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milk and honey

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The Vocabulary of the Heart

Six years after my dad died, three after my mom died, and this year, when my first two grandchildren are born, this resonates. Frederick Buechner, The Eyes of the Heart.

Each time members of the tribe die, the self we were with them dies too, which is to say that the kind of words we spoke only to them, were only to them, and the kind they spoke only to us are spoken no longer. But if outwardly our language is thus impoverished, inwardly it is enriched because when members of the tribe die, the words they were are added to the vocabulary of the heart, where we have more than just ears for hearing them. And each time a member of the tribe is born, a new word comes into being, and nothing is ever the same again.

Rule Follower

I was recently inducted as a new member of the Grandparents Club. Per the club handbook, within 24 hours, I’d changed my phone’s lockscreen to a picture of the baby. (I’m smitten.)

Two years
My mom died September 1, 2022: 4 months and 4 days shy of her 99th birthday.
I think of her and Dad all the time. The best is when they're in my dreams.
Color photo of an old woman with white hair and an active expression
Maggie
As an adult, my family has had three dogs. Sweet, sweet Maggie (officially, Margaret Rose) was the first.

Early Maggie (and early kids):
Three kids and and a sweet dog

Late Maggie:
A sweet dog