I am a hoarder of sentiment and nothing stirs that up and smacks you across the face quite like the act of packing for a move, or in this case, a renovation. I managed to purge a box of gift receipts from our wedding 13 years ago along with a stack of insurance packets given…
Pruning leads to growth. It’s so counter-intuitive, but the power of this truth continues to astonish me. I see it in the lacecap verbera twisted through the arbor lattice. I pruned it a year and a half ago and now it’s fuller than I could have imagined. I see it in the apple tree buds, twice…
We had always lived in the city, but after my husband, Bryan, and I brought home two babies to our tiny third-floor condo next to a 7-11—from which we witnessed many dangerous liaisons of both the narcotic and carnal variety, heard delivery trucks arrive next door to unload pallets of Mountain Dew and Doritos at…
By trade I am a forager of flowers. I scavenge, buy, and grow them so I can fashion them into designs. Sometimes I feel as though I breathe, sleep, and live amidst flowers. I have grown right along side them in a metaphysical garden of sorts, and I feel as though my budding days are…
My heart an empty stained old thing It bends within its cage Withering whistling whip-stilled and struggling Rages and bursts again. Be careful with that It’s an emblem, you see Once broken it takes quite an army To push on the sand till it’s swallowed by clams And pearlized by their tongues in their…
For a week straight my son is fixated on the vacuum, a driven, crazed sort of obsession that borders on the insane. He says, “Bacoon,” and makes a whooshing noise with his little baby lips and points furiously toward the basement stairs. “Do you want to see the vacuum?” “Yes,” he says in a way that means, Yes! Why are we wasting our time with this wooden tricycle and PVC-free blocks? Bring me to that dust-covered vacuum! But the moment we reach the concrete floor of the basement, the second that two-foot purplish canister comes into view, my brave toddler…
I.Can’t. Breathe. “It’s all going to be okay,” I tell myself as I try to inhale, barely able to squeeze in enough air to fill my lungs. 1…2…3… I try again. Straining, I can see blackness creeping into my periphery and still, nothing. “We’ve been here before,” I say to myself, “and we’ve always gotten…
Kindred 