cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Last month our family was captivated by the World Cup. We went on emotional roller coasters, moved by the anthems of countries around the world, the ebb and flow of each match, and the implications of choices made (or not made) by FIFA, Qatar and the players.
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“the truth is my hope is mangled. it limps and creaks at night. you speak of hope like a white bird soaring. it’s okay that mine is the battered exhale, a bench with splintered wood.” — Cole Arthur Riley
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What are you? demands the bag boy as his hand makes sweeping, circular motions in front of his face. I am fire and I am frail. I am strength and sarcasm. Demonstrative and demure. I cry, I am human.
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We sit at the table she and I. Our weekly ritual of alcohol pads needles liquid chemo deep breaths band aids and painted toenails. She is well-acquainted with bellyaches on the way to another three-hour round of joint exams, therapies and phlebotomists. Another school day away from friends.
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Heavy is the head that wears the crown Out front sittin’ pretty laden with responsibility just because I can be The one who’s able to respond to get shit done
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As she spoke of wedding plans, her eyebrows drew together, lines becoming visible on her young face. I watched the weight of exhaustion sweep over her, pulling her shoulders forward. She sighed. It is clear she is in love with her partner. He is absolutely smitten and she is equally adoring of him. I had…
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I come from a lineage of Mothers—matriarchs in a patriarchal society who dared to believe they could, and they did. When my grandfather died, my grandmother took over his seat as city commissioner, the first woman ever to hold the position in a small, rural town. From the time I was two years old, my…
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She speaks with tempered wit and out drips tender care from lips that brim with wonder and awe. She walks in patience like the dawn, neither fast nor slow. A rising glow that with time shows all things Both true and clear. She beholds what no one knows, A thought too bold to keep untold,…
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“You see, dear—I think there are two types of people in the world. Those who divide the world up into two kinds of people…and those who don’t.” – Tony Hendra Pushing through the heavy church door, I was met by a rush of hot air, thick with humidity and foreshadowing a long, unpleasant southeastern summer.…
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The computer keyboard looked alive, warped and waving as my eyes roamed over the keys. They were everywhere. Ants crawling in and out of the space between the letters and numbers, piling over each other to get to…Where were they going? Wait, where were they coming from? I searched frantically around the desk, my heart…
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