“Stick your head through that wall,” I command a child. Seems right for this place. This place is a Roman amphitheater. Site of gladiatorial battles. This place is Arles, France. …
Tag: <span>memories</span>
I usually don’t expect travel to result in regret. Nostalgia, sure. A marrow-deep slurry of wistfulness that the Portuguese call saudade, absolutely. But regret? Not so much. Travel always somehow…
I’m relearning addition and subtraction alongside Miss I, and can I tell you, 12-5=? still has me doing some mental finger counting. I feel much more comfortable with the opposing…
It’s 6:52 am and I watch the college student in orange parka and backpack walk to the fluorescent-lit corner bus stop and I watch the Pittsburgh Port Authority bus arrive with lights blazing…
The day after Thanksgiving, those Parisians leaned tee-pees of wrapped Christmas trees against street corner newspaper stands, grocery market entrances, charcuterie doors, patisserie awnings. Christmas had arrived in Paris. