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“Mom, I’m driving off the lot. I’m putting mile number 10 on my first, ever new car. . .” Even as I buckled my belt while hanging up the phone, my excitement felt forced. I was thankful for the blessing of a car (with a loan), but I squirmed in my new-car scented seat as…
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Scene 1: Five summers ago as a camp counselor. . . Sixteen left feet fail to synchronize yet again as one middle school camper lifts the wrong leg and sends his whole group off balance. They topple into a pile of giggles. . . and they get to start over with the Co-Op(eration) challenge. .…
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Gravy and mashed potatoes got nothing on a momma’s kitchen hug or a May breeze between me and clouds. Those comfort, and yet I lean toward an atypical comfort, my iPhone, in the sometimes uncomfortable space that is just me. Why does it comfort me to troll with my finger, scrolling through tagged recipes and…
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My mom’s a quilter, expert at bringing colors together in art not only beautiful but also cuddly. I’ve always been a crazy-quilt of sorts, with my mom masterfully at the helm of the sewing machine, knowing just when to surge ahead and when to back up a bit in helping me to come together and…
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On my way to work a deer slammed into my passenger side door, shattering the window into a thousand teal crystals strewed throughout my car, my hair, my cardigan. I slowed and pulled over, surprised to find myself aware and okay. I shut the car off, stepped out, and shook shining bits from my hair…
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I don’t remember the last time I’ve been more uncomfortable. I couldn’t decide if my discomfort came more from the thoughts bubbling, like a toddler in clothes that don’t quite fit, or if it came from my blurring vision. I sat in the hard chair feeling naked and vulnerable. In the dark, my dialating eyes…
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Giggly Memo Lines: This week I’ve been categorizing our spending in a “better late than never” attempt to better envision our finances. Lacking a check ledger, I asked my mom (who works at the bank) to review a few check images, so I could categorize them. After bringing them up, she learned that my husband thinks…
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Brave is what I am not. Generally. I look out at the brave ones from my nervous little nook, wondering what it must be like to be out there traveling, loving, living, and then I realize there is a braveness in just being, in sitting comfortable with myself, calm in the moment that is now.…
Evi Wusk 