Summer Inspiration

This summer, I’m treating myself to an online writing/photography course. The class is called Unraveling: Ways of Seeing Myself, and taught by the wonderful, Susannah Conway, with whom I took my first online course, Blogging from the Heart, earlier this year.

Our first Unraveling assignment was to think about our feet. Susannah encouraged us students, 90+ women from all around the world to “Look down at the ground and see where you are in the world.”

Each week we share four of our favorite photos.

These are mine.

The second week’s task was to focus on our reflections; to catch glimpses of ourselves reflected back to us in the world.

Here are my photos from that assignment.

In the meantime, Tucker is reading Jhumpa Lahiri’s book, The Namesake for his summer reading assignment.  In particular, he’s been asked to focus on the advantages and disadvantages of being raised bicultural.

When I came across this poem, I was struck by how it so aptly captured all three; feet, reflections and life between two cultures.

My Grandmother Washes Her Feet in
the Sink of the Bathroom at Sears


My grandmother puts her feet in the sink

        of the bathroom at Sears

to wash them in the ritual washing for prayer,


because she has to pray in the store or miss

the mandatory prayer time for Muslims

She does it with great poise, balancing

herself with one plump matronly arm

against the automated hot-air hand dryer,

after having removed her support knee-highs

and laid them aside, folded in thirds,

and given me her purse and her packages to hold

so she can accomplish this august ritual

and get back to the ritual of shopping for housewares

Respectable Sears matrons shake their heads and frown

as they notice what my grandmother is doing,

an affront to American porcelain,

a contamination of American Standards

by something foreign and unhygienic

requiring civic action and possible use of disinfectant spray

They fluster about and flutter their hands and I can see

a clash of civilizations brewing in the Sears bathroom

My grandmother, though she speaks no English,

catches their meaning and her look in the mirror says,

I have washed my feet over Iznik tile in Istanbul

with water from the world’s ancient irrigation systems

I have washed my feet in the bathhouses of Damascus

over painted bowls imported from China

among the best families of Aleppo

And if you Americans knew anything

about civilization and cleanliness,

you’d make wider washbins, anyway

My grandmother knows one culture—the right one,

as do these matrons of the Middle West. For them,

my grandmother might as well have been squatting

in the mud over a rusty tin in vaguely tropical squalor,

Mexican or Middle Eastern, it doesn’t matter which,

when she lifts her well-groomed foot and puts it over the edge.

“You can’t do that,” one of the women protests,

turning to me, “Tell her she can’t do that.”

“We wash our feet five times a day,”

my grandmother declares hotly in Arabic.

“My feet are cleaner than their sink.

Worried about their sink, are they? I

should worry about my feet!”

My grandmother nudges me, “Go on, tell them.”

Standing between the door and the mirror, I can see

at multiple angles, my grandmother and the other shoppers,

all of them decent and goodhearted women, diligent

in cleanliness, grooming, and decorum

Even now my grandmother, not to be rushed,

is delicately drying her pumps with tissues from her purse

For my grandmother always wears well-turned pumps

that match her purse, I think in case someone

from one of the best families of Aleppo

should run into her—here, in front of the Kenmore display

I smile at the midwestern women

as if my grandmother has just said something lovely about them

and shrug at my grandmother as if they

had just apologized through me

No one is fooled, but I

hold the door open for everyone

and we all emerge on the sales floor

and lose ourselves in the great common ground

of housewares on markdown.

So what’s inspiring you this summer? Have you ever taken an online course, or thought about doing so?


Follow-Up on My Boy/Man

I thought it was fitting after publishing yesterday’s post about my boy growing up, that when I arrived to pick him up at work in the afternoon he was all excited to show me what he’d accomplished.

I was a bit surprised when we walked right past the chicken coop he’d cleaned, the holes he’d dug for fence posts and the white picket fence he’d painted.  Instead, we went around the farm house to the trampoline in the field behind.

“I finally mastered my flip,” he told me with big, wide eyes.

I thought I should say something about work and the appropriateness of time and place, but instead I kept my mouth shut and watched as he demonstrated his “mastered” flip.

“He looked like he needed a break,” I heard from Tucker’s boss who’d walked up behind.

And I smiled, knowing that no matter how big Tuck gets, a part of him will always remain a little boy at heart.


You can click on the picture to watch the 40 second video. Note the fist pump at the end!

Observations on Little Ones

My sister’s kids came down from Vermont to stay with us for a few days. They’re nine and six, just as mine were only a few short years ago.  Yet somehow, as I’ve aged and adapted along with mine, I’ve forgotten all the sweet, little things about little ones.

Like how no matter how late they go to bed, they still wake so early (6am) and how those little bellies are so super hungry after a full night of sleep.

I’d forgotten how a few picture books, read in a fun, animated voice, can be the highlight of a day.

Or how there is no need for probing questions to get them talking.  That they talk freely, an unfiltered stream of all that they observe and see.

How if asked to do something, they actually do it. Right then and there.  What a concept.

How they smile for photos and come running when I find a cool bug or tadpole or inchworm.

How they actually put on sunscreen and how covering their little backs takes just a bit of lotion and a few swift swipes across those bony angel wings.

How an afternoon bowl of ice cream with raspberries is a special treat and how a soda with caffeine isn’t even a consideration.

I’d also forgotten how they can’t reach glasses or bowls in the cupboard and how pouring their own lemonade usually means more on the floor than in the glass, and how they’re constantly watching and imitating the bigger ones; longing for their own bigger somedays.

But most of all, what I’d forgotten, is that for now, how they have no where else to be, but right by my side.

What about you? Are you still in the midst of raising little ones or have your littles grown big?

Before My Eyes


Yesterday he was one,

and then he was five,

soon eight, then ten, then twelve.

Today he’s fourteen, turning fifteen in a month.

 And all along, so much more little boy than man;

his talks of someday fanciful and improbable.


And then six months ago, 3 inches and 11 pounds overnight.

Suddenly the boy who subsisted on air was eating five meals a day.

And then another 3 inches and who knows how many more pounds.

We often stand back to back;

I still have a 1/2 an inch on him,

but not for long.

Each morning now I drive him to work at the local farm.

As I study him telling me about pigs and fencing, chicken coops, soil composition and cooking garlic scapes, I realize that before my eyes he’s gone from little boy to so much more man.


But I’m not sad like I thought I’d be.

Because really it didn’t happen overnight.

Just like he first learned to roll over and then sit up; crawl and then stand,

I learned right along with him then,

Just as I am learning right along with him now.