Notes
I don’t address it to anyone, mostly because I don’t know to whom it’s going. (Dear School? Dear Lady in the Front Office whose name I don’t know?) I forgo the formality and just start. Please excuse… Continue Reading
grief
Holding Up The Hurting — Coffee+Crumbs —
The first piece of devastating news comes via email on a nondescript afternoon. Afterward, I sit in a blue chair in my living room staring out the window in disbelieving shock for I’m not sure how long. How could this… Continue Reading
The Royal Wedding: It’s Not About the Lemon Curd
I place a bottle of prosecco on its side then work in a hexagonal glass jar of lemon curd next to it. Then, two packages of crumpets and a box mix of scones go into the doubled brown… Continue Reading
Bittersweet — from Coffee+Crumbs
I lift the bags of groceries into the trunk of the van while my son plays in the back seat. He turns to me and flops his toothpick arms over the last row. He looks at me with eyelashes implausibly… Continue Reading
How We Are
After our reception, Chris and I ran out of the church, he in his tux and I in a short red dress with red heels, through an archway of flying birdseed, into my dad’s car. My brother drove us away… Continue Reading
Three or Under
As a nurse, assessing for pain is part of the job. Falling behind temperature, heart rate, respiratory rate, and blood pressure, pain is “The Fifth Vital Sign.” It seems simple, but learning to assess pain is the first step in… Continue Reading
When Mother’s Day is Hard
School supplies show up in July. Halloween arrives the second after school starts. Thanksgiving gets ten feet of shelf space and watches Christmas march in on November 1. Red hearts on New Year’s. Shamrocks on February 15th. Mother’s… Continue Reading
When Cookies Become Connections
Butter. Flour. Cream. These three ingredients make up the dough of my favorite holiday cookies. We call them Kifle (a filled crescent cookie from eastern Europe) and I can eat 400 at one sitting. (I’ve never actually counted, but that’s… Continue Reading
Missing Mom: The Day She Died
My son flops both his arms over the last seat, watching me load up the groceries into the trunk of our minivan. He is a busy child. He can be tough and stubborn with an alarming ability to use his… Continue Reading
Half and Half
I fall into bed, exhausted. What’s the date tomorrow? The 30th. I sigh. I knew it was coming up. He asks, “Is tomorrow the day? How many years has it been?” It takes me a bit—Oh God.… Continue Reading