It is our 22nd summer in Memphis. It is time now, in the midst of a global pandemic, racial reckoning, and massive upheaval, to tell the story of our house. But the story of our house, our home, would be void of meaning without the story of how we got here. And so, to start, … Continue reading An ordinary marriage.
They didn't know their names, much less how to walk on a leash. They weren't housebroken. They were heartworm positive and required treatment. You said: Put your dogs in the car, and let's go. We had driven down to a rescue group's house in rural Mississippi to check out a pair of chocolate Labs I'd … Continue reading 9
Nurse the baby, feed the toddler (Cheerios), pack bags, shower, dress, listen to Veggitales, drive to Calvary (look, it's a backhoe! and an excavator!), go to work, leave work at 5:55 (because Calvary Place closes at 6), feed the children, read books, bathe children, read more books, nurse the baby, fall asleep. I have a … Continue reading 15
We're going to need a bigger house, I said. You were not sure. The people who built this house and lived here for 52 years, the people who planted the twin dogwood trees in the front yard, they raised two children in this house, you said. But both children were girls, I reminded you. Our … Continue reading 16
It rained on Memorial Day, so instead of playing tennis, as I'd planned, I sat on the sofa with you, watched Trading Spaces and Nigella Bites while our son crawled on the floor and played with the red, plastic fireman's hat that he got at a Memorial Day parade and the green stretchy band that … Continue reading 17
Our friends, the ones who invited us (and only us) to their elopement in Santa Fe, are here from Chicago, and we visit the roof of the Peabody Hotel, looking at the duck quarters, me in my pink-print maternity shift (my favorite) and the green Smith sunglasses that are actually yours but that you've given … Continue reading 18
We rang in the new century with my sister and her husband and the open sky, looking at the stars over Snow King and drinking Moët. This part I know you remember. And then you stayed the winter in Wyoming, in the mountains that we both loved (still love), with your dog (not my dog), … Continue reading 19
We drove home from dinner, a cozy evening with a few friends, and changed into our nightclothes to wait. It was early, and it was cold, and we were winter-tired, feet moving to the rhythm of a primal hibernation call. Our children were nestled under covers, watching Netflix and avoiding homework. It had the normal … Continue reading Slivers of infinite happiness.