Our first year of marriage wasn’t what I’m assuming many newlyweds experience.
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cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Our first year of marriage wasn’t what I’m assuming many newlyweds experience.
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If it weren’t for second chances we’d all be alone. –Gregory Alan Isakov
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Everything about the place said “welcome”: the rich red bricks of the exterior, the scent and sounds of the waterfront only a block away, the warm light falling on worn hardwood floors inside, and couches and chairs beckoning me to make myself at home.
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The rain came in sheets, weighing down the leaves and rushing down the gutters of the house.
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There is a small statue that sits on the bookshelf just above my computer.
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Walking up the stairs towards the 4th grade classroom I take in the architecture and the smells of this old place, the large staircase with it’s carved handrail and the wooden door to the classroom feel like they belong in an old movie.
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My grandmother reaches up from her hospital bed and cups my cheek with her shaky hand.
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Little girl… I see you Eyes open… shining blue
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How often do you do things that scare you?
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I have two French dueling guns that I set out each Memorial Day and on July Fourth as a reminder of the high cost of freedom.
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