I asked the vendor at the U-District Farmer’s Market what makes a second sweet potato a second sweet potato. Little things, mostly. Mostly superficial. Every time I purchase seconds, I feel disproportionately proud. In the summer, it’s tomatoes for...
We were at Tinello in Pioneer Square with good friends from the neighborhood yucking it up at a pre-celebration of Leslie’s birthday on a Friday night when Leslie got a call. She doesn’t usually answer the phone, any phone, especially during a good...
Today Leslie brought home a letter that she’s kept at her office for months. I reproduce it here, unedited, in honor of the commitment and devotion that I’ll be celebrating on Valentine’s Day, even if it makes me look like a love-sick puppy. (She...
It’s been three years since Marshawn Lynch ignited Century Link Stadium. Remember, sports fans? Seahawks v. Saints. Wild-card play-off. Home team advantage. Less than four minutes left. Lynch breaks eight tackles and runs for 67 yards. Game-clinching touchdown....
I stayed in an assisted living facility during my holiday trip back to Boston; briefly and temporarily, not permanently. My parents moved from their rambling, charming, historic house on five acres in New England to a much more circumscribed facility for seniors in a...
I bundled up before leaving my condo on a frigid night to take Gus for his last run. Two-tone puffy jacket. Sleek ski hat. New gloves. Thick cords. I felt stylishly protected. Once out the door, Gus bolted down the ramp by the side of our building on Jackson Street in...
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