Mending from the clutches of fever and flu
That comes in waves
Not unlike the Atlantic below
In goes the cup of flour, not measured too carefully because there’s no need.
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I wanted to write about how incredibly grateful I am to be raising my baby and older sons in a community where mothering is respected and supported.
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“Well, he said he wanted a bounty,” my grandma once said in her nasal, Long Island drawl. “So, yeah, I ordered ninety-eight chickens.”
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For Aidan, Manny and Liam, and the younger generations coming in— so you will have some kind of record. This was written long ago written; I am hoping you will all take it from where I left off.
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