sea salt

The proverb "It takes a village to raise a child" is nothing new. We've heard it, said it, and Hillary Clinton even wrote a book about it. But if you're like me, you had no idea what it actually meant until you had a child...and needed your village like never before. Before I even knew how (and how often) I'd need our village, I knew they were there. They sent books from far and wide, many inscribed with messages telling Jolene how much she was loved. These shelves can't hold all the books... ...and neither can this one... ...so we also have piles all over the house. What a lovely problem to have! On this rainy and cold afternoon, Jolene and I cuddled up with a few books from our village: church, financial planner, family, friends, work. *I have to emphasize that this is only a tiny sampling. There aren't adequate words to describe how much I've leaned on so many others in our village - from the endless supply of maternity clothe...

Three years ago my extremely talented friends Andrew House and Jeremy Adams approached me with an idea for a project: could I write voice overs for some conceptual videos? They wanted to film beautiful, interesting things, and have powerful words behind them. I didn't know what they would film, but I started to write. I wrote eleven pieces, not knowing if they were poetry or prose, but the words came quickly and I simply did my best to keep up. We called the project "Barnacle," after an image in one of the pieces I wrote. Three of these pieces made it into films, and I'm extremely proud to have my name attached to such beautiful short films: "Victory" - http://vimeo.com/28037726 (Part 4, 5:23) "Truth" - http://vimeo.com/28037726 (Part 6, 7:57) "Pain" - http://vimeo.com/53699597 The other nine pieces are sitting safely in a folder at home, and when the time is right, they'll be paired with moving images of their own...

I couldn't bear to use a photo of what gésiers actually look like. Google at your own discretion! Last week, my French neighbor Daphné invited me over for a "girls' dinner" while her husband was out of town. Before then, we'd shared several meals together with our husbands, I'd helped her with her resume and cover letter, and Kevin and I dog-sat their adorable pup for a weekend. But we'd never really had the chance to just sit and talk together as women. To me, this dinner meant that we might be moving from being just neighbors to actually becoming friends. The day before our agreed-upon night, I emailed her to ask what I could bring. She wrote back:  For tomorrow, I am planning a salade landaise (gésiers / lightly fried potatoes / onions and greens + extra inspiration) and apple in the oven. If you'd like, you can bring some wine, or anything that would go well with the meal. I assumed "gésiers" was ...

Note: I wrote this draft on July 17, and emailed Jodi to ask if it was ok to use this beautiful picture of her. I did not hear back from her before receiving the news that she died on August 2. Instead of revising this post to reflect on her death, I've chosen to post the original, which reflects on her life. * A few months before I began my MFA program at Lesley University, I received instructions to read the first essay submissions of the writers who would be in my first workshop. I had been accepted for the nonfiction writing track, so everything I read was a personal essay. Everything was true. As the submissions came in and I began reading and editing, I realized I was an outlier. With the exception of one other writer, I was the only one who hadn't written about being abused in some way. The essays shocked me, saddened me, and made me feel strangely guilty that I'd grown up with loving, protective parents and relatives who would never dream of hurting me...

A few days ago Kevin and I sat ourselves down in the spare room and forced ourselves to sift through boxes and bookshelves, crammed with so many things and memories we had been packing, unpacking, and packing again every time we move. While we're pretty good about throwing away things we really don't need (I cringe every time I see a preview for the show "Hoarders," and I've never been able to watch a complete episode), there was a lot of physical and emotional weight to lose. Notebooks from high school, textbooks from college, silly notes and photographs from so many roommates. The Chiquita banana keychain my father had given me got to stay, and so did a Coke bottle from Italy, but a stack of coasters went into the junk pile along with a handful of floppy disks. Kevin had to confront a tall pile of music books, while my biggest challenge was a stack of boxes full of cards. I've always loved saving cards. As a sensitive person, a writer, and a very devot...

