For this author, creative endeavors have been sorely tested by motherhood. But also transformed, and in ways she wouldn’t have imagined – couldn’t have, without her life “rewritten” as it has been, by her children. So linger here, to read all things weaverly, writerly and motherly.


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Monday, November 21, 2011

The Confessional

“What is it us guys gotta do, to do right by you women?”

We were standing at the edge of my driveway, next to where this guy, himself, had sawed up and hauled away a tree felled by hurricane Irene.

This town man had returned now, my husband having written a letter to “the town,” asking that our town taxes should not only cover the removal of the bush destroyed, (as he’d understood, by the town’s cutting down and dropping the tree on to it) but should cover its replacement as well.

I wished then that I’d put on a sweater. I’d thought I’d only be out there for a minute, when I’d seen the town truck pull up.

That is, until I saw that it was the same town man who’d done us the favor of removing the fallen tree in the first place.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

A Car Gone Missing

My mother’s car was missing.

It wasn’t in her driveway, when the boys and I arrived, after the hour and a half drive to her house, Kenny’s voice raw from his endless “Are we there yet?” mantra. (I was reconsidering buying them the Nintendo DS so they would have those itsy bitsy screens to stare at.)

She usually only drives locally, literally, a half block to the grocery store, or a full block, to get her hair cut.

Without her cane, she greeted us with open arms and big wobbly hugs. As if her car missing wasn’t perhaps news.

I had to ask. “Mom, where is your car?”

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