You Can’t Keep The House Your Daughter Was Born In
Remember that night, as my midwife Ghuru B, a tiny woman from Chicago, smiled at me? I was on all fours on the bed and mooing like a cow in distress. I knocked my tea mug over, the stain spreading down the wall, while my husband pressed the spot on my back to suppress the pain. And finally after twelve hours of labor, she was born.
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You may think we hang upside down from the rafters at Christmas, or throw purple socks in the air for New Year’s.
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As the November 2018 Senate and House of Representatives elections in the U.S.A. approach, we are again struggling to vote from abroad. So it’s time to send this blog out again!
My fingers tremble, my breath rasps. I flex my thigh muscles and prepare to leap . . . do the long jump . . . go far . . . over the ocean to reconnect with my people, my roots, my dirt.
But first, there’s this little thing called bureaucracy:
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My dad stared at our laundry line. “We used to do that.”Read More »
A Texas Ranching Adventure: The Family Milk CowDriving through the dark down a Texas highway, my husband at the wheel, I shone the flashlight at the book and read,Read More »
An ancient pecan tree was witness to the Jacksons’ violent deaths and, 140 years later, the tree provided shade for the people gathered together to remembering the Jacksons’ fates.Read More »
I pause in my daily walk along the edge of the English town I live in and gaze across a soon-to-be-developed meadow and on towards the hills of DerbyshireRead More »
Tellin’ Stories 