Want to help Syrian refugee babies? Do this.

Photo credit: Heroic Hearts Organization

I’ve been looking at baby pictures lately. This isn’t wholly unusual, but it definitely ramps up as we hit new milestones (lost teeth!) or fall back on old frustrations (remember when sucking her thumb was cute?) or, really, any time I have feelings about life and love and loss and worry. Like I said, I’ve been looking at baby pictures lately. I delivered all three of my babies in a wonderful hospital in a major city with a skilled surgeon {Read More}

Two years.

dad keely singing

Hi, Dad. It’s been two years since you died. It’s weird; typing “died” feels so harsh, so final. Like it’s rude to acknowledge it in that word. But I’m not feeling particularly fanciful, so neither “passed on” nor “departed” or “shuffled off” are words that feel right to me today. Honestly, using “died” doesn’t feel right to me either, on a number of levels. I know I don’t have to over-explain this one; I never had to with you, pretty much {Read More}

To my Auntie Joan, who showed me how to “treasure.”

Joan

If there’s anything that my Auntie Joan taught me, it’s that collections can be become treasures. Treasures can become household-defining. And, when passed on to the right person, the whole shebang becomes elevated beyond a group of tchotchkes to a mantel (or room) worth of heirlooms that make your heart sing. How else to explain my fierce adoration of the whimsical pewter animals- some with startled expressions- gracing my desk? Or the teacups, so many teacups, from her travels across {Read More}

What I know/what I have to believe/what I have to do

I almost posted this yesterday. I almost deleted it five times. I almost started it with a phrase like, “Okie doke, America, you wanted a non-politician? Congrats- you got one. Good luck landing that jet.” But I didn’t. Because a) it would seem like sour grapes and b) mixing metaphors is borderline inexcusable. (Although the bar for “borderline inexcusable” has been set real, real low. Hey-o!) No, but seriously, what the actual fuck. No, I didn’t mean to write that. Okay, {Read More}

Yes #blacklivesmatter. No more #thoughtsandprayers.

Just FYI: I had planned on posting a picture of Nora’s new turquoise hair because= summer and fun and life, you know? (And I still might, because it’s downright incredible.) And while her hair and her face and the life I enjoy with these tiny people buoys me up even in the darkest of feelings, my heart hurts today for the horrific, unfathomable killing of Black folks at the hands of police. It’s not new, although some are way-too recent, but it {Read More}

Sitting vigil on the internet.

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I had a whole post ready to go for today. About senseless violence and targeted minorities and lax gun measures and horrific election reactions and about one sweet baby boy and his immeasurably grieving parents. And I couldn’t finish it. More often than not it feels like I’m sitting vigil with my ever-refreshing news feeds; click, scroll, cry, panic, rinse, repeat. Plus, let’s be honest. Absolutely no one in the world needs my feelings (in 800 word diatribe form) about senseless {Read More}

Birthdays and time travel.

dad keely singing

So, this past Monday was my birthday. (And yes, we’re still talking about it, thankyouverymuch.) It was…perfect. It really was. Quiet. Fun. And wonderful, in the way that spending time with the people who appreciate you (even if they don’t mention it while you’re cutting their pb&js into geometrically exact triangles) is wonderful. Oof, 36 year-old Keely would be basically unrecognizable to 26 year-old Keely. (“So…you didn’t dance on any bars? Like, not even a smallish one?”) I was glad {Read More}

To my Dad, one year gone.

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Hi, Dad. So, I miss you. You know this. I know you know this because I’m always telling you this. And you respond in the ways that folks who are desperate for signs are sure to notice; the warmth of a hand on a shoulder, a puffy, heart-shaped cloud on a completely clear day, a third playing of Boz Scagg’s “Lido Shuffle” on major airwaves in 24 hours… This first year without you has been gigantic. And endless. And lightning {Read More}