We broke crackers and dipped chips into salsa and port wine cheese balls, and made chamomile tea at 11pm. And we called it church. She’s roughly fifteen years older than me, but whenever we gather in her old farmhouse kitchen, the kids asleep upstairs and a pile of crayons at the corner of her counter, I […]Read More Kitchen-counter church.
Monday, you’re hard. Especially when I come off a weekend and feel anything but rested, walking into the week with a laundry list of things (and laundry) to do and no idea if I’ll to make it through. At this point we’re all tired and need more than a two day weekend to recover. I don’t remember anyone telling […]Read More Monday, please pick me up.
(the post before this one) I hadn’t been back in four months, four months since I packed up my car and left for good. I planned to visit, and I would keep to that plan, but there would be no comeback, no “I changed my mind, I’m staying.” It was final, and I was completely […]Read More When you return, remember to take pictures.
By the end of the weekend, the random bursts of tears in the car, the hotel room, and the restaurant, had turned to sobbing. The kind of sobbing that makes your body convulse, snot and tears mixing, the emotion turning completely physical. The girl stood in the middle of the tiny dorm room, screaming because she didn’t […]Read More Nashville.