Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Sundays at Five

Sunday supper,
Our kids are growing up. One lives on his own, another with her mother. Both are within a short drive though and so I decided to try and institute an every Sunday family meal so that we all get a bit of face time and the time to connect, catch up and stay caught up. Hence, Sundays at Five.
Kitchen table.
After consulting with the kids, this is the best time on Sundays to eat. Sunday is not a party night. Sunday does have standing band practices and, for another, Dungeons and Dragons, so we aim to please and most of the time most of the kids show up.
L to R: Martina, Randall, Elizabeth
On Sunday morning I send out a reminder text to the kids, a few of whom walk into the living room from the other end of the house laughing that I would text them from a room away. I'm hoping that the lure of free food will turn into a habit that will carry into marriages and children all gathering at my house on Sunday afternoons a la 'Soul Food.' So far so good.
Mark and his one true love, a big slab of meat. (He *is* reaching for the salad, much to my delight.)
Posted by at
Labels: , , , , , , , , , , ,

0 comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

No NAIS!

NoNAIS Bumper Sticker

Crossroads

On the day of my 45th birthday

this poem was published in the

Sanctuary at the Women's

Colony. I love it and thank

the author, Joyce Sutphen,

for writing this poem honoring

the process of living a life

beyond youth.

Crossroads


The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers sifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys in into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.


~Joyce Sutphen
Straight Out Of View, New Rivers Press

My Readers, I love them!