cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
I wasn’t there when my parents said their marriage vows 61 years ago, but I was there when their vows were fulfilled. Both the beginning of their union and the end were marked with a kiss. Bearing witness to this moment was one of the most holy honors of my life. In mid-September my 87-year-old…
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To my Love during this holiday season, You look down at your belly and place your hand gently on the slight natural curve. You wonder, What happened? What did I do? Why is there no baby inside? You breathe a deep sigh, which leads to a release of salty water welling up in your eyes,…
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I met him on a “highly qualified” blind date. I was 22 years old and had heard his name hundreds of times. He was in town for a speaking engagement, and a mutual friend called me last minute to ask if I would go on the blind date. I nervously said yes. I spent the…
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What does he see when he looks at me now? Does he even see me? A version of me, certainly But the real me?
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I am moving through the class movements when I hear our instructor Anna say to the yoga class, “Relax your shoulders and pull your tongue back from the roof of your mouth.” It takes a few seconds to register what she is saying, and then I notice my tongue is, in fact, stuck to the…
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“Disconnected” is the word I would use to describe how I was feeling during 2020. As a grandmother of six grandchildren, I slowly began to realize that I was missing them. Connecting through social media felt too invasive, too quick, and too sterile, as my heart drifted away from them. I was experiencing the losses…
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“You are one of the bravest people I know,” I squeaked, as tears filled my eyes. She kept my gaze as I spoke a blessing over her cross-country journey into the unknown. Without concrete work and with very temporary housing in place, she was moving back to L.A. after a long COVID relocation. A bright…
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Errreeeeooooo-errreeeeooooo-errreeeeoooooo-errreeeeooooo. I looked down after sitting attached to the human milking machine (if you know, you know) for 35 minutes only to see 1 ounce total compiled by my milk machines. After so much of my time and life connected to that damn pump, I was so over it.
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A few nights ago, my three-and-a-half year-old daughter, steeped in curiosity, approached me with yet another one of her earnest questions. “Mom,” she said, her big blue eyes looking up at me, “What’s a mother?” Familiar only with the more casual “Mom,” “Mama,” or “Mommy,” she had heard the word “mother” somewhere and found it…
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A 5:30 a.m. alarm abruptly disrupts my sleep. Startled by the familiar song, I roll over to stop the annoyance. Picking up my phone to turn off my weekday alarm, I orient myself to the day and the time. My morning motivation has disappeared, and I lie in bed for as long as I can.…
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