Three years ago today, my mom died after a long battle with cancer. She was 67. Too young.
Unlike the others, this anniversary has not felt muffled and dark. Instead, it’s been filled with hanging out with my children and
“Just stay humble.” “Don’t get too excited.” “You’re not all that.” Have you ever heard these sorts of words? In my humble opinion, I think hearing them at the beginning of an endeavor cripples accomplishment and creativity. If you want
It was February 2012. I was about to launch the serialization of my book, The Oat Project. I got a call from family saying my mom was in the hospital. She had beaten cancer twice since 2008 but had struggled
Last night, as I stood at the stove at my own birthday party and created, stirred, and spiced the soup, I listened to all of you (my children included) talking, laughing, connecting. You thought I was fussing over a dish,
Fundamental, by Jene’ Jackson on her birthday, today, as she drove home down Colorado Avenue after writing all day.
Perhaps,
pungent as the cut onion’s night after night spray in kitchen curtains
pervasive as the toddler’s goo griming the minvan
You know how Life can go from 0 to 60 in fourteen seconds flat? I’m clocking in at 74 with an eye on 90. Before I tell you why, thank you, so very much, for walking through this life with
Dear Mom,
Happy Birthday, mamadear, on what would have been your 69th. I’m sitting here about to watch an Agatha Christie movie, whom you loved, eating beets then pecan shortbread, which you loved (as do I), end-of-week tired from
The kitchen is where my inner science geek and slapdashing artist get to dirty dance…pure alchemy.
Cooking has always given me energy, yes; but it also requires a focus, effort, and sense of play that I haven’t been able to
Some days, writing is like a laser beam: sharp, focused. Other days, it’s like a flood: deep, dense. This day, this morning, I woke with an emotional hangover. Yesterday–my second Mother’s Day without my mother–was heavy with unexpected grief,
A little over two years ago, I told a story from the summer I wrote The Oat Project for a program here in Colorado Springs called The Story Project. Like The Moth Radio Hour out of New York City,