The humidity greets me with a sticky embrace as I step outside onto my back porch in Austin. I question whether to turn and walk back into my office. No, I need to breathe something other than air-conditioned air this morning.
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All articles filed in Tracy Johnson
A Seat at the Table
I wrote for Red Tent Living for almost exactly eight years before ever meeting Tracy Johnson in person. We had, of course, communicated via email, but I did not have the opportunity to spend time with her in “real life” until I attended the Sacred Interruption retreat in Knoxville last October. I was deep in…
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Hello Dear Friends
Over a decade ago, my mother, Tracy, welcomed you to a tiny corner of the internet that was slowly unfolding as Red Tent Living. The website was always intended to be a place where women could come and connect in the middle of our messy and hard ordinary. Red Tent Living wasn’t about perfectly curated…
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Becoming Myself
Cold January rain pelted the windshield of my red Ford Expedition as I drove toward Barnes and Noble. I parked and swiftly exited the car, retrieving the stroller. I deftly popped it open with one hand, a finely honed skill. Unfastening Elly from her seat behind me, I securely strapped her into the stroller, tucking…
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The Reformation Table
“Catholic is the same as Christian, right mom?” I stopped spreading peanut butter on the bread for the girls’ sandwiches and looked up at Libby. “That’s an interesting question. What exactly are you asking?” I could have said a simple “yes” and let it go, but I wanted to know what was behind the question.
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The Solidarity of Sisterhood
Her text came at 4:45 p.m. “There is a shooter in the mall.” “I’m safe.” “In the back.” “Our gate is closed, and everyone is out of sight.” I was standing in my closet, trying to decide what to wear to a party we were set to attend. As much for myself as for her,…
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Unexpectedly Good
Steven climbed into the passenger seat of the Toyota Sequoia. “Let’s take the back way to Holland, Mom.” I back down our angled driveway and head for H Avenue and then over to Sixth Street. The quiet backroads of Kalamazoo are lined with trees and sprawling green grass in the summertime. Hand-painted signs lean against…
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Storm-Tossed Seas
I found them gathered on the back deck. PJ pants, hoodies, and hot cups of coffee in hand, my four daughters were circled up and telling stories to one another. The seventeen years that separates them is starting to feel less difficult to close, especially today as the topic at hand is their bodies. The…
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Eight Years Old
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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Good News
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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