Category: the seasons

the storyless season

the storyless season

| November 20, 2016 | 8 Replies

At midday Saturday the sun shone full into the kitchen window. I almost wished that I hadn’t done the dishes already, but that’s a silly thing to wish, isn’t it? Forget dishes. I pinched some droopy lavender between my fingers and inhaled the fragrance. I set up my computer on the sink. I wanted to write. […]

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life is a spell so exquisite, everything conspires to break it.

life is a spell so exquisite, everything conspires to break it.

| January 18, 2016 | 5 Replies

In honor of Martin Luther King Jr., here is a letter I wrote to myself in the fall.  _________ 22 October 2015 dear Hannah, Please remember the day you bought this card. It was July, and you were picking up gifts for Greg & Jamaica to thank them for Company. The colors of life had looked […]

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the marvelous mundane – part one

the marvelous mundane – part one

| December 9, 2015 | 2 Replies

Every day the counters are dirtied. Every night the bed is unmade. In dark seasons I can’t keep up, and I become Sisyphus, pushing the boulder up the hill only to watch it roll down again. No matter the season, I take comfort in doing the laundry. The hum of the washer; the warmth of […]

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candle or no candle

candle or no candle

| November 27, 2015 | Reply

I woke very early and eased my body out of bed.  The attic floorboards creaked beneath my careful feet. David slept soundly in the imperfect silence. The darkness of morning usually comforts me, but today uncertainty lay at the surface of my heart like scum on a lake. In several hours we’d be on a plane, headed toward our beloved family in crisis. We […]

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to be of service

to be of service

| November 11, 2015 | 2 Replies

On a whim, I joined Olivia at Rockport Unitarian’s service on Sunday. I had no idea the beauty in store. I’d already been thinking about what it means to give. Early in the week I listened and re-listened to this beautiful On Being interview with Adam Grant. Reading Give or Take was paradigm-shifting for me […]

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sublime chess game

sublime chess game

| October 12, 2015 | 1 Reply

For the third morning I wake very early. The silence of Rowley is thick and soft as a blanket. Today I do not even try to go back to sleep. I pull on my fleecy purple socks, tiptoe down the dark stairs, and light a candle in the kitchen. I boil water and scratch Thomas […]

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this side of the street

this side of the street

| June 7, 2015 | 4 Replies

I sit outside the Atomic Cafe, watching Sunday glide by. I can’t count the number of times I’ve sat here like this: sipping tea and typing, my bike helmet resting on the tipsy metal table. Tomorrow the Atomic moves across the street, and I know the new location will be spacious and beautiful, but today I indulge my […]

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the kindness of Kim

the kindness of Kim

| March 8, 2015 | 6 Replies

The day I heard of Kim’s passing, I rode my bike to the beach and let the wind chill the tears on my cheeks. The pain came over me in waves all week long. I know her children far better than I knew Kim herself, and my heart ached to think of Sage, Lila, and Toby motherless. […]

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window

window

| February 3, 2015 | 10 Replies

The blue jay spread wide his wings and restored me to myself. The spare room is too cold for yoga, and the cat had spent the night scattering litter as far as he could across the floor, but one flash of blue in the small window could hallow the entire day. That’s how I want to live, […]

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repotted and it feels so good

repotted and it feels so good

| January 3, 2015 | 6 Replies

On the last day of 2014, I repotted our peace lily. Its leaves had been turning brown, one by one, despite my careful placement (indirect sunlight, the websites said) and watering (not too much). I finally decided that the plant was too big for its pot. Indeed, the roots seemed to sigh with relief as I shook them […]

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a walk

a walk

| November 25, 2014 | 4 Replies

As I walked from the bike shop to the Atomic Café, it occurred to me: I am carrying too much. I’d filled my backpack with enough work for four hours, but I only had 45 minutes till my guitar lesson. And a guitar to carry, of course. At the café I sipped my cup of tea. […]

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first year

first year

| July 5, 2014 | 6 Replies

One year ago, on a warm July morning, I woke up incredibly early to walk the beach. A few hours later I arrived in Rowley, Massachusetts, where a houseful of beloved women bustled. My mom and aunt Lisa sat on the couch finishing my sash while the rest of us put on make-up and jewelry. Soon I […]

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fruition

fruition

| May 17, 2014 | Reply

  Sometimes events you’ve been waiting for happen all at once. Thursday, May 15th was a day of great fruition. Early in the morning I began thinking of Suzanne, whose heart is so vast that sometimes I feel her love emanating from Massachusetts all the way out here in Kansas. The 15th was Suzanne’s 30th […]

