It’s Father’s Day this weekend. Many years have passed since I was able to wish my dad a happy Father’s Day in person… he died in 1975. But he lives on in memory, which grows more haloed as time passes. He was a quiet, kind, hard-working man. Very creative too, always fixing things using the… Continue reading In His Shop
Some days are heavy with memories. April 14th is one such—the day my first child was born. Actually, she wasn’t my first child. Like so many women, I had a prior pregnancy that ended in a miscarriage. That miscarriage occurred a year before my baby girl was born. (Both were right around Easter.) Today, a… Continue reading What we remember – “April 14”
Still mothering me Five days ago would have been your birthday. It’s been eight years … But you still visit me often keep me cool every summer when I slip on the brown sundress rescued from your closet wrap your arms around me every winter week it’s the old magenta sweater’s turn. Sometimes I catch… Continue reading Still mothering me
Thirteenth Summer It wasn’t that I could not get up the nerve to water-ski or that I hated myself in a bathing suit It was bare feet of tanned twins next to mine in that Waskesiu boat smoothly brown as Indian princesses nails polished the pink of shells beside my pasty sandaled peasants that made… Continue reading Thirteenth Summer
Poetry Camp inspired me to be a more regular visitor to my library (thanks, Janet Wong!). My fascination with verse novels prompted me to pick up Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson. I quickly discovered, though, that this isn’t exactly a verse novel. It’s a memoir—the story of young Jacqueline taking us through her childhood… Continue reading Brown Girl Dreaming (review)
Mother Speaks Do not throw it away, we’ll use it for patches. We can always eat bread—and eggs. Na-yo.* Are you reading again? Still not done the dishes? You could always weed the garden. Homework? Early. So much to do. I’ll be in the garden. Don’t be listening on the line. Felt pens! Can you… Continue reading Mother Speaks (NPM ’16-Day 19)
Thanksgiving Lunch at the Mennonite Church We’ve been smelling coffee for a while now as the sermon drones on and on but finally it’s benediction time and “Thanks for the food we are about to partake. Amen.” Old and young crowd down the stairs to the warm, fragrant basement claim chairs at the long table… Continue reading Thanksgiving Lunch at the Mennonite Church
The farmhouse where I grew up - Photo © 2009 by V. Nesdoly Missing Home I remember squeaks and slants in the floor of our last home can picture the gouge in paneling beside my desk the crumbing rubber on the patio-door seal. In the shed I see rust-freckled freezer top shelf of garden powders… Continue reading SJT – Home (Missing Home)
Dishes She stands at the enamel dishpan prune hands in warm water little robot of wash rinse stack looks out the window as clouds scud from the west thinks, I hope it doesn’t rain. Dad’s uptight enough, smells this morning’s cookies fresh from the oven thinks about mixing them and what's in the… Continue reading Dishes
The Witness of Rooms The heart of our family was the dining room more than the tight kitchen with its claustrophobia of cupboards woodbox on wheels, tilting-out flour bin that hid desperate-legged beetles and gas stove whose oven POOF! terrified me when I was eight. The dining room had the fridge and the wood table… Continue reading The witness of rooms
Violet Nesdoly 