We celebrated the life of a loved one this past weekend at the bay. Before stepping into the knee-deep water to take pictures, I pulled the bottom hem of my long grey skirt up between my legs and tucked it into the front of my waistband (think Lucy meets grapes). The flowers were so beautiful floating on the glassy surface. I followed them across the cove for a few minutes,...
I stand on the deck of the boat, brow furrowed against whipping hair, wind lashing my back. I watch my heart trampoline hard on the wake, tethered to me with the thinnest rope. He swings wide, an inked stylus recording a round swell of current, then jerks left and right, scratching thick and black the sharp spikes of my fear. A final jolt, and he slips under the dark water....
My older sister invites me to come stay at a house on the beach to celebrate her 50th birthday. I rent a Ford Escape that has Bluetooth and satellite radio and cruise control, pack up my two kids, a suitcase and a cooler, kiss my husband goodbye and head for North Carolina. We stop too many times for too many potty breaks, get too deep into the country to find...
We took the train into the city on a cold Friday morning. Union Station was gothic, beautiful and quiet in the early hours of the day. I sipped hot coffee and the children shared a cinnamon sugar pretzel in the white tiled food court. We walked across the street and into the National Postal Museum inside the Old City Post Office. We spent the next two hours moving back and...
My sous-chef drizzled the maple sugar on the scones with more skill and style than I’ve ever brought to bear. My return to work weighed heavily on my heart and mind all day.
Spent the morning with my loves at a cozy coffee shop in Arlington. I wrote in my journal about 2013, about my hopes for renewal and rebirth. My girl began writing in her tiny purple Moleskine, too. Tonight we will light candles, share our writings and craft a family vision for this year to come. Then we will pop popcorn and play a game, and then we will blow out...
The blue-grey light returned on Boxing Day, along with snow, sleet, rain, cold. I felt like I was back in central New York. I burned Nag Champa and played 80’s music in our warm kitchen. John fried cold slabs of leftover grits in the cast iron skillet, and I ate two of them with butter and my most favorite-est thing ever, Sriracha.
Pre-dawn whispers (I stuffed my head under a pillow and went back to sleep). Presents opened before the eight o’clock hour. Hot coffee from the Chemex. Sweet, soft challah French toast eaten continental style by a bad piggie. Organic, fresh-pressed juice to cut through the sweet. Beautiful music streaming through the house. Gentle, quiet focus on a new art.
For the first time, my girl helped braid the challah, her small fingers gently moving the ropes and curling in ends. We used the knife as a chisel and popped chunks of Callebaut in our mouths while we worked. The challah baked up quick. We left the hot loaf to cool on a wire rack and drove to church, where I sat on the edge of my seat as our...
Merry Christmas. xxoo