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the intersecting space

the intersecting space

| May 12, 2014 | 4 Replies

When Cora asked me to help with Girls Group, I almost said no. For one thing, I earn money by teaching after-school yoga classes and voice lessons. Cora and her cohorts graciously offered to schedule the high school girls’ art group for my one free afternoon of the week, but I worried about missing an […]

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after the burning

after the burning

| May 6, 2014 | Reply

Here’s the guest post I wrote for my friend Catherine’s blog: some of the gifts of this challenging year in Wichita. http://catherineannehawkins.com/hannahs-in-between-guest-post/ Special thanks to James Nedresky for permission to use this photograph. Find many other breathtaking images of the prairies at his websites: http://www.jnedreskyprairie.com http://blog.jamesnedresky.com/?p=138

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walk, linger, love

walk, linger, love

| March 19, 2014 | 5 Replies

Vespa came to me in my dreams last night, wanting a walk. She wagged her tail and moaned her emphatic morning song, and off we went to greet the day. When I met Vespa in 2008, we were rehearsing Camilla’s a cappella group. The enthusiastic Italian spinone nuzzled her way into the circle of eighth […]

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conditions for joy

conditions for joy

| January 30, 2014 | 12 Replies

High time I fess up: my plan for the year failed. I came here with the dream of investing time in my writing: submitting essays, getting published. I knew that getting published is hard, but I didn’t fret: I can be persistent as a jackhammer. What I didn’t foresee was how disheartening the process would […]

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2013 Thanksgiving newsletter

2013 Thanksgiving newsletter

| December 2, 2013 | 10 Replies

It’s the second morning of December. True to form, I started a Thanksgiving newsletter before Thanksgiving but didn’t finish it in time. I’ve cherished grand ambitions about the scope and detail of the letter, but today I want to write something short and sweet. Today I want to write about the Christmas cactus in bloom, […]

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Thanksgiving morning

Thanksgiving morning

| November 28, 2013 | 1 Reply

Thanksgiving morning. We wake to a text from Mom, who misses me. Next comes toast in the hotel lobby with David and his dad Mark. They head off to a flag football game and I add hot water to my tea cup. Blue skies and a mountain view from the hotel room.   I iron […]

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tree roots and laundry

tree roots and laundry

| November 13, 2013 | 1 Reply

My friend Ralph Eckhardt sent this picture the other day. He wrote, “I had just been thinking about your latest Breathe Deep and praying for you when I saw it, and it was a picture to me of how complicated life is that produces the wonder of who we are.” My mind keeps wandering back to […]

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Wichitastic

Wichitastic

| November 6, 2013 | 9 Replies

It’s a rainy morning in Wichita. Most of the colored leaves in the courtyard below our apartment still cling to their branches. The flags whip whirling music against the flagpoles. The cat sleeps, the light is soft, and a new month has begun. For several years I spent the month of November writing daily thank […]

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groundlessness and tea

groundlessness and tea

| October 31, 2013 | 5 Replies

Waking up in the morning feels like the hardest thing I’ve ever done; maybe the hardest thing anybody has ever done. I might always feel this way in autumn, as darkness presses in from both sides. Our mornings spill over with common kindnesses. My husband lets me sleep twenty minutes more while he takes a […]

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not yet

not yet

| October 1, 2013 | 3 Replies

Two weeks ago I rode against the wind to teach my second yoga class at Truesdell Middle School. News flash, Toto: sometimes in Kansas, the wind blows really hard. At moments I wondered if I should get off my bike and walk. I pushed the pedals and the pedals pushed back. The river appeared to […]

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dear Quentin

dear Quentin

| August 12, 2013 | 21 Replies

Dear Quentin, Happy August! I miss your songs and stories. Remember how we used to find luminous, common things on the playground at recess? I will always remember that. You are one of the best people I know at finding luminous, common things. I’m happy that you and your mom e-mailed me. You asked, “What […]

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the Sun and the shower

the Sun and the shower

| June 10, 2013 | 5 Replies

I woke early Sunday morning, wearied by the ludicrous night visions only a bride-to-be must endure. A shower rinsed off the outermost layer of fretfulness. Mom was still sleeping, so I took myself to the beach, aching for the cleansing only salt water can afford. A year ago I was at Rowe Conference Center, soaking […]

