cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Amanda, our second born, cut the thick rye bread on a cutting board across from the sink. The remnants of the bread scattered over the counter onto the floor. I bent down to sweep up the debris, and she said, “I have always felt the weight of your perfectionism.” Annie, our firstborn, and I were…
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I was driving on a road that normally takes two minutes; it took me forty to reach my destination. I thought that there had been a car accident because I could see a car angled and a few people hugging on the side of the road. Caught in this gridlock, I sat in my car.…
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