Grandma’s Silver Spoons (in Scotland)
Take away the silver spoons and my memories of Grandma Lillian might also disappear— her faded floral apron catching the light as she sat cleaning a bowl of ripe strawberries.
Overstayed Your Welcome? (there’s a calculator for that)
We’re traveling again–this time for three months. If this sounds decadent, remember we fly stand-by… and until earlier this year, we were still raising the last of our six kids; we’ve been actively parenting for the past 43 years. As of May 1 all six of our children are finally, technically adults, a grand milestone. Also in this category, John finished ten years working for Alaska Airlines. John and I were recently in Paris again, staying for five weeks in my friend’s apartment. It’s my third trip here this year (John’s 4th) and it turns out we may have overreached the limits of our stay, not so much with my friend (though I’m aware of the possibility) but with France… We’d planned to stay in France for 3 months celebrating our new liberty, also learning about the culture and the language, a lifelong pursuit. We want to celebrate our 46th…
Mother’s Day Again- in France
C’est la fête des mères en France aujourd’hui… without much more than a whim for a plan I seem to have planned it just right to have two Mother’s Days in one month– France celebrates the mother two weeks later than America. But I’m alone, no children in sight, so how to celebrate? Because I do love the celebratory life of all six children having safely reached adulthood… why not celebrate again in France? It’s Sunday so all the church bells are ringing in Angers where I came to attend the literary conference aptly named Possible Futures (the whim)… But that was yesterday. Today I searched for a church nearby. If you want to get to know people in a community, consider church, if you can. If you are trying to learn French, you will get to hear it sung, and sing along, if you like. I found a small…
Embrace the Adventure…
with a purple backpack, and clapping! I got off the train today in Angers (France) in a hurry– the train was late leaving Paris and then somehow the time went by too quickly and was caught in the bathroom when the stop came… I rushed to grab my gear, then find my way to the hotel, a bit weighed down with a full size Thule backpack, the kind you might use to hike the Grand Randonnée. I also carried a rather heavy REI messenger bag with my computer, books and purse inside–headed to a conference put on by the English Library in Angers. Of course, I went the wrong way. I could’ve taken a taxi but I thought I could walk less than a mile to the hotel, choosing the shady sides of streets. About halfway there, each step a bit beleaguered by the weight of the pack, I saw…
Coming of Age
Happy Mother’s Day 2025 On May 1 our youngest daughter turned 18 making this the first Mother’s day in 43 years that all six of our children are adults. It feels like a huge achievement–on the Richter scale of motherhood, like at 6.0- enough shake to stir things up, but not do damage. In the spirit of celebration, I’ve taken up cold water plunging, or swimming, because after you get in and regain your breath, you might as well stay for a while. Arielle suggested we take a plunge and swim in the Columbia River for her 18th birthday. The river is about 52 degrees right now. In preparation I read the book Chill: the Cold Water Swim Cure. It was frightening, exhilarating, and breathtaking (époustouflant in French)– all at once. It was the perfect celebration for the occasion. I’m hooked. After about three minutes I don’t want to get…
What is Ekphrasis & How Can it Help My Writing?
An image creates words, but words also create images, each spiraling around the other like a gene chain building itself.
Ekphrasis of the Schuffeneckers
…ekphrasis–using a piece of art to inspire the narrative. If you want to try it, take a painting, sculpture, photo, or anything you see as art and begin studying it. Just spend time with it, looking closely, asking what the story might be.
Mother of the Bride, 2nd time Survivor
Sometimes the perfect dress is like armor you put on to face a day filled with uncertainty… a small help when you want to hide as you walk through the inevitable surprises that might just slap your face, leaving you stunned.
Wild Love & the Wrong Dress
Maybe you had a whole map for us, made of that blue ink—
and mothering feels like bleeding,
blue drips from the detours we took around your beautifully planned masterpiece.
It’s Only a Paper Moon
As I worked on this big moon I felt it was the one thing within my control, and my contribution to creating meaning and beauty in a world that often feels as if it is wobbling off course.
I Hope You Dance
When it was our turn to dance as parents I could hardly remember how to move my feet, but then John reminded me of the steps. He whispered quick, quick, slow, slow… I was a little numb at the time, but his words, simple as they were, made it to my feet, coaxing them into a rhythm.
The Ekphrastic Letter
Dear Mother,
I should’ve cleaned your fingernails before you died. I know dirty fingernails never bothered you, but in that last photo I took of you where your hands wrap around the ceramic mug of fresh coffee I brought with real cream, instead of the styrofoam cup of instant with powder packets you’d been getting—-in that picture the gleam is back in your eyes, feisty again, but a dark, dirty rim lines each fingernail. I regret not offering to clean your nails, but at the time it didn’t occur to me. You had lots of life left in you. You could’ve cleaned your own fingernails….
He went off to the Korean War and never came back
Mother’s Only Brother
Writing and remembering is about coming out from under the shadows into the joy of living and loving beyond the grave. I love this uncle I never knew.
Can We Rewild Motherhood?
What if, instead of confining women to some narrow social standard, motherhood could be the very thing to return us back to our original state as image bearers of an untamed God?
Can Memoir Kill You?
“…It almost killed me.” -Harry Crews, author of A Childhood: The Biography of a Place Both shocking and understandable if you write memoir, right? Have you ever felt gutted when writing your stories? The natural reaction to pain is avoidance. Quite often we flinch and move away from that hot center of a story, afraid we’ll get burned or at least singed by it. But that red hot spot is where the heart of story lies. I’ve taken a break from the red hot center that memoir is, but recently I got back on the horse, to severely mangle some metaphors… though I like this image now of riding a flaming Arabian for all I’m worth. I will not go down in flames. I will rise from the ashes. These are the affirmations I think of as I free flow write… on this hobby horse… Free flow write with me.…