cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I was in the kitchen while my two daughters—ages 2 and 4—sat in front of me eating breakfast. Always curious about what happens in their little minds, I stayed quiet to give space for them to share their thoughts, knowing something conversation-worthy would arise. My oldest soon spoke up. “Mom, do you love your face?”
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Once upon a time there was a girl named Sunny. They called her Sunny because of her golden hair and smile and the way she would light up a room when she entered. And the light emanated from her, and the light was good. Sunny’s mother was named Gilda. Gilda had discovered when she was…
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“You can take off your mask now and check your hair and your lips,” the photographer says as I get ready to take my headshots for work. Check my lips? Oh, right. Women wear lipstick. “My lips always look the same, so they should be fine,” I quip back. As I glance in the mirror, I…
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She stares back at me in the mirror. The dark hollowed eyes, the rounded face, the heavy thighs, the slumped over posture. I know the contours of her well. I despise her most of the time. She doesn’t look like I think she ought to, and she knows it. I tell her all the…
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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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