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a place for everything & everything in its place …
artisan Pronunciation:/ˌɑːtɪˈzan, ˈɑːtɪzan/ NOUN a worker in a skilled trade, especially one that involves making things by hand:street markets where local artisans display handwoven textiles, painted ceramics, and leather goods “We knew love. It wasn’t a matter of declaring it. It was proven.” ~ Seamus Heaney I was on the phone with a friend one morning when I heard a high pitched whistle from the street. She heard it too, and I took a little detour from our conversation to explain that we were hearing the distinct sound of the knife-sharpener passing through my Mexican neighborhood. I like it. More than a call to potential customers, the knife-sharpener’s tune is…
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exhaust the little moment
This little moment … quickly captured by my daughter’s dad after her 8th grade promotion ceremony, he had just figured out how to use my new camera. I remember she was apprehensive about going to the dance afterwards, but her dad said something wise that buoyed her confidence—the way he always did—and off she went, waving brightly to us like the yellow flowers on her new dress. Had I known at the time that he would not live to see her graduate from high school or university, I know I would have embraced this moment more. I also know I sometimes forget to make the time for all the little…
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a more onerous citizenship: biden
Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place. Whether you liked Joe Biden or not, it takes a particular kind of person to exploit his health for profit. To every journalist writing books, every person in the White House administration and/or Trump family commenting on his well-being, what’s wrong with you? He’s a private citizen, and…
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a mother’s days
Each day we move a little closer to the sidelines of their lives, which is where we belong, if we do our job right.–-Anna Quindlen I quit work for a year after my daughter was born. It was the best year of my life, with Sophie attached to me in one of those baby carriers without which I would have been unprepared for motherhood. That’s what the salesperson in Babies R Us had told me. Some days I made it out of my pajamas, but only if I felt like walking out to the mailbox. I was usually bare-faced unlike Dolly Parton, who is always in full-make up, “ambulance, tornado, and earthquake ready” – and who…
