It’s three days after Christmas. I’ve got to sit down and write a few more Christmas cards, wrap one more gift, and wait for the green light to travel and gather with our northwesterly kids who are trying to get over Influenza A. I love Christmas, not just for the…
But the line of us is beautifully consistent. Last night’s texts: one exclaiming over a beautiful home on a holiday tour; one showing a beautiful winter container holding the line between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Both prompting a return early this morning to previous holidays through my phone’s photo library. Our…
This is your hotel? he asked. Looking around with his sharp, almost-5 eyes: You brought your house with you. Serendipitously, I encountered the author Fiona Davis, of so much great historical fiction, like “The Address,” about iconic NYC high-rises, who writes as though she lives in my head. It is…
It has taken me a lot of a slow lifetime to be ok knowing that we must find ourselves inside the fence instead of over it. I have asked myself a dozen times over a month, during which we have mostly lived out (J.’s goal … or was it prophesy?…
Sharing with you this morning a little of what you will find from me if you subscribe also to lauriecarney.substack.com: So, I did: remain very still. It’s predictable, what happens when one is still. For me, all the good stuff that happens inside of it is matched head on with…
Before bed and again before first cups of coffee, we played across the paper cards with them: the little people taking turns calling. How at 3 can he read his audience and build excitement for the possibility that he will call the animal they have learned only in story? So…