Do you remember how I’d walk near you on a Saturday morning? There was a grey drizzle and puddles growing all around, sometimes even a stream forming from the hillside and out the old black tube. I don’t remember rain jackets, but a grey sweatshirt that would slowly soak across the morning. I’d trace…
We’ve recently moved to the desert, a rocky land punctuated by jumping cholla and pink skies with air dry enough to crack your lips and warm enough that even now in early March I rarely wear more than a thin sweater, and, then, only when it is early morning or after that bright sun has…
HE LAY ON my chest, his purrs reverberating through my body. I stroked his ginger striped fur, soft as his baby fluff had been. This little one who had joined our family fifteen years prior—before babies, in the era of walk-up apartments and cross-country moves, when it was just Matt and I and the kittens:…
I grew up in a world where I was obligated to forgive. You must or else. The “or else” was never clear. God holding a grudge, me teetering on the edge of hell was a threat. As a child I just knew it was bad and my salvation was at risk. I must forgive and…
The parcel of land goes by many names. Hellstrip, planting strip, outlawn, greenway, verge. It is that space between the sidewalk and the street, a sort of no man’s land that might be filled with sod, a tree, or dirt piles and dandelions. The verge in front of our home was largely barren when we…
Wednesday morning. 4:00 a.m. or so. Another worry-filled day approaching. As I continue to rest in my warm, comfortable bed I begin my ritual of praying for my kids, grandkids. When I get to my Parkinson’s list I get hung up thinking about Tom and his wife Jeanie*. I finally get up, let the…
They sit cross-legged in the grass. The sun reflects on the dew in the community garden, highlighting Durga’s contagious smile. She sits in a bright green kameez with a dupatta draped around her head, binding her midnight silk hair. Her husband, Phauda, sits beside her, twirling blades of grass. Durga’s laugh lines deepen as she…
Jacob wrestled with God. I have no idea why. I have no idea how. I just know that he did. I know because I too wrestle with God. I’m wrestling now. Confounded by the parasitic terrorist of a germ threatening my normalcy and yours. So I walk to the water to make sense of it…
Angels we have heard on high. But rarely do we see them. When we’re low and need the peace to help us muster a smile, it may take an angel or two. Seasons show us the cyclical nature of life. One year ago I was being prepped for surgery to remove a very large tumor…
I feel guilty a lot. It’s my go-to. Guilty if I take too much time for myself. Guilty when I don’t feel like picking up my kids for the zillionth time. Guilty when I’m tired. Guilty that I’m not doing more, more, more. Guilt can be good. It can mean regret and we learn. An…
In the past two months, I have lost my home, my possessions, my job, and my church. I’m not a natural disaster victim. I didn’t do anything wrong. My partner didn’t leave me or die. All of these losses were voluntary. I lost them in order to gain something far more precious: my health. Allow…
Hygge is the posture of the Danes in the long dark months of a northern winter. They create environments of beauty and pleasure, safe from the harsh elements outside. Candlelight in the windows, wood piled high for the hearth, knitted blankets, hot tea, and good books. Everything this hobbit of a girl could ask for.…
On Tuesday, August 21, 2015, after a 12-½ year battle with United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), including almost four years’ separation, my husband, Patrick, now with U.S. Legal Permanent Residence (LPR) status, landed at SeaTac International airport. Our 8-year-old son, Solomon, and I were waiting anxiously and I sobbed with elation and relief…
It’s late afternoon on a winter Saturday, and I’ve taken my children to the beach for an hour of fresh air, an hour of running around and tossing beach stones into the water before the day is gone. What light we’ll get today in the northwestern corner of the country has already crested and is…
I need a single bowl of tomatoes for dinner, but the plant is overflowing with the delicate orange orbs. It’s the end of an extravagantly fertile summer that began with a slow spring and plentiful rain, a rarity for our high desert climate. My garden has responded to the weather, heavy with produce. As I…
Kindred 