cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
Dormancy All winter long, we surveyed our brittle yard from towering windows, biting our nails, looking at one another furtively. Bald spots like patchy beard growth dotted the hills. “What is happening?” we wondered aloud. We hoped, we prayed for germination. Under the lodgepole and ponderosa pines, where my husband on his knees scraped the…
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There was one Halloween in elementary school when I dressed up as a bride. I had a long white dress and a lace veil covering my face, though nothing about my costume could cover the beauty I felt while walking down the concrete aisle to every front door in my neighborhood, building myself a candy…
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A few mornings ago, I woke with a heavy sense of dread, imbued by the nightmares that sometimes plague me. As I shuffled to the coffee pot, the clamoring needs of my children felt like alarm bells on an already fried nervous system. I was preoccupied with larger worries than “what’s for breakfast?”
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I hadn’t met her before this cold January night when we were sitting in a terribly outdated conference room on the fourth floor of a downtown hospital. She kept fidgeting with her hands, and her eyes darted between her text messages and the clock on the wall. Her bright red sweatshirt was the loudest color…
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Finally the day had arrived!
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There’s just something about a new year. It’s a period, not a comma. A hard stop. That was last year; what does this year hold? We have no idea, and maybe that’s the best part.
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March is full of longing in Michigan.
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I don’t recall any conversations about sex during my formative years.
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More than any other time in my life I am navigating a place that feels deep, unknown and intentional.
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I read over the Red Tent themes for March, and find many that loom large in my life.
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