A year now. For a year now, I’ve been trying a new way of being. It’s a slower life, one that allows a tiny splash of grace to trickle into the moments that are frenzied, like when the dogs are barking and the kitchen timer just went off, and the toddler peed on the rug
Cure is perhaps the wrong word, but I have seen this technique work time and time again, in my own life and in the life of others. It worked when I found myself in Los Angeles, lost in the Sepulveda sea, pulling over and enduring my second panic attack of the week. It worked when
I don’t believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. Julia Child said this. A recipe, then. It’s an easy one, and a nutritious one, and it requires five minutes and a blender. No knots, no excuses, no explanations. I like to dress it up when I make
I don’t know; it’s just that I should probably tape it all to my fridge: When you feel hungry, but nothing sounds good, you’re actually just thirsty. Drink some water, lady. Good gracious. Everyone yells. There is grace for today. Do not order the jeans online. They will not fit, and jeans are not on
Bee. Last week, you played with Barnacles, Peso, Shellington, Kwazii, Dashy and Trick (whom I am mispronouncing, you tell me). They are your friends in Ecuador, and they are found in the treetops, but sometimes they move to the fish pond and you must call them each, one by one, until they float to the
A few years ago, Ken and I hosted our family Christmas. We had 16 mouths to feed and a handful of picky kids, so the menu chose us: a pasta bar. To the voices of Bing Crosby and David Bowie, we stir butter noodles and simmer heirloom tomatoes and begin to prep the star of
While brushing my teeth, a realization arrives so quickly that I spit, fast, wipe the errant toothpaste on my bath towel and tiptoe in my moccasins down the hall to the office, and I write this: I have been evaluating my good days all wrong. Nightly, I write a simple daily recap in my journal.
Is that an instant camera?, my friend asks as I (unsuccessfully) pretend I’m not taking a photo of my shoes. I was trying not to be obvious – we are always trying not to be obvious, aren’t we? – and yet, by the time the shoe photo is finished developing, she and I have moved