Three Things and Three More | Volume 02
Thoughts on home and the small things, like doves and banana bread and the library
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
5:30 AM
Hello, mourning dove calling out.Hello, you who bring the dawn
and spread it over the valley in cotton candy light
and carry it along cool, dry air
and onto tops of olive trees
and curling smoke ribbons from chimneys
and into open windows under corrugated roofs,
in the softest, slowest lament—
best messenger that ever wasdear peacemaker, that just so happens
to be here, each day, resting in the sacred cedar,
to comfort us with a gentle song,
to spread wings of surprising grace,
to remind us that sunrises bring forth hope—
good morning, good morning, good morning.
Watch, now, how I start the dayin peace, in hope in the coming light.1
After the Earthquake
What do I do one day/two weeks/five months after a disaster? What do I take away from this when no one is guaranteed tomorrow? Should I carpe diem the day/YOLO it up/Make hay while the sun shines/Grab life by the horns/Live with no regrets/Throw caution to the wind?
Or maybe what needs to happen is this: Take one step forward/the next right thing/one tangible action. To cook breakfast/Run through the sprinklers/Double the banana bread recipe and give some to the neighbors/Drop off groceries to those who need it/Whisper a pray/a hope/a cry/a lament/Brush her hair for a little longer/Tuck her into bed a little tighter/Kiss him good night again and again/Say I love you/Call me if you need anything/Keep me posted/I’m here/I’m here/I’m here.
And maybe that’s where hope lies. Not in platitudes/silver linings/blithe responses. But in choosing the next right step, however small. And in finding the common thread that connects us all.Home in Five Senses
Home looks like craft supplies strewn across the dining room table, bedsheets pinned to the clothes line, tiny socks everywhere, a child growing too fast, well-loved paperbacks sitting on the nightstand, handprints persistently on glass.
Home smells like the certainty of brewed coffee every morning, roasted chicken in the oven, turmeric, paprika, and garlic, hot sun on concrete, rosewater scented stairwells, woody balsam in the winter, lemon-scented Pine-sol on Fridays.
Home sounds like folk songs booming over the speaker in the living room after breakfast, shrieks of laughter and heavy footfalls down the hallway during a game of hide and seek, the video call ringtone connecting two continents, Keep in touch, Text me when you get there, Do you want tea?
Home feels like clasped hands together in grace before a meal, sweaty post-nap hair, an embrace after a long plane ride, a squeeze on a shoulder, a pat on an arm, a kiss on the cheek.
Home tastes like chocolate chip cookies from scratch, coffee cake on Christmas morning, that *good* bread from the bakery, the delicate lace of krumkake, cardamom, almond, saffron.
Home stretches her weary legs across an ocean, across borders, across continents, each foot in two different places, thousands of miles between, always releasing, always receiving.
But home knows something I’m still learning: she has room to carry it all.
And Three More
One book I’m reading:
I spent the early part of the summer back in the U.S. at my parents’ house. This meant I had access to a public library up the road and real, feel-the-weight-in-your-hands, smell-the-comforting-scent-of-pages books (Actual. Books.) My kindle collected dust on the nightstand and I felt no remorse. I checked out as many titles as I could carry and tried my best to get through as many as possible in six weeks (which was four. Not my best, but I’m making peace with it).
One book that has stuck with me flying back across the ocean and hits particularly close to home is Refuge by Dina Nayeri. This book touches on so many aspects of the immigrant and refugee experience and weaves together imperfect characters and complicated relationships in an almost memoir-like novel. “Refuge charts the deeply moving lifetime relationship between a father and a daughter, seen through the prism of global immigration.” Beautifully written. A story that will stay with me for a long time.One meal I’m making:
I haven’t made these Spiced Lamb Skewers with Dates and Lemon yet (need to track down a grill), but oh, the turmeric! the dried mint! the cumin! and the cinnamon! all have my mouth watering. Definitely adding this to my summer meal bucket list.
One thing I want you to know:
By now we’ve all heard the news of the doomed Titan submarine tragedy that killed five people. What has gone overlooked though, is that, around the same time the sub went missing, another boat off the coast of Greece, carrying 750 refugees, capsized and sank into the deep waters of the Mediterranean. There were very little rescue efforts. Only a few news outlets reported on the disaster. Five hundred people, including children, are now presumed dead.
The difference in media coverage of each boat tragedy is staggering and raises the question of whose life is valued and why. It’s a conversation worth having. Start here or here.2
Related: Listen to Brendan Woodhouse, a search-and-rescue worker, read his poem, If They Were White.
Just lovely, Sarah. So much of this resonated with me. Thanks for sharing the link to my Writing in Company prompt. Your gorgeous piece on home in five senses has my wheels turning about a future prompt. I will link back to you when I share it. So glad to have connected.
So enjoyed this. I love the writing prompt you were given!