I haven’t passed very much on to her in the way of looks… To see me in my daughter, you have to look into her eyes and gaze down at her face. The only people who will see that will also have to know me.
And that’s the thing I can’t pass on. My whiteness. Not my actual skin color. But what I get because of it.
It was a typical Saturday afternoon for Maureen Milligan of Austin, Texas. She was driving down Burnet hitting up her regular weekend haunts when she came across an Amber Ostrich estate sale sign. At first she didn’t want to stop, having never been to an estate sale before, she said she thought it would be formal, like an auction house.
But then, “something made me go back,” she said.
This home had it all: sunken living room, shag carpet, stone fireplace, vintage pool, huge shady oak trees in the yard. It was, as the listing agent Courtney Oldham, put it, “stepping back in time.”
And some how, Katie Pixley knew it, just from seeing the doors on the Amber Ostrich Facebook page. Katie said her partner’s Facebook friend had liked the post on Amber Ostrich and when she saw the photo of the red doors in her newsfeed they knew immediately that they needed to see the inside of the house.
The story of how they came to find the home is a fantastic tale, filled with intrigue, detective work and good old fashioned luck. Settle in folks and listen to this story.
Once, we were at a funeral of a distant relative. My own flesh and blood looked me in the eye and said, “How long have you had her?”As I bounced my baby in her Mei Tei, I thought it was a strange way of asking me how old she was, confused, I responded, “She’s almost a year old.” …I had a baby. She was mine…He went on to tell me that he and his wife as missionaries in third world countries had adopted some biracial children. Too.Too….
“He’s not my husband. He’s not my ex-husband.”
It’s not exactly complicated, but for a private introvert/extrovert (I’m pretty friendly, but don’t go asking me personal questions) it is a continual source of mild distress because I hate to explain things to people I barely know.
Growing up in Texas, I learned to milk a goat, shoot a gun, kill (and run like hell from) rattlesnakes and explore the dusty land of dry brush and calliche rock roads. I know about cactus, prickly pear jam, and the Rattlesnake Roundup. If I’m driving anywhere in the world where there are farms, I’ll roll down my window to catch the faint whiff of cow dung. It’s the perfumy memory of my childhood.
The origins of Christmas have always been about celebration of family and community. But as the holiday becomes more and more commercialized, there are some parents who are backing away from the tradition of buying and moving back toward the original traditions.
Many families are asking themselves, “should Christmas be about presents or family?”