Claire Hunter
Stories (23/0)
Prioritizing Rest
Who has time to rest? We are fed this attitude like resting is for the uber-rich or super lazy. That we “normal” people don’t deserve and can’t afford to rest. You have heard the phrase, “Time is money.” Yet, innately we all know, we all feel, resting is a necessity.
By Claire Hunter2 years ago in Motivation
A people-pleasing, judgmental teacher with no self-worth…
I wanted to just answer like everyone else. The standard, I love my job because it feels good to help people. That sounds so cliche, it is what people are supposed to say -- the ‘right’ thing to say, and it is true. I am a self-labeled people pleaser. I am judgmental. I tend to think my work determines my worth. Thing is, I think these are exactly the traits that make me love my job and maybe even make me good at my job.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Confessions
Indoor gardening
On the south side of the house, in the petty part of the yard, there is a small garden. The garden grows cucumbers, mugwort, lavender, carrots, tomatoes, and marigolds. The Peartree grows in that same plot too. In the springtime, the bed gets made again and the earthy smell gets trapped and rescued under the nail beds of Henry. Kate watches him from the study, as Henry takes the seeds from the packet and plunges them into the dirt, covers it, and presses his hands on the top of the soil almost like kneading dough. And then moves to the next, Kate is unsure if he plans out a pattern prior to the planting or if he simply moves without thought. She often feels like she is watching something secret like she’s watching him change his clothes or something. It feels intimate, but it’s gardening, she reassured herself, surely this is fine. Kate’s condition didn’t allow her much time outside. Her mother told her that the fresh air was only suitable in small doses, however, when she did have outings it was invigorating, and thought that her passing out was simply a sign of that. The pear tree was always a peculiar tree to her, the trunk so rough and squat, and this one was particularly pear-shaped in its foliage, the white blossoms would aromate the space, and she would crack the window just a touch brings her face down to the sill and inhale deeply, once her mother walked in and Kate was able to pretend she was tying her shoe, not sniffing the magnificent smell that wafted over in the warming midday sun. She often imagined that smell wrapping around her like a gauzy white cloak or blanket like the one that she had had as a baby, the waffled texture bringing weight to the blanket that was otherwise not there at all. She felt safe and bigger than she was somehow.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
Finding mist
Down at the frozen pond, Mom says it’s dangerous. Mom said her childhood friend fell through the ice one winter and drown. Mom says don’t go near there. It is winter, kids play hockey, sometimes dads and families play too, there is a lot of hooting and hollering. It feels jovial. Mom is angry. She says it’s about that we aren’t putting our things away or that we aren’t helping out, but we all know she’s just mad because there are kids playing on that damn pond and no one remembers her friend.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
Firefly parade
The lights have been turned out, the ceiling fan whirred above her bed, wafting the cool breeze down feeling the hairs on her face sway ever so slightly. The window was cracked and she could hear the crickets and frogs singing, she often fell to sleep thinking about what kind of party would these creatures in the garden have. It had been a while since her mother tucked her in, even in her 5-year-old mind she knew she should be asleep by now. She laid there, content and also waiting, she actually had no idea what she was waiting for but she could feel something happening.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Fiction
Kindness Community
You are a person who is challenged by the demands of the everyday, from the expectations on social media to the challenges of work and wondering if you are being a good parent. With so much to do in this world so often, I see self-care is often the last thing. When you get home from work, after picking up the kids at daycare — you change into something more comfortable, rush to get dinner ready, and try your best to listen and be present with what your family is saying, but inside you are already curled up under the covers, overwhelmed.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Longevity
A minor change of plans
My mom always said she had to have something sweet to eat after her meals. Especially lunch and dinner, she said she never felt quite satisfied. Now, this truly could have been solved by some sessions with a nutritionist, but who am I to judge. As a nutritionist and devout vegan for 26 years, I would love to give her food advice if she asked.
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Feast
Grandma
"Grandma, what is the color of knowing?" Shifting in her seat, she spoke quietly, "If a color could be knowing I think it would be blue, a deep violet inky blue. One that wraps you in the night's sky, the stars twinkling and wolves howling nearby. Can you feel that baby, I feel safe, what do you feel?
By Claire Hunter3 years ago in Poets