Posts Tagged: mothering
Tossing Nuts Out the Window (Making Friends With Crows #11)
While driving my 11-year-old to her before-school chorus class, I spy a solitary crow atop a telephone pole. I keep a bag of roasted, unsalted peanuts in the car so that if we see any crows while we’re out, I
Tossing Nuts Out the Window (Making Friends With Crows #11)
While driving my 11-year-old to her before-school chorus class, I spy a solitary crow atop a telephone pole. I keep a bag of roasted, unsalted peanuts in the car so that if we see any crows while we’re out, I
Gimee, gimee, gimee! (8th installment of making friends with crows.)
I’d know that noise anywhere. Somebody wants something and they’re going to beg, beg, beg until they get it. Never mind that this somebody is not one of my own kids, never mind this somebody is, in fact, a bird:
Gimee, gimee, gimee! (8th installment of making friends with crows.)
I’d know that noise anywhere. Somebody wants something and they’re going to beg, beg, beg until they get it. Never mind that this somebody is not one of my own kids, never mind this somebody is, in fact, a bird:
Mothers Group (or Euphenasia)
Setting: Every Wednesday at ten o’clock they meet at Tot Land, a busy kiddy park packed with tricycles, play tables, and a huge mess of discarded plastic toys. Characters: Prudy (a red-headed Brit who hasn’t slept for more than four
Mothers Group (or Euphenasia)
Setting: Every Wednesday at ten o’clock they meet at Tot Land, a busy kiddy park packed with tricycles, play tables, and a huge mess of discarded plastic toys. Characters: Prudy (a red-headed Brit who hasn’t slept for more than four
what kind of water do you dream? (chap. 14, pt. 2)
Earlier tonight they shot the scene where Robert invites everyone for a nighttime swim. They all walked arm-in-arm down to the beach, white linen silhouettes under the wind-swept pines, the warm air scented with chamomile. Everything was
what kind of water do you dream? (chap. 14, pt. 2)
Earlier tonight they shot the scene where Robert invites everyone for a nighttime swim. They all walked arm-in-arm down to the beach, white linen silhouettes under the wind-swept pines, the warm air scented with chamomile. Everything was
her hands are not beautiful (part 1 of chapter 14)
(photo courtesy Jo) The hunched, black-clothed form of Mademoiselle Reitz shuffles up to the piano, gives a haughty little bow and plops down on the bench. Her hands are not beautiful; they hang over the keys like frozen buzzards and
her hands are not beautiful (part 1 of chapter 14)
(photo courtesy Jo) The hunched, black-clothed form of Mademoiselle Reitz shuffles up to the piano, gives a haughty little bow and plops down on the bench. Her hands are not beautiful; they hang over the keys like frozen buzzards and
still trying to make friends with crows (third installment)
(photo courtesy John Kay) Turns out, it’s not that easy to make friends with a crow. Crows are reclusive, skittish, and not easily wooed (adjectives which my friends will tell you also apply to me). If I was a birdwatcher
still trying to make friends with crows (third installment)
(photo courtesy John Kay) Turns out, it’s not that easy to make friends with a crow. Crows are reclusive, skittish, and not easily wooed (adjectives which my friends will tell you also apply to me). If I was a birdwatcher
what would water do (chapter 11)
(photo by vlpg Too on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/vlpgtoo/) The napkins have resurfaced, the plates have retreated to the center of the table and Lang Westwood is at the punchline of her story: “And I said, ‘what are my choices?’ to which
what would water do (chapter 11)
(photo by vlpg Too on Flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/vlpgtoo/) The napkins have resurfaced, the plates have retreated to the center of the table and Lang Westwood is at the punchline of her story: “And I said, ‘what are my choices?’ to which
like a junkie communing with god (chapter 8)
(photo by ojoblanco on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/ojoblanco/) Framed by the bedroom window and backlit by dawn, the enormous eucalyptus dances, trailing long black ribbons. This sight hails Lang every morning: the mottled skin of the trunk and silver tongues of leaf
like a junkie communing with god (chapter 8)
(photo by ojoblanco on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/ojoblanco/) Framed by the bedroom window and backlit by dawn, the enormous eucalyptus dances, trailing long black ribbons. This sight hails Lang every morning: the mottled skin of the trunk and silver tongues of leaf
making friends with crows
(photo by cheddar on flickr) My guess is eggs, but my four-year-old Gwyneth thinks they probably like meat and Kenyon, my ten-year-old, says cheese. But if you ask me, eggs, preferably hardboiled, might be the tidiest, surest, and cheapest way
making friends with crows
(photo by cheddar on flickr) My guess is eggs, but my four-year-old Gwyneth thinks they probably like meat and Kenyon, my ten-year-old, says cheese. But if you ask me, eggs, preferably hardboiled, might be the tidiest, surest, and cheapest way
resisting the obvious
(photo by room17 on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/kathyroom17/) The plastic mesh container came with a coupon that read, Redeem this coupon online and we’ll send live caterpillars! But Lola was four and couldn’t read yet so, after tearing through the pink tissue,
resisting the obvious
(photo by room17 on flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/kathyroom17/) The plastic mesh container came with a coupon that read, Redeem this coupon online and we’ll send live caterpillars! But Lola was four and couldn’t read yet so, after tearing through the pink tissue,
