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”→
This is one of my favorite prompts during December Reverb. Like most of us, I have a gazillion photos on my phone that I rarely go back and take a look at. This morning I perused every picture my lens captured this past year, experiencing the joy and serenity, humor and beauty of each moment all over again. Such a gift. Without further ado, here are a few of my favorite selfies from 2015:
The clock creeps up on 5 p.m. The sky hangs gray and wintry outside the window. I’m sitting at my mirrored desk in the small alcove of my bedroom. When my older daughter needed her own room two years ago, I ceded my office to her, although it was never really an office. Work went on there, yes, but not officey work. More like creative and contemplative work, wondering work, the work of collecting and sifting and building; quiet work, whirling-words-in-my-head work and then when I needed and wanted, the fraught and delicious work of writing.
Now everything that is mine and meaningful from that room sits atop this desk, in the single drawer, pinned to the large cushioned board hanging on the wall. I am tap, tap, tapping on the keyboard, desperate to use my words, see them appear on the screen, before I have to go downstairs to make dinner. My three girls are endlessly hungry from 4 p.m. on. I have learned to serve dinner early, but that means a few minutes less for me, words flying. Continue reading “Letting Go, Creating Space and Wondering What’s For Dinner”→
It is the day before Thanksgiving and I am driving. The road flattens and curves like a lazy river. Farmland on both sides, one planted in neat little rows, the other dotted with grazing, black cows. The car is stuffed. Duffle bags and pillows, snow gear, three kids and a dog, enough groceries for a month even though we’re only staying four days. We are on the road to Tahoe.
The hour and a half drive to the halfway point is taking double that. Holiday traffic. Everyone running into one another, tapping each other’s bumpers all in a hurry. Cars pull over on the shoulder. We all stop to stare then carry on. Neil Young sings Harvest Moon and I turn it up, hoping the girls will take notice, soak it in. Appreciate. “Because I’m still in love with you, on this harvest moon…”Continue reading “The Right Side of Grateful”→