Blog : Beautiful-Things

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Silence By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 25, 2014
Today there was the slumbering hush of a house in the morning with everyone else asleep, then the vacant stillness of an empty house in the afternoon.


Name By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 24, 2014
I’ve recently dedicated myself to learning the names of trees. Before I never thought it made much of a difference, but the beauty of their names compelled me.


Garden By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 23, 2014
Once again, I have decided to grow a garden. These aspirations tend to end in hard green tomatoes, withered basil, and parched soil. Yet today in a surge of optimism we shoveled the sod from our raised bed and lugged home giant bags of dirt.


Grandpa By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 22, 2014
My mother’s father is slowing down--growing quieter and more forgetful. This evening, while my grandma cooked dinner, my daughter and I sat with him in the den. He is too frail to hold her or bounce her up and down on his knee, but not too far gone to notice her staring at the birthday balloon floating behind his chair. Slow as a turtle his hand reached back...


Dandelion By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 21, 2014
We have a carpet of dandelions over our front lawn--bright yellow heads peppering the cushions of moss and tufts of grass. I don't understand why they garner so much resentment...


Age By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 20, 2014
We have just spent a long weekend introducing the babe to her aunts and uncles, first and second cousins, great-grandmothers. We stayed in the house where her father’s father’s mother was born, where she cared for a dying son and where, at ninety-nine years old, she still wakes at dawn and sips her instant coffee over the newspaper. So I have thought a lot about old things these past few days...


Beethoven By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 19, 2014
Were it not for my infant daughter, I would not be home on a Wednesday morning in my pajamas, catching up with yesterday’s dishes and laundry and forgotten clutter. But I also would not have thought to blast Beethoven's Ninth Symphony...


Office By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 18, 2014
When I arrive early at the office on Tuesdays, the morning sun floods the eastern windows, and I hang my coat and empty my books onto my desk and wait a moment before switching on the overhead lights.


Bedtime By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 17, 2014
No matter what pandemonium has shaken the day, there comes a time a little past nine in the evening when we turn down the lights and close the curtains and our beloved drifts off to sleep in one set of arms or another.


Play By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 16, 2014
There is perhaps no better way to celebrate resurrection than to spend time with children. Today my younger nephews and I pulled their Easter kites up and down the horse pasture, and I spent the evening hours chasing the older ones around their grandparents’ yard.


Seder By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 15, 2014
Tonight our Jewish friends shared the Passover Seder with us--explained the ancient symbols, sang the Hebrew songs, recited the old, old prayers. We dipped our greens in salt water, our pinkies in red wine. We spread bitter herbs on unleavened bread. I learned the Hebrew word dayenu, which means it would have been sufficient...


Bicycle By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 14, 2014
After work I fetched my bicycle from the shop where they had tuned it up--wrapped my Ram’s Horn handlebars with fresh tape, tightened the brakes, flossed the cassette until it sparkled.


Writing By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 13, 2014
I was dense today, rushed. I kept losing important things--the keys, the phone, my daughter’s pacifier. I forgot to keep an eye out for something beautiful. But I do have this quiet moment--


Dishes By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 12, 2014
When I was twelve years old and so afraid of dying, I wrote in my journal that maybe by the time I grew old I would be ready. Perhaps after ninety years, after approximately 32,400 breakfasts and lunches and dinners and nighttimes, I would be weary of life.


Green By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 11, 2014
Today, weary of traffic, I took the back roads home. Now is the season of every green imaginable...


Home By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 10, 2014
This afternoon, before the youths from our church arrived at our house, I was distracted by the scarred baseboards and stained carpets and how much the kitchen walls needed washing. But then...


Papers By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 9, 2014
My husband took the babe away early this morning so that I could spend the entirety of today marking the first drafts of my students’ research papers. I have tried so hard to find beauty in my work...


Cardinal By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 8, 2014
Had it not been for the vainglorious crimson cardinal strutting up and down the branches of our lilac tree, I might not have noticed...


Cold By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 7, 2014
My little love is still sick--her nose a broken egg, her coughs like tiny barks. She has been sick for a couple of days, but today...


Snake By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 6, 2014
This afternoon a friend brought over, among other things, a garter snake she had rescued from her cat. There was also the armful of forsythia branches she left on my porch, the violets she picked for my daughter, but the snake...


Benediction By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 5, 2014
Today, a work day, I made it through one class and graded half a stack of essays before the daycare called to tell me my daughter had spiked another fever. I have missed too much work already; I am haggard, forgetful, behind. But leaving campus I noticed...


Dust By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 4, 2014
I was struck today by a couple of things--the perfume of hyacinths, a woman with white hair that hung down to the backs of her knees--but I have finally settled on dust.


Hymn By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 3, 2014
This morning at church I plunked out the four parts of an old hymn while above my chords the congregation’s voices took flight. And I thought of geese...


Morning By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 2, 2014
When my infant daughter wakes at two in the morning and her father cannot coax her back to sleep, she and I curl up on the mattress in the guest room below the big window...


Beet By Michelle Webster-Hein   |  February 1, 2014
I sliced a beet in half and discovered that it has rings. Rings like you would find on a tree stump to mark its age--one ring, one year. But beets are young, have only known one spring, one summer, one early fall, perhaps also one winter passed inside in a dark, dry box. So what could each ring represent?

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