That Time of Year Again

Oh, mothers of school-aged children, those odd disheveled creatures! (the mothers, I mean, not their offspring).  Unless they work really really hard at it (or take Adderall) they’re usually a day late and a dollar short.  Their cars are filled with crud and crumbs.  They’re forgetful. They wear ugly sensible shoes.  They are the faintContinue reading “That Time of Year Again”

Becoming My Mother’s Daughter

 Slow rain, long rain, steady rain, all night rain.  Rain the way it used to rain, so very long ago, when Georgia was a place considered lush, and dense with dampness.  A place where the late-spring leaves on the trees were always achingly green. Where those leaves turned belly-up, silvered as fish, to the wind.Continue reading “Becoming My Mother’s Daughter”

Clap Your Hands if You Believe

We are at the age: Elder Girleen has left princesses and their overly-sweet attendant glitter and frills far far behind, putting them aside as childish things. We are at the age: she’s become all arched feathery eyebrows and long strong scraped-up legs, and mind that works and works and works, so quickly that it takesContinue reading “Clap Your Hands if You Believe”

Rolling in Clover; or Luck, and Where to Find it

The more common variant of the saying being like pigs in clover — but let’s not go that far. But if I had some magic elixir bottled up that could whisk me back to childhood, it would consist of a distillation, an inhalation of the following: …The scent of the pinpoint-sized white flowers of aContinue reading “Rolling in Clover; or Luck, and Where to Find it”