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No photographs, no filters. Only days, work, learning and small ordinary joys, written down.
She used to keep every jar. Rinsed, dried, lined up on the top shelf like a small glass congregation, and I thought it was a kind of fear. This Tuesday I finished a jar of honey and stood there with it in my hands for a long time, and I did not throw it away. …
Nothing happened this week. I want to write that down as an achievement rather than a confession. I cooked four dinners. I fixed the tap. I finished a book I had been pretending to read since January. My friend called and we talked about nothing for fifty minu…
He worked forty-one years at the same mill and his hands looked like the mill: worn in the places that had been used most. I used to want a more dramatic inheritance. A house, a story, a scandal. What I got was a way of holding a hammer and a habit of arriving…
I started pottery in March and everything I make looks like weather. Lopsided bowls, a mug with a handle that leans away from you as if offended. What surprised me was not the failure but how quickly the shame wore off. By week four I was showing people the ba…
Great coffee at night with big dreams will not let you sleep
Not resilience. Everyone says resilience and it means nothing. It taught me how to tell the difference between a problem and a mood. A problem has a shape and a next step. A mood only has a volume. Most of the emergencies of my twenties were moods with good vo…
Le train est parti sans moi a sept heures douze, et pour la premiere fois depuis des mois je me suis assis sur le banc sans rien faire. Un homme balayait le quai. Une femme lisait une lettre imprimee, pas un ecran, une vraie lettre. Le ciel changeait de couleu…