Ms Paula Beloved Mom and Grandma

Love The Mom!

Readers of this page should be aware that it is entirely devoted to appreciation of Paula Craig by her children, their friends, her colleagues, and the hundreds of people who have been touched, educated, and profoundly cared for by Paula Craig (Ms. Paula). It is designed and operated by her son, Brandon, and all emails with additions and correction should be emailed to him.

From early rising, prayerful study, poetry, and prose to steadfast faithfulness and bottomless hope for all her children's health and happiness, I admire Paula Craig. May she grow even wiser, especially in caring for her own spirit. More poetry and published writing, Mom!

Love,

Brandon

My mother is always prepared for an intellectual chase, a metaphorical immersion, or a poetic pursuit. I think of her sitting at the kitchen table; unfazed by hunger, tiredness, or day turning into night, turning a topic inside and out unafraid of whatever she may find at the end. I inherited from her a dogged curiosity that can only be satisfied by COMPLETELY talking things out while drinking plenty of tea.

Love you Mom, Merry Christmas! -- Meghan

Cogitation in progress... words coming soon...

--- Lisa

PAULA

A light in the sky like the monolithic Texas sun, Paula defies words. Before visiting her home with friends, I tell them that Paula is best understood as a triumvirate of jazz singer, Montessori director, and Christian mystic. The warm light of confusion that this description kindles in their eyes is the only preparation I can give for the experience of spending a few days in her presence.

Mama is mammal warmth –such that it is possible to believe in warm-bloodedness, such that the ties of kinship break less easily with the stranger, outcast, and the bearer of fire.

Mama is fire – the briefly flickering lifelong struggle-against by which the self has chances to be born.

Mama is hearth – where that life is cooked to feed these lives in particular. Where mouths are filled with nourishment and civil speech and the dark is properly placed.

In the Winter when the warworldwhirl is cold such that flesh and metal separate agonizingly Nativity is possible because of Mama

20031224 bdwc

Paula, the pecan mystic; Paula, the music-hour crone; Paula, the cornbread prophet; Paula, the stern judge of soft kindnesses. She is neither the mother I never had nor the mother-in-law I've been taught to fear: she is a guide, a friend, and a mystery. I am grateful to have become her son. -- Isaiah

	Love The Mom! Readers of this page should be aware that it is entirely devoted to appreciation of Paula Craig by her children, their friends, her colleagues, and the hundreds of people who have been touched, educated, and profoundly cared for by Paula Craig (Ms. Paula). It is designed and operated by her son, Brandon, and all emails with additions and correction should be emailed to him.

From early rising, prayerful study, poetry, and prose to steadfast faithfulness and bottomless hope for all her children's health and happiness, I admire Paula Craig. May she grow even wiser, especially in caring for her own spirit. More poetry and published writing, Mom!			Love, Brandon
My mother is always prepared for an intellectual chase, a metaphorical immersion, or a poetic pursuit. I think of her sitting at the kitchen table; unfazed by hunger, tiredness, or day turning into night, turning a topic inside and out unafraid of whatever she may find at the end. I inherited from her a dogged curiosity that can only be satisfied by COMPLETELY talking things out while drinking plenty of tea. Love you Mom, Merry Christmas! -- Meghan	Cogitation in progress... words coming soon... --- Lisa	PAULA A light in the sky like the monolithic Texas sun, Paula defies words. Before visiting her home with friends, I tell them that Paula is best understood as a triumvirate of jazz singer, Montessori director, and Christian mystic. The warm light of confusion that this description kindles in their eyes is the only preparation I can give for the experience of spending a few days in her presence.		Mama is mammal warmth –such that it is possible to believe in warm-bloodedness, such that the ties of kinship break less easily with the stranger, outcast, and the bearer of fire. Mama is fire – the briefly flickering lifelong struggle-against by which the self has chances to be born. Mama is hearth – where that life is cooked to feed these lives in particular. Where mouths are filled with nourishment and civil speech and the dark is properly placed. In the Winter when the warworldwhirl is cold such that flesh and metal separate agonizingly Nativity is possible because of Mama 20031224 bdwc
	Cogitation in progress... words coming soon... --- Lisa	Paula, the pecan mystic; Paula, the music-hour crone; Paula, the cornbread prophet; Paula, the stern judge of soft kindnesses. She is neither the mother I never had nor the mother-in-law I've been taught to fear: she is a guide, a friend, and a mystery. I am grateful to have become her son. -- Isaiah