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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Wednesday, December 7, 2011

An Acquaintance in Grief

I ran into an acquaintance the other day.


“I know you,” she said, walking past me in the Stop & Shop parking lot, on her way into the store. I was loading my own groceries into the back of my van.


I knew her too, but we couldn’t place each other.


Frankly, I wasn’t in the mood for an acquaintance. I hate grocery shopping, and I’d forgotten my reusable bags. One of my paper bags had ripped, and oranges were rolling down the length of the van.


What I did recognize was the high pitch of her voice, one that can startle even the snoring on a crowded commuter train. 


And then I remembered. She’d been vending next to me in a holiday craft show a couple of years back. She was a teller of stories all lacking any kind of conclusion. She’d talked about her son a lot, her only child. There was some story about her son still living at home in his old bedroom, at forty never having married, a story that stretched thin as a taut rubber band into a one about him buying her a parakeet that perished after swallowing a pin from her sewing table.

Monday, December 5, 2011

A GOOD Craft Show

A while back I blogged about one of my craft shows: a BAD craft show. Bad. Really bad. You know, the kind of craft show when even your tent falls to pieces.

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