Three Things and Three More | Volume 01
Communion with the ducks, noticing, and kiwis having a moment
Three Things and Three More is an every-other-month(ish) newsletter with three bitesized (probably unrelated) essays and three quick (also probably unrelated) things I want to share with you.
Three Things
1. Communion
The bakery across the street sells these large bags of day-old bread for a minimal flat fee, a way to clear out inventory and make room for the new loaves that are baked in the early hours of the morning, I suppose.
So fifteen stale loaves of bread are now stuffed into a plastic bag and sit in the back seat of our car. Despite the past date, the smell of crusty bread floats to the front seat.
We drive to the river a few blocks away and park our car along the stone wall that lines the park.
There’s the crunch of the emergency brake, the jingle of the key ring, and the plastic rustle of the bread bag. We get out and join the rest of the town walking along the river.
Our daughter stops to pick up rocks that catch her eye and drag a fallen weeping willow branch along the cobblestone, pretending it’s the swish-swish-swish of a cat’s tail. A street dog saunters up and sniffs her shoes.
It’s Easter Sunday.
Setting the bag down on the wooden slats of the bridge, we reach our hands in and start tearing the hardened loaves into small pieces. One by one, we throw the scraps over the railing, watching as the bread falls soundlessly into the water. In a flurry of honks and quacks, word gets out across the river and groups of ducks start splashing towards the floating chunks of bread, picking up the pieces in their beaks. Recklessly. Earnestly.
Curious kids and their apologetic parents tiptoe over. We motion for them to join us and hand them bread from the bag.
I have a flash of some wonky form of The Eucharist as we all—strangers, together—continue to tear off the bread and feed the ducks.
This is my body, broken for you.
2. Noticing1
It’s my looking at the clouds era. My tracing the veins of an ash leaf era. My watching the slink of a worm, of a snail, of an ant era. My eyes closed, head tilted, rain on my tongue era. My dirt under my fingernails era. My fingerprints on the window era. My music on era. My silly dance moves era. My stomping in the mud puddles era. My helping tortoises cross the street era. My camera roll full of photos of the sky era. My (mostly) laughing without fear of the future era. My considering the wildflowers era. My flixweed, hollyhock, chamomile, and poppy era. My did you know arugula grows wild era. My did you hear the thunder era. My getting small era. My looking close era. My following the light era. My noticing era. My pushing back against the hard era. My staying soft era. My finding everyday magic in the everyday era.
3. Kiwis
You asked me for kiwi on our walk to the market. I didn’t even know you knew what a kiwi was, but Yes. Of course, I say. If the store has it, then kiwi it is.
We pick out four, not too hard and not too soft, and place them in the miniature cart you steer down the aisle. We pick up milk and yogurt, too.
Back outside I ask which way you want to walk back home: the long way along the sidewalk that snakes around our block? Or the shortcut up the dirt hill? The shortcut, you say. Yes. Of course. Let’s go.
I want to give you everything. The kiwis, the walks back home, safety, security. The world. I want to say yes and yes and yes and yes.
But everything feels fragile. Like, everything could be ripped out of our hands at any moment. Like, grief is living just around the corner. Like, change is the only constant, as the old saying goes.
(Is this parenthood?)
I cut up the kiwis on the counter and you scarf down one and ask for another. Yes, of course. Of course. Here you go.
And we sit in the kitchen eating kiwis together, popping pieces of the green fruit into our mouths and singing made-up songs about it.
And in that moment, with the afternoon light pooling at our feet and the screen door creaking in the breeze, this is the only thing that matters.
More of this thing, please.
Simple and easy.
Yes, of course.
And Three More:
One book I’m reading:
I just finished reading Darius the Great is Not Okay. Young Adult is not a genre I tend to gravitate towards, but I always jump at the chance to read anything that contains Persian culture, intercultural relationships, and multicultural/multigenerational family complexities.2One meal I’m making:
, on what’s happening in Sudan is an important read for all of us but especially those living in a diaspora.
Speaking of Persian culture, I’m on a journey of finessing my Persian cooking skills. This recipe for gheymeh is in regular rotation at our house these days. Slow-cooked beef? Check. Buttery rice? Check. Crispy french fries? Check.
One thing I want you to know:
This twitter thread from writer, Yassmin Abdel-Magied of
I love following along with what friends are reading. Is Goodreads still cool? Was it ever cool? Here’s mine. Connect with me there.
Thanks for the shoutout, friend. <3 I love your poem on noticing. That's something I'm trying to get better at in my own life. And what you wrote on kiwis, the shortcut, and giving our children everything really resonated with me, also. Oof. So good.
So glad to read your words here!!