Yesterday afternoon, my WALK was asked to smile more. I was in my neighborhood, heading on foot to my son’s baseball game, when a car slowed as it approached me from behind, sidled up to the curb, and the driver called out to me through the passenger window he’d rolled down. “Excuse me, miss.” (I am 52 years old.) “I couldn’t help but notice you walk very fast.” He smiled. He was missing several teeth. He sat there, expectant, had…
My house smells like hyacinths. Leftovers from the flowers I bought to make a boutonniere and a corsage for my son and his girlfriend for their prom. Musky and sweet, the scent greets me when I walk towards the kitchen to make the coffee. The flowers they did not choose to wear are arranged in a vase across from where I sit in the stillness of this early Sunday morning. The only sound indoors is the hum of the refrigerator,…
Taking a morning round through a garden is one of the small, perfect pleasures in life. It is a ritual that feels more necessary than ever, this spring, as balm in a deeply pained world. Just last week, I began again to carry my coffee onto the back porch—mug warming my hands as I peered over the railings—and then to wander in search of tiny unfurling plants. It is still not quite warm enough in Minnesota to rake out the…
