on my own
I went out on my own at night, last sunday, leaving Billy at home with William. I had to practically force myself to go, to forge out my own life away from them. To let them miss me or not miss me. To keep a part just for myself.
That night I went to Secretly Y’all, a local story telling event where brave folks like Cathy Harding got on stage and told true stories that made me laugh and cry. Check out their site, listen, or attend the next event, themed ‘Consumed’ slated for June 13th, 7pm, at Random Row Book in Charlottesville, Virginia. What true story would you tell?
Photo by Maria Manzione! Thanks Maria
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Filed under Podcast, art, family matters, motherhood, photographs, writing | Tags: charlottesville arts, Secretly Y'all | Comments (2)the one you remember, part 2
The Quiet Girl raises her hand, straight and high from where she stands. She keeps clearing her throat, a small urgent sound, until Elise has to call on her.
-What about you, Miss Woodbrook, the Quiet Girl asks. What did you do this summer?
-Me?
-Yes, you.
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Filed under Podcast, fiction, short story | Tags: fiction, Middle School Story, short story, Teacher Story | Comment (0)happy birthday to you!
William is four years old today, no matter which way you sing it. So far we’ve done the Stevie Wonder version, The Beatles, and the traditional way too (which I like to call TimeLifeWarner TM version).
This morning William has unwrapped a science set: a prism, some wavering magnets and a gyroscope that goes round and round; the earth turns round, time passes, and we are grateful parents to see our boy grow healthy and hulk-strong.
Photo by Billy
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Filed under family matters, motherhood, photographs | Comments (3)good will
I went shopping alone at the Goodwill. It was Saturday and the place was crowded as a mall, hangers screeching and sagging. I pushed through decades of clothing: fine items, poor ones, musty things or some tainted with the thin scent of perfume.
Being there that Saturday seemed different somehow; like snooping through someone else’s closet; like rifling through the life of some stranger who had lost things, gained weight, found fortune, or seen hard times.
At the mirror in the dressing room at the Goodwill, I thought of William, almost four now. Four years of gorgeous, gross, terrifying, ragged, and fine moments all crammed into that one moment of remembering.
Photo by Billy, my beautiful husband whose OpenSpace Ad just won an EMMA design award. Congrats to everyone who worked on the ad. See their winning, super clever ad here:.
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Filed under family matters, motherhood, photographs, video | Comment (0)the one you remember, part one
Here’s the start of a new story—the namesake of the collection I am podcasting. Thank you so much for listening.
Elise waits in the doorway of her new classroom, one foot in, one foot out, picking at the patch of sunburn on the tip of her nose. In the hallway, seventh grade students—some of them her students—stand at shiny red locker, unfolding fresh combinations…
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Filed under Podcast, short story, writing | Tags: charlottesville, fiction, Podcast | Comment (0)golden apple
I am so proud to have received a golden apple award for excellence in teaching. (Some days are more excellent than others.) William is proud too.
Photo by Billy
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Filed under family matters | Comment (1)garden love
Our recent trip down South: Uncle Bug’s sandy road.
Because he is *my* boy I let William blow dandelion seeds out over the lawn with its bare patches. A few drift into the shade garden beds, settling between wilting hellebore and bold new hostas with broad, bright leaves.
It’s spring and Virginia is a rain forest, wet and wild and full of red-brimmed greens. This year I ordered too much mulch and the pile sits mocking me at the top of the driveway. Dwarfing my rusted wheelbarrow. William’s shovel crisscrosses mine.
William indulges my weeding, pulling chick and poke out by the roots. But not the dandelions. I don’t blame him. Those yellow flowers are so cheery at first, then so aerodynamic. He plucks, blows, and watches the seeds float out into the day.
Photos by Billy
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Filed under family matters, motherhood, the world we live in | Comments (2)cousins
My Aunt Mae passed this week and I miss her already, even though I rarely see her. She is an icon of my childhood, and I can’t quite get my mind around her lack of being here on earth. I wrote this story, COUSINS, many years ago but I’d like to dedicate it to my dear auntie and to my great big extending family down in Carolina. Here’s an excerpt:
“You don’t like chicken—what?” the man in the shiny dress shoes says. “Don’t you know chicken is your cousin?”
He’s not talking to us but because of his descending cadence we listen. He is talking to the younger man sitting beside him whose shoes are wingtips and less shiny. He is running his pink tongue over straight white teeth.
The younger man smiles broadly and shakes head. No, he doesn’t like chicken. He prefers fried shrimp platters from ‘The Shanty,’ a restaurant down the road and a hundred miles from the Sea.
“Shrimp?” the first man laughs and tugs the lapels of his jacket. The two men’s brown faces, pearling with sweat, float above starched white shirts. In concert they dab their brows with starched white handkerchiefs. They are pallbearers at the Burley Funeral Parlor.
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Photo by Papa Johnson
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Filed under family matters, fiction, short story, writing | Comment (0)water cave, final
‘What if we freeze to death or drown?’ Lannie says.
‘If we freeze to death, we can’t drown,’ Jeremy says.
‘How would they find our bodies?’
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