I wake up realizing that completely absent from my mind when I wrote yesterday’s post was the fact that Sam was born on our anniversary. It seems impossible I could ever forget that. 1994: We all go skiing except Sam. Cal’s mother and the housekeeper take...
1993: Bill Clinton is sworn in as President. Kathleen stars in a play. Cal and I go to Bermuda. For the first time, we can know the sex of the baby before he or she is born. I want to know; Cal doesn’t. So they tell me, and I keep it a secret. The baby is due...
1992: Late one night, when Cal arrives home from a business trip, he comes into the bedroom holding a scrap of paper. “You have to get this book,” he says, handing me the paper. “I heard her on NPR.” On the paper, Pam Houston, Cowboys Are My...
1991: We may have moved in, but the house is not finished. Every morning, trucks line the driveway and the street. I must be fully dressed when I come downstairs. Before I start the coffee, I can smell the possibility and hope. I can see all the light and the unfilled...
1990: Another new decade. Over the last couple of years, Cal and I talked about building a house, then we bought a lot, hired an architect, bid it out, and selected a builder. But it’s not until February when we break ground that I understand we’re really...
One thing this project is doing is reinforcing the relentless nature of time. I can barely catch my breath. Each day, another year gone. 1989: I’m pregnant again. On Valentine’s Day, after a belated 8th birthday/skating party for Kathleen, I’m...
