forth, back and forth, listening to the combination of my “sh sh sshhh” and the creaking of the floor boards beneath my unslippered toes, I stared at the canvas on the wall across from our bed that says, “Be still and know.” I’d been up since…
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Before there was gray, I colored my hair to match the roots. Deep brunette painted golden highlights, bringing warmth to summer kissed skin. Transitioning to fall, a blank canvas disguised the need for a practical solution to the “what ifs” that laid ahead. Looking at myself in the mirror that day brought memories of carefree…
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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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