The ages of (wo)man – a meditation on life, family, and those who have gone before.

Grandmother with one of my cousins.

Aside from my parents themselves, my maternal grandmother was probably the most influential adult in my young life.  I was an only child, born ten years into my parents marriage, when they were both 35 years old.  If I was not with a parent, or a teacher, or the parents of a select handful of friends, I was with my Grandmother and Granddad. Continue reading

Watch this Space

It’s been quiet around here for quite some time now. Facebook has absorbed a lot of the photos I used to post, which I’m hoping to change.

I’ve also been thinking a lot lately about the way I’ve referred to this place in the past, likening living in the northeast to being in exile. I’ve been here for 12 years, and increasingly I feel less exiled than expatriated. We visit the south regularly, and it’s oh so easy to slip back into the accent and the rhythms… but when we return to the north, I feel like I’m home. I’m hoping to have some more to say on that front – I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a place home, in part due to watching a friend adjust to a major move overseas. So, you know, stuff’s brewing. Like a good chicory coffee. Or a crawfish boil. (Okay, not a really great simile, but it gives me an excuse to post this):