Waxing poetic about the white stuff

(11.12.03)

Thursday, October 23. The first measurable snow of the fall collected in our field this morning. Always a signal day, the unofficial beginning of what seems to me the proper part of the year. I am aware that more people await the first crocus of spring, or the first robin on the lawn, but in fact at this latitude, spring and summer are the exception.

Essay

(06.15.05)

My father's favorite word these days is tofu. "I made a little stir fry tonight," Dad will tell me when I call home. Not much happens in the small upstate town where he and my mom live, and so dinner is often headline news. I'll hear him swivel round and put his feet up on the couch to savor the delivery. "A little bit of garlic, some olive oil, onions. Some red peppers, and ginger.