I have this unrealistic idea about myself, which is that I can probably do anything I set out to do. Of course, our parents and teachers wanted us to believe this, but most of us know it's not really true. Most of us. So one day while watching a reality show about fancy cake bakers, I thought, "How hard can that be? I can do that." I purchased a good cookbook , a few supplies, and set out to make the first fancy cupcake: a simple pink top with a black bow. On Sunday I baked vanilla cupcakes and whipped up a large batch of white chocolate ganache. On Monday I spread the ganache over the tops of the cupcakes. And last night, I applied the icing, using a syrup I made with boiling water and apricot jam. The book strongly favors purchasing ready-made fondant, as the consistency is hard to get just right. And since I'm a beginner, and had made everything else, I was happy to buy a box of 4 packages of fondant, already colored. All I had to do was roll it out, cut, and st...

(Aleksander Hemon. "The Aquarium: a child's isolating illness." The New Yorker , June 13, 2011.) After the earthquake and tsunami in Japan hit, I plunged into news overload. For days I read articles, watched videos and scanned pictures - the same ones over and over. The horror of it was not simply gripping ... it was paralyzing. I didn't know how to balance the seemingly trivial existence of my every day with the overwhelming tragedy of this disaster. The same thing happened when I recently lost an old friend. Thanks to the Internet, I could read and re-read blog entries about her progress, read and re-read her online obituary, read and re-read news articles from the DC area to report that "the pedestrian" had succumbed to her injuries. My access to and fascination with the nonstop images, reporting and details of tragedy worried me. My id told me to learn more, read more, see more (after all, I'm a curious person - if there's something to l...

  (in loving memory of Alison) Last week Kevin and I had dinner with some dear friends who have a 2-year old and a 3-month old. Their lives have changed dramatically since they had children, their world turned upside down. We had a pretty dramatic year ourselves. In the span of less than one year, we were engaged, married, transplanted to a new state, and homeowners. Each decision felt like the biggest of our lives. People do this every day , we kept reminding ourselves. But that didn't make it any easier. When we shared this with Brian and April, they laughed. "Wait till you have kids," they said. "To you, every moment is the biggest deal of your life. But everyone has kids. So you're saying, 'Guess what! My child is potty-trained!' but everyone has already gone through it. It feels like the whole world has changed, but it really only has to you." We laughed. We don't have kids, but we understood. Lots of people get married and buy hous...

At my college graduation in 2005, I was showered with cards and wishes of "Congratulations!" I smiled, thanked everyone, and scratched my head. Why was I being congratulated? I went to college, did my work, and finished in four years. To me, it didn't seem that remarkable. My aunt tried to explain that it was a big deal, that I should see it as an accomplishment. But I wasn't convinced. To me it felt like being congratulated for going to work every day. I signed up to do it, I did it, and now it was done. What was the big deal? The same thing happened when we got married. Everyone was happy, and came with more wishes of congratulations. Again, I didn't get it. I knew it was a happy occasion, but where was the achievement in saying "I do" and marrying someone I loved? I didn't feel like we'd necessarily accomplished anything--we'd just committed to share a life together, something we really wanted to do. It didn't seem like a great feat...

In five months, we've made some good friends who have helped us out with everything from airport pick ups to recommending a good car mechanic.  We've appreciated these people all along the way, but didn't realize how much we needed them until this week - house week. It's been a little over 1 week since we moved into the new house, and in that week we added to this extremely important group of people...people to call in a crisis.* I. Moving In the city, moving is like going out to the movies - you know who to call, you know who will most likely be interested, and you know who has their own car.  Kevin and I each had our Boston regulars, people we always called to help us move apartments (usually in and out of 3rd floor walk-ups), for the small price of pizza after the move.  We had the friend with the truck, the friend who could lift a dresser by himself, the friend who was great at organizing boxes in the back of a car.  When we moved into our apartment in Nas...

On Sunday our pastor read from 2 Samuel, in which Araunah says to God, "I would not make an offering that cost me nothing."  The story shed light on the true meaning of any kind of gift - someone gives up something for the sake of another.  This is why the idea of re-gifting has such shameful connotations in our society.  It's not that you didn't appreciate what was given to you, but that you've sacrificed nothing in order to give a gift.  It's easy, convenient, and superficial - if anyone can do it for free, it means very little. My husband loves Henry David Thoreau, and we have adopted one of his adages as a guiding principle: "The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."  The most important and valuable choices can cost a great deal of life, and the trick is knowing which ones are worth it. A cost I willingly absorb is the cost of keeping in touch - really keeping in touch - with extended family and far-away friends.  I a...