prayer on the eve of election day 2020
May I stay steady. May I not give in to despair. May I channel my anger and grief into effective,
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breaking generational patterns
Being Kind to Sweetpea
I wrenched my back last week, and nine-year old Etta has been very concerned, seeing me wince in pain as I hobble around the house. Last night as I was stiffly and carefully tucking her into bed, she said, “Your spine is being bad! It’s hurting you!”
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the body holds the memories
a poem about childhood abuse, facing fear, and healing
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A Thousand Little Conversations
“Mommy was in jail,” Etta casually announced, as she swung her feet on the exam table in the doctor’s office during her annual checkup. At eight years old, Etta is a tall girl, in the 95th percentile for height. And, apparently, somewhere in the bottom 5% for tact.
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Talking About Barbara
“I’m sad today,” I said to my kids.
I didn’t want it to be a big deal. I wanted it to be like one of Kate’s thousand little conversations, casually mentioned and repeated over time so that the lesson gradually and naturally sinks in.
But a thousand little conversations have to start somewhere.
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