October 27, 2009

Looking for somebody who cares

"I don’t feel good. Can I go to the nurse’s office?"
"Yes," said my teacher.

I slowly walked to the nurse’s office, holding the hallway pass, an old piece of wood with the word "Pass" and our homeroom number "102," carved into it. The hallway was hushed and chilly. I knocked on the school nurse’s door.
"Come in," she said.

October 26, 2009

My fathers

"Frankie is your father," my grandmother said.

Looking through my mother’s photo albums I found a picture of me with this man, Frankie. I’m a toddler in the photo. Frankie wears a shabby brown leather jacket and a fisherman’s hat. He holds me in his arms. I’m wearing a brown coat with rainbow colors on the sleeves, and a fisherman’s hat like his. We’re both smiling. Frankie looks like a nice guy.

October 15, 2009

The record player

I was nine years old when my mother brought me a record player and two albums. Aretha Franklin and Klimax.
It was 1985.

I rushed home with the record player, hurried into my bedroom, and closed the door.

October 13, 2009

Cold

I ran through the projects, from crack house to crack house, looking for my mother. The day was wintry and cold.

I knocked on Mary’s door.
"Is my mother there?"
"Your mother ain't here," Mary yelled from behind the closed door.

I ran to the next building.

October 12, 2009

My burnt arm

There's a scar on my arm…

I sat at the kitchen table. My seven-month-old sister sat on my lap. My mother was in her bedroom with the door closed.

As I poured hot coffee into a foam cup my sister swung her little arms and knocked over the coffee. I quickly lifted her high in the air so she wouldn’t get burnt. But when I brought her back down to my lap, I screamed! The skin on my arm had shriveled up.

September 29, 2009

Words that wound

Even as a child, I was fascinated by words. They are used, in various combinations, to voice our thoughts and feelings. But my childhood did not allow me to learn to say the words I feel.

Many worthy words went unused by my family.

September 14, 2009

It never ends….

My husband rested his arm across my body. His hand pushed gently toward my breasts. I raced to fold my arms over them before he got there first.

August 25, 2009

The last baton

Back when L. was just a baby, Scott and I coined the word "tag-team parenting"--well, maybe we weren't the first to coin it, but we certainly felt like pioneers in that make-it-up-as-you-go territory. I distinctly remember the first time the phrase popped into my head. I had parked our old Dodge Grand Caravan at the Hardy's parking lot opposite the bus stop where the free university shuttle dropped off and picked up. I was nursing--or trying to nurse--an unhappy L. who was bundled into layers of onesies and a sweater (it was October and COLD).

May 28, 2009

The memory makers

This is what you feed your kids for dinner when they had scones and cream and jam at a tea house at four o'clock, washed down with tea and enough sugar cubes to make you pucker, and then you had the bright idea to take them into an old-fashioned general store--the kind with big glass jars filled with candy--and then you had another brilliant idea and give them 25 cents a piece to pick out candy, which they ate before you even make it to the highway:

Detox dinner

May 7, 2009

Here and now

I love my kitchen, for many reasons. It's not new or fancy, and it sorely needs updating as far as the cabinets and floor go, but I love it because I love the space of it, what it represents, and how I feel when I'm in it. And while the big windows in the breakfast nook make me smile every morning, my favorite part of the room is this wall here:

Wall art

and the pantry door:

Door art

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