cultivating the beautiful ordinary by sharing our tales and our tables
We sit on bar stools at a reclaimed wood counter in a refurbished grainery. Each cupping hot coffee, my friend and I stare at the large, heavy snowflakes surprising us all in early October. Across the street, an urban lot is being demolished. I no longer remember what had been there. The entire north side…
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Spanish flowed from my aunt and uncle’s lips like honey on a summer afternoon. As Latin music blared from the stereo, my family would gather together, their hips and feet gliding in perfect rhythm. The scent of pernil lingered in the air as boisterous laughter filled every nook and cranny of the house. A smile…
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One recent morning, a memory of the smell of the Cape Cod shoreline seared across me so sharply I almost gasped. Our memories of place can have this effect on us. After decades in the southwestern desert, I still miss the scarlet reds of east coast maple trees in autumn so much that I sometimes…
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