the beauty of an ordinary life
The drought of March. In like a lion, out like a lamb. Oh, March, you unpredictable transition month. If February is the pause between inhale and exhale, March might be the incubator for an early adolescent growth spurt – fits and starts, a mix of rain, snow (for some), sun, and the first dusting of…
For the shortest month of the year, February carried more than its weight. It was, at some points, unbearably heavy. But for those of us who stubbornly refuse to give up hope, February brought more than its fair share of that, too, mostly in the form of young promise and new energy. What teenagers lack…
Looking back over the past 12 months, the way December beckons that kind of review, one encounter stands out as perhaps the best thing to happen to me in this terrible, wonderful year. I was having lunch with a philanthropist friend, trying (badly) to make a case for funding the nonprofit agency where I’ve worked…
An actual family dinner conversation: SON: [to MOM] “So, why’d you move all that stuff and mess up the big room?” MOM: “I need more space for my art and sewing and things. Maybe I’ll have people over, teach a class; who knows? I might even teach you to sew, so you can sew a…
A little more than a year ago, I started a new job, taking the helm of a well-established but fragile nonprofit agency dedicated to ending family violence. Someday I’m going to write about the experience; but today isn’t that day. Today I have something else in mind, keeping with the theme of sifting and sorting…
The letter, were there to be one (which there will not), might continue this way: And now it is finally October. The end of sandals, the start of boots. Irrespective of temperature (because, in Memphis one can’t be particular about such things), October is the beginning of stews and pot-pies, of flower beds going to…
I crave the mountains. Right up until the minute I set foot on a beach.
Last we were together (three weeks ago? four?), we were talking about seeing and being seen. You are thinking, perhaps, that my memory is dodgy, that I’ve forgotten about the Frye boot story in between. What you don’t know is that I wrote the letter to The Frye Company at the end of February, weeks…
