the beauty of an ordinary life
"Home," as Jimmy Carter wrote, in a piece for The Bitter Southerner, "is a complicated idea." I've been sewing in the mornings, sitting in my chair by the window, sipping coffee and stitching in the few quiet moments before other more immediate responsibilities take the stage, which usually isn't very long. Sewing, and this kind … Continue reading Something about sewing.
(Originally posted with the title, "The Moon Is Like China," on August 23, 2014. The version below is a revision and, therefore, quite a bit different from the original.) One day, at some point in our childhood, my sister and I were riding in the car, and my sister, staring out the window, said, apropos … Continue reading Something recycled.
After her fifth or sixth miscarriage, my mother, resigned to the reality that a baby might not be in the cards, went with my father to the animal shelter and came home with a puppy. Without much debate they named the small, black-and-white ball of fur Happy, partly because the dog's mouth was shaped in … Continue reading Happy.
Because Christmas falls on a Wednesday this particular year, the boy wakes on Monday without any particular plans. On Sunday they had done their Sunday things – church and lunch at Nana’s house. On Tuesday they would do Christmas Eve things. Monday, the day in between, begins empty. It will be a long time, a … Continue reading Christmas, 1940.
The part of this that is a story, at the beginning, is mostly true and very short - hardly even a story, it's so short. But it's true nonetheless, in the important ways, and amended appropriately because it isn't mine. A number of years ago a dear friend was hosting Thanksgiving dinner. More specifically, a … Continue reading Babies, tarnish and dust.
This story will be less risqué than you might fear, or hope: I bought myself, sort of by accident, a purple lace bra for Christmas. We were out looking for stocking stuffers and standard Santa fare, my daughter and I, trying to get it all done in one single open-air-mall expedition because I quite hate … Continue reading Warning. (AKA “the year I accidentally bought a purple bra for Christmas”)
Twenty years ago this week, I met my children's father. Nineteen years ago this summer, my own father drank himself to death. The two events are related in a way, though not in the way you might be thinking. Unless you are thinking that my father finally let go when he knew both of his … Continue reading Paterfamilias.
It is time to divulge a secret about myself that very few people know: I'm a math geek. Not a Rainman, slay-the-tables-in-Vegas math geek, just a place-out-of-freshman-math-at-Princeton math geek. My dad was a math geek, and we used to have fun making up goofy algebra problems for no good reason other than to entertain ourselves. … Continue reading Order of operations.
jenny's lark 