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all the colors

all the colors

| May 24, 2013 | 12 Replies

Weddings mean flowers, right? I’m sure most summer brides have already ordered their bouquets, but that item is still languishing on my to-do list. My focus for the moment is on a different variety of flower. Being a glutton for connection, I’m inviting a host of women I love to contribute a flower to my wedding […]

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70 miles per hour

70 miles per hour

| May 12, 2013 | 4 Replies

Driving home from the Grub Street conference last Sunday, I worked my camera with my right hand and the steering wheel with my left. The Cinco de Mayo sun made its languid descent over southbound traffic, casting trees and shrubbery in unprejudiced glow. The hula girl on the dashboard chuckled at me. Who tries to […]

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the Monday after

the Monday after

| April 22, 2013 | 5 Replies

Last Monday morning I planned to write about Vespa the dog. While my friends the Worsfolds take their customary April trip, I inhabit their home and spoil their Italian spinone with long, meandering walks. The tradition began five years ago, just two weeks after I’d told my husband I wanted a divorce. The realities of […]

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looking back

looking back

| April 12, 2013 | 2 Replies

Looking back, you’ll want to be able to say that you walked in all kinds of weather. You’ll want to know that you caught the branches in the midst of their greening. You’ll want to remember how they wore the droplets with casual elegance, like Jackie O. in her pearls. Perhaps you were weary, but […]

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the momentous in-between

the momentous in-between

| March 24, 2013 | 7 Replies

On my walk to the beach I snap pictures of other people’s yards.   Winter and spring coexist right now, and for all my talk of warmer weather, I’ll be sorry if I miss this. The momentous in-between. The earth softens underfoot. New-minted green peeps out from the latest snow. My life coincides with this […]

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turning toward the light

turning toward the light

| January 26, 2013 | 2 Replies

I’ve never felt happier to sweep the floor. I’ve put it off for weeks and weeks. Shiny hardwood keeps secrets better than most surfaces, and what gracious guest would ever complain? Still, my eyes were drawn to the places where the dust bunnies congregate. Corners can be ugly, honest places. There are seasons in all […]

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the definition of darkness

the definition of darkness

| January 12, 2013 | 5 Replies

My hips slide out of place for the second week in a row. “It’s been very mild both these times,” says my chiropractor after I explain that I’ve been doing the physical therapy exercises each day. “You’re doing what you need to do. Just give it time.” She is encouraging. Perky, even. I slip the […]

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new and not-so-new

new and not-so-new

| December 31, 2012 | 1 Reply

On the train home to Boston yesterday I gazed out the window at the new fallen snow. Celebrating my birthday with my family in Philadelphia had gladdened and wearied me in equal measure. Holiday hubbub provides little space for the solitude that keeps me sane, so I was counting on Amtrak for restoration. I turned my […]

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profusion

profusion

| November 11, 2012 | 4 Replies

Okay, sulky self. You woke up still sick, but you might as well get out of bed. Put on your sneakers and your hat. The day is warm and there’s an entire world out there to see. The word of the day is profusion. Not officially or anything. It’s been years since you had a […]

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the cure for unwanted weather

the cure for unwanted weather

| October 7, 2012 | 2 Replies

The cure for unwanted weather is immersion. You envisioned a scenic drive to New Hampshire but woke to interminable drizzle? Snap pictures from the driver’s seat as you zoom up I-93. The blaze of autumn is only snuffed out if you don’t show up to see it. If it is not truly pouring, ride your bike […]

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keep watching

keep watching

| September 28, 2012 | 3 Replies

The day after David and I got engaged, I rode my bike out to Salem to walk a friend’s dog. A host of purple-gray clouds were congregating in the southeast, and the sun overhead shone like it knew its time was nearly up. The black lab frolicked through the park while fear clenched a sweaty […]

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return of the moofie

return of the moofie

| September 3, 2012 | 2 Replies

Few people would set out to make moofies. I blundered into my first batch two weeks ago when I found myself with a bowl of cookie dough and no cookie sheet. (I’d tossed my ancient specimen weeks before and forgotten to replace it. It may be unnecessary to note that I don’t do a lot […]

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summer slips away

summer slips away

| August 26, 2012 | 8 Replies

I’ve been carrying the sadness of summer’s end on my shoulders like a shawl I’ll need in winter. More than any other season, summer intimates eternity: the long hours of light, the effortless warmth. More than any other season, summer seems to slip away before I’m ready. I gaze at the dying flowers on my […]

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