cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
The wilderness. That is where it feels like I am, especially lately. The wife of a dear friend I have known for 20 years passed away this week. She was in her late 30s. They have an 8-week-old daughter, their first and now only. Cancer took her within a month of her diagnosis. Two of…
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I didn’t realize how long I had been holding my breath. The sun beams through the oval-shaped window of the plane. I consider if an oval is the correct shape to attribute to an aircraft window, and I reflect on my six-year-old daughter’s tears yesterday at not getting her shapes correct in online school. I…
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Weeks before the collective pandemic upheaval in March 2020, I found myself stepping off the Seattle-to-Bainbridge Island ferry. I am carrying a backpack chock-full of books. Some of the books are mine; others are not. Books are friends, holding words I want to remember. Piles of them are stacked in both my home and therapy…
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He looks at me and says, “You are just acting like a white supremacist.” I feel the knot in my throat constrict. My fists clench, unclench. His eyes are cast down. Silence ensues.
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Somewhere between Kobe, Covid and Killings, we lost our ability to play. Sitting outside of a makeshift emergency room, I asked God,” Is this what we have been reduced to?” Question after question, and no answer came.
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An unexpected shift At first so shocking, So unsettling, So off-center.
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“Aren’t you afraid they’ll expose you to the virus?” “Are you crazy?” The phone calls from friends and family were kind and filled with concern for our wellbeing. My answers at the time? “Sometimes,” and “No.” Riding in the waves of news of the pandemic, I felt assured in my decision to offer two young…
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I am crumpled up on my kitchen floor, head in hands, hiding beneath a soundtrack of Fernando Ortega and Bifrost Arts, hoping my kids don’t notice I am weeping, It’s holy ground, but it feels like falling apart.
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For the first time in three years, my family is living under the same roof. My older son came home for spring break, never imagining that he wouldn’t be returning to campus for the remainder of his semester. My younger son’s high school senior year has been greatly altered, as he and his classmates now…
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My boys have not brushed their teeth in six days. How do I know, you ask? Well, their toothbrushes and toothpaste are separately sealed in reusable bags on the window seat in our bedroom since I unpacked six days ago. I’m tempted to let them go one more day at least, so they have the…
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