At Seven Seas diner sits a mother, stilland pale as an ivory carving—white hair pulledinto a tiny topknot, eyes—soft gray, open wide,barely blinking. Her face, breasts, belly, arms and legs are round like The Venus of Willendorf. Her daughter faces her with the same face, but her hair is dark, flowing, her body lithe, long, her eyes trained on her
On our first night living on Tuller Circle, my sixteen-year-old daughter and I assemble what will become our kitchen table for the next fourteen years. The surface is constructed of pine-green tiles set in oak and because it is higher than average table height, I buy four stools upon which my three daughters and I