cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Alter Ego: The part of someone’s personality not usually seen by others. — Cambridge Dictionary This week I went away for five days to work on a writing project that I hope will emerge as book this year. In preparation I got some help to create a plan for how to spend my days as productively…
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The December rain was cold as we walked from the neurosurgeon’s office to our Mazda minivan. I would have run to avoid getting soaked, but running was not an option for Mark, so we walked as quickly as his nerve-damaged leg would allow. The sun had already started to set, and Christmas lights twinkled as…
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Dear Ministry Sister, I’ve had you on my mind all afternoon. I’ve been thinking about how things are for you and what I would want to hear if I was you. First, I want to say thank you. Thank you for saying yes to the call that led you where you are today. I want…
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Shades of pink stretched across the horizon and the air was thick and warm. Mark and I had a plate of nachos between us and had chosen to sit outside despite the heat. Her text dropped onto my phone around 6 p.m., “Thinking of you today, and holding this day 18 years ago.” As I…
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“It’s not rebels that make trouble, but trouble that makes rebels.” – Ruth Messinger The air is cool and damp, dewy droplets visible on the grass. Sipping my coffee, I try to distinguish how many different birds I can hear…at least four accompanied by some morning crickets. It’s just cool enough that I grab the…
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2007 was the year I began to write. I wrote to name things I had carried around inside for too long without voice being given to them. I wrote to tell myself my own story. It was also the year my oldest daughter graduated from high school and my youngest daughter turned one. I felt…
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The fall air was crisp, and the leaves on our majestic maple tree were a vivid hue of orange, almost iridescent, as I walked down the winding driveway of our Michigan home. Gathering up the contents of the mailbox, I noticed a small package addressed to me. I recognized the handwriting of a dear friend.…
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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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Morgan returned to the sparsely furnished “pink room” holding Katy’s wedding dress in the air, ensuring the tulle train wasn’t hitting the floor. Carefully she hung it on the rod, placing the veil next to it. Smiling, she turned to Katy and said, “It’s time to get your dress on. Ladies, everyone out except Katy…
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It’s 2 a.m. The limbs of the trees outside my window are moving in the wind; the sound of the leaves rustling a bit is agitating. I can’t stop my thoughts, one after another, all in a similar vein, and none of them productive. “Did I have caffeine after 2 p.m.?” “Are these hot flashes…
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