cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
On the wall in my yoga studio’s bathroom hangs a photo of Bob Dylan with his words: “All I can do is be me, whoever that is.” I smile every time I see it, feeling reaffirmed that after nearly four decades of life, I’m still figuring “me” out. It’s ironic that these words that resonate…
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There is a girl I keep locked away. She sneaks out occasionally. You would think she would try to be quiet to avoid detection when she gets out, but this girl doesn’t know how to be quiet. This girl has opinions, and she is loud. Here is what I know about her: She questions everything.…
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I am from my own imagination From ground scorched with misdirected rage I am from forced silence From underwater screams stuck burning my throat I am from her dark hallow From a lifetime of aching belly I am from both body and mind filled with too many scoops of Mama I am from familial pain…
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There is a photo I love that my daughter took on a southern beach several years ago. Brown curls float around my freckled face in the sea breeze. Sitting in the sand and gazing toward the horizon, I watch salmon and burgundy-colored clouds float to position for the sunset. Golden hour lights fine lines and…
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“You know I absolutely adore you.” His words return to me vivid and tender. An evergreen glistened with tiny white lights as raindrops pelted the brick landing of the retreat center before I boarded the airport shuttle. I picture the wild hair and dancing eyes of the kind man holding my face in his hands…
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