The Prayer My Grandmother Said in a Language None of Us Speak
My grandmother said a particular blessing before meals in a language that none of the rest of us in the family ever learned to speak, a handful of sentences…
My grandmother said a particular blessing before meals in a language that none of the rest of us in the family ever learned to speak, a handful of sentences…
The angel on top of our tree has a chipped wing. She has had it since before my children were born, since a Christmas when my husband’s mother handed her to me
The first frame that went up on our staircase wall was not chosen. It was inherited, and everything else on that wall followed the same slow, unplanned rhythm.
Every family table seems to have one chair that doesn’t quite belong to anyone anymore. Ours has been a catch-all, a guest seat, and eventually just a place to put mail.
My mother’s good china sat behind glass doors in a cabinet in the dining room for as long as I can remember, and I think we used it perhaps a dozen times…
There is a drawer in my linen closet, second from the bottom, that holds six towels, and not one of them matches another. A faded blue one with a frayed edge
Spider plant, then rosemary, then the jade plant that once belonged to my mother, in that order and no other, every morning above the kitchen sink, whether or not any of them actually needs the water.
I learned to crochet from a stack of dish towels that kept burning my hands, starting with lopsided potholders that got a little squarer with each one I made.
My father started driving to that lake before I was born, back when it was just him and my mother and a tent that leaked if the rain came in sideways. By…
There is a tablecloth folded at the bottom of my linen cabinet that I do not touch from the last Thursday in November until the same week comes around again. I