The Life I’m Living: Car Accidents, Job Descriptions and Making Turkey Meatballs

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I am wrist deep in raw eggs and ground turkey, basil, rosemary and thyme. The peach-colored meat squishes through my fingers as I mix it with the homemade breadcrumbs I just pulverized out of gluten-free pretzels. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon and I am standing in my stinky morning workout clothes making turkey meatballs for dinner. I am telling you this because I do not like to cook. I do not enjoy the thinking up of a meal, the shopping for and prepping. I do not like managing the timeline of dinner, serving up various dishes nice and hot. I do not like begging my kids to please come to the table, not in a minute, but now. The day-long journey into dinner distracts me, pulling me away from a million other more important, more interesting, more pressing thoughts, endeavors and pursuits. It’s that annoying fly that won’t go away no matter how many times I swat at it.

Except somehow, today, it isn’t. Continue reading “The Life I’m Living: Car Accidents, Job Descriptions and Making Turkey Meatballs”

What I Learned On the Last Day of the Year

Found TreasuresAlmost a month into the new year and finally 2015 is a soft blur, a whirl of high emotion spinning over a constant, blinking beat of down lowness. I grappled with sadness and grasped at spurts of wonder, wanting to hold on to them, pocket them like found treasures: the smoothest amber stone glimmering in the creek bed, the tiniest acorn dropped too soon from the oak, the downiest gray feather clinging to the rose bush. Talismans. Augurs. Omens. Somehow they always slipped away.

I wanted so badly to make sense of each day, drop into bed satisfied and yawning, emerging each morning shining and whole, ready for Joy because – and this is true – Joy is everywhere. It’s right here in the kitchen in the buttered up frying pan, in the sizzling egg. Oh, and here it is again, in the sweet, firm kiss from my husband as I stand against the sink, dirty dishes piling. Now for some more Joy from the tail-wagging dog, her head in my lap, and in the gap-toothed grin of my four-year-old when she comes running to me after putting on her socks by herself. I sweep her up into my arms and…and…and what? I am fleetingly happy in the glow of others’ happiness, but Joy does not seep through my skin, douse my heart and stay. Continue reading “What I Learned On the Last Day of the Year”

Thoughts For the New Year: When a Missing Umbrella Makes Room for Joy

IMG_8169I wanted to write something wise about this past year. I wanted to take a sage look back, bright spots highlighted with gratitude, low points vaguely alluded to then quickly turned on their ears and repackaged as lessons learned. I wanted to recount our family vacations, our celebrations, our laughter. I wanted to write about a few trying moments so I could show how I’ve weathered the storm and come up with a plan for next year. I wanted to smile nostalgically at last year’s blinks of undiluted bliss as I leave the cliffs and crags of 2015 behind me and soar into 2016 with my wings fluttering in the brilliant light of the new year. Continue reading “Thoughts For the New Year: When a Missing Umbrella Makes Room for Joy”

Remembering My Grandpa, Latkes in Bermuda and a Dash of Nutmeg

We are in Bermuda on vacation with my grandparents. This is the first and only time we will vacation with them. My grandpa is sick. Is it lung cancer? Kidney failure? I can’t remember what will lay him to rest within the year.

We spend mornings on the beach, rocky outcrops shielding us from the big waves. My dad and I explore the tide pools left behind in the crags and dips while my mom and grandma sit in low, folding chairs watching my two-year-old sister play in the sand, her diaper warm and soggy. My mom wears a wide, brightly colored fabric headband and huge, bug-eyed sunglasses. My grandma has her signature shmata on her head, a white triangular kerchief that keeps her hairdo in place. Continue reading “Remembering My Grandpa, Latkes in Bermuda and a Dash of Nutmeg”

Lists and Prayers

IMG_7747The Little One wakes in the middle of the night. “Mama, I’m scared,” she says. She is pressed to the side of my bed, her face inches from mine. I can just make out her tousled outline in the gloom. She is clutching her Elephant Lovey, wide-awake, restless, needing. I am sluggish and groggy, but not entirely asleep.

This is the fourth night out of the last five she’s come padding down the hallway before daylight. After the second night, my body reset itself to match her wonky circadian rhythm and I stir just seconds before I hear her door open. Each night before I click my light off, I plead to whatever divine power is in charge of slumber: “Please let her stay in her bed tonight.” My prayer is for me as much as it is for her. Once again my petition has been denied. Continue reading “Lists and Prayers”

When I Was 19: The Trial and Error of Becoming Our Full Selves

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True and trusted friends since 1988.

When I was 19, I breathed in the sweet North Carolina air, still sticky and humid in September, cool and glorious by November. Southern Sugar Maple trees offered up their fine broad leaves, first in vibrant green, then in gold and rust. For the first time in 10 years, I lived in a place where it didn’t snow in the winter. Still, the ground hardened in the colder end-of-year weather and we wore wool coats, but the down parka I was used to was out of the question. Elegant Dogwoods flowered white and soft pink in the spring. I took on a subtle southern drawl, seamlessly blending “y’all” into my everyday lingo.

When I was 19, I was failing Econ, in lust with a gorgeous, born-again baseball player and after seven months at college still filling my belly with way too much alcohol weekend after weekend, often throwing up before crawling to bed, always stumbling down to the cafeteria in the morning for a bowl of creamy grits smothered in butter. Continue reading “When I Was 19: The Trial and Error of Becoming Our Full Selves”