Confectionary Confession

Painting by Wayne Thiebaud


I’m eating leftover birthday cake from last weekend, cutting each slice thinner and thinner, hoping to savor the layers of buttercream godsend from the town bakery. I’m grateful my husband gave up sweets for Lent and that my daughters forgot all about the festivities and the giant box in the fridge. A secret delectable all for me and the one in the womb:)

2018, Amaya Engleking 

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Tired and Blessed


At 7.5 weeks, all the symptoms finally fell on me hard. Luckily the deluge occurred a few days after a weekend camping trip with my mom and brother, from whom Read More

Himalayan Happiness

“Karpu” Photography by Amaya Engleking

Remember how after Tsewang and I wrote the bilingual love ballad with the first line being so intentionally cheesy because I only wanted to hear Karpu’s passionate ten year-old heart sing it, but his sister stated as a matter of fact, “No. He’s badly tuned.” And remember how after tea and before our long, bumpy cab ride to Swayambhu from the Nagarkot tower where Tsering Medo and Nima along with a couple dozen college kids hopped the barbed wire to stand on the gravity station to get the ghosts to come out, Joshua suggested to our party that we find a toilet. And Tsering asked with a naughty smile, “Little little or big and long?” Remember how on the sunny laundry day in Kathmandu, Read More

Realize

Holding my daughter

I read to you, my Baby In The Womb, your first book. It was Annie Dillard’s Holy the Firm. You may say I have great expectations for you, but really hardly less than the Lord your Father’s for you, Little One. You will learn this early on — and perhaps you already know (but most of us forget amidst the flashes and specks of this disco-ball world) — that God is perfect and so must be his Word. Therefore, the individual letters of the alphabet, or characters, are inherently essential and truth-giving: Read More

A Day in San Bernardo

Carlos

Don Carlos, the professional classical guitarist from whom I rented a room in Medellín, asked if I would feed the five tortugas in the atrium paradise under the lime tree and bougainvillea, and then accompany him in singing Renaissance music. We spent the afternoon learning lullabies and laments, and after much digging through ancient sheet music, he found the treasured García Lorca song arrangements.  Read More

Baptism 


I drove up to the mountains sensing freedom, but drove past my intended destination of the hot springs. Something was moving me, I was not in control but I was enveloped in complete peace. The interstate turned into an off-ramp, the pavement turned into dirt, and the 4-wheel drive turned into 2-leg only. Where I could no longer drive up the snowy and muddy road, on the stereo Roberta Flack was singing “Killing Me Softly” and I, content with my own slow death.  Read More

Room With a View

My baby is six months old. In her short life she has already lived in two small mountain towns and in three houses. Mama’s always harping, “You have kids now, when are you going to settle down. For crissake’s they need STABILITY!” Hey, it’s her gypsy blood in the family; not my husband’s nor my father’s, so I think she could be a bit more embracing of her roots! So here are pictures of views from our last three places of residence. Read More

Ragdoll

holdinghands

I’m a ragdoll, carried by my God

I hear Jesus speak

Speak in a language I do not know

He takes my limp hand in his

Looks at my thumbnail

Addresses the atoms by name

I understand

They are neither male nor female

Like God or colors Read More

Q’s Angels

Sadness about the angels who must forget what they are in order to be here.  Tiny ones gathered in my daughter’s cheek to pad her from when the kindergartner had a seizure and dropped her onto the floor.  The incident replayed over and over again in my mind keeping me from sleeping, my husband turned away from me, furious about the whole thing.  “Where is your mind?” Read More