cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
“What you have loved you can never lose.” – Helen Keller About a week before my sister passed away, I was dancing with her in her kitchen in a dim light. I asked her to focus on her breath as I focused on mine. Together we danced as the spirit filled and danced between us.…
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My sister died a few months ago at the end of May. It was morning. She had been sitting in her chair, in her pajamas, and it seems, she simply passed. She had been having pain issues due to a recent series of falls. Even so, her death was unexpected. She was 59 years old. Truth be…
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Carrie lived seven doors down on the opposite side of our street. We met on the first day of school at Baywood Elementary, and we were six years old. The boy who sat between us, Bill, threw up into his desk. Carrie’s eyes met mine with shock and horror, followed by six-year-old giggling, which got…
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I have always had the feeling she knew she was going to be here, long before I knew. I sat on my big bouncy ball, trying to relieve the sharp pains in my pelvis from the necessary collapse of its integrity. The waters broke, and I knew it would be soon. She was already doing…
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In my deepest season of grief, I was called to rise up and go shopping for a formal dress for my niece’s wedding. I hate shopping. In the past, my sister Mary would go with me and make me laugh as she fed dresses over the top of the dressing room door. This was our…
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Six months before my sister lost her battle with cancer, she planned an amazing birthday party at the ocean. While there were many fabulous memories during that vacation, my favorite moment is one that I return to often in my imagination. Mary was floating belly up in a fluorescent pink donut tube and humming a…
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When the Securitate would enter our house, my sister and I would hide in the bathroom, the one where the tile and commode and even the porcelain tub was pink, and tell each other stories. There was the story of the gypsies who kidnapped fair-headed children like ourselves, cut off a hand or foot, then…
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My sister Crystal graciously offered for me and my 17-year-old daughter, Tori, to use her home for a mini vacation while she was out of town.
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I was hungry and tired. It was warm, very warm.
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It started with a Tea Party.
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