chemex & tulips

(image by © Piotr Skubisz | Dreamstime.com) I used my first chemix coffee maker in Cambridge, MA.  I had rented an apartment on Walker Street, a British-like bed-sit which required a descend down some stairs.  It had access to a garden filled with roses, a lovely landlady, the late Natalie Grow, and in the cupboard,…

yet the sky

Yet the sky scattered snow at us yesterday, pausing one moment as I filled my gas tank.

Annie Dillard would

Yesterday, there were 43 icicles hanging over my kitchen window.  Imagine a long rectangle that opens like a porthole–that’s my kitchen window.  Today, there are twenty-one, all shapes and sizes.  If I felt glacial, I could watch them drip as the sun warms up.  Why is that only appealing with a cup of coffee in…

the night deposited

The night deposited another half-a-foot of snow, and my neighbor is valiantly shoveling the sidewalk.  There’s a desert–a lemon meringue pie, a blanc mange–what is a blanc mange? –which looks like the snow does now: softly peaked, luscious.  Am I thinking of a baked Alaska?  Why do cafes make those biscuity scones when they could make…