The wonder of beauty, bravery, strength, accomplishments, and effort expended.
Being the 5th in a miscellany of short posts to mark the 12 days of Christmas. Standing in front of the candy counter, clutching my weekly allowance, I look longingly at the Cherry Blossom. Packaged in its own stylish box, it stands aloof from the array of cheap sponge toffee, …
Being the 2nd of a miscellany of short posts to mark the 12 days of Christmas. Standing at the window, I gasp in utter shock. The women gathered in the kitchen behind me stop chatting to ask, in some concern, What’s wrong? What are those magnificent birds? I manage to …
Seeing change in a new (and more positive) light. That’s not a mole, he says in some disgust. That’s an age spot. I’m not sure what right the walk-in-clinic doctor has to be disgusted by my age spot, but I try to be charitable. My description of the growth …
Contrasting the excesses of Christmas advertising with the minimalism of the Christmas message itself. It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas, everywhere I go. But it isn’t the garland, the mistletoe or even the damned snow. I see Christmas ads: they’re everywhere. Every fall, the first TV ad …
Contemplating the route to an edible rutabaga and wearable worm cocoons, makes me all agog at inventors – their insight, of course, but also their sheer persistence. I get cranberries: it’s rutabagas that baffle me. I mean, you can see how we came to be eating cranberries. I’m not …
Starting in the late 1950s, summer vacations found my three siblings and me packed in the back seat of our car, off to find North America without benefit of seatbelts. In marked contrast to our friends who had cottages, we were literally and metaphorically carried along by a family philosophy …
We have lost the test of life, he informs me, handing my drycleaning over the counter. I am, in quick succession, startled, panicked and then indignant: who knew a test of life had even been scheduled? Some hand waving clarifies his meaning: we have lost, not the test, but the …
My Oxford says a cat is a “small, furry, domesticated, carnivorous quadruped.” What does it know?
I present the dessert—chocolate éclairs—casually. A flourish would seem excessive: they have, after all, been thawing on the kitchen counter in plain view while we worked our way through the appetizer and entree. Brie and cranberry in phyllo pockets, followed by Chicken Kiev, both from the freezer section of my …
