Rise and Swine

Overcast. The air hangs crisp. Leaves dance beyond the pane - still summer green yet they play peek-a-boo with a hint of caramel and crimson. Autumn is upon us ushering in plump pumpkins, spiced cider, scarves, boots, woolen blankets and those brilliantly colored leaves that will soon crunch under foot. It's my favorite time of year but in my corner of the world it doesn't last long. Before I blink, the trees will stretch forth their barren limbs as white blankets the earth, and I will hibernate as much as possible. Enjoying the peaceful white from my comfortably heated home - coffee in hand. Knowing this, I always do some fall cleaning. Just like spring cleaning opens it all to new and fresh I prepare for the confinement of the dreary months ahead. I wash the windows knowing they will soon be dirty again but I want to enjoy the glistening of a winter wonderland for as long as I can. Funny how distorted our view becomes when we're looking through layers of grime. It...

I shape dough - lay into pans and cover. She walks into the kitchen and peeks under the towel. She groans. Wheat. She likes white. I ring the dinner bell, slice a loaf, and ask her to look in the cellar for some jam. Walking into the kitchen she's beaming - jar in hand. It's peach! One of her favorites. It was in the back hidden behind a sea of Apple Butter. She lets me know we're running low on the good stuff. We sit down and she brings a spoon - no knife will do. And she piles the jam thick. Several times through the next few days I see her slice through wheat and smother with summer sweetness and I giggle. She reminds me of my grandpa. Thankful for my precious girl. Until then... Jessie

I journey down country roads, beholding field after field sprinkled in sunshine petals.  Cornstalks stand to attention in perfect rows.  We're still in the last days of summer but there's this waiting - waiting for a new season, a new breath.  Autumn is crouched around the corner; I can feel it. I wash the plates from dinner while that tall one dries and I listen to his plans for the future and they don't line up with what I want.  I'm proud of him but my heart worries.  Lights go out, beds turn down, and in the black I'm left with his suffocating words. No one told me when I became a mother the hardest part would be in the letting go. The dawn greets us.  We open books, devour their contents, and I look at these faces knowing my time with them will all to soon come to an end.  So we laugh and pile on the couch and read about an ordinary woman who really was an extraordinary women.  She went from one Jewish mother to the next pleading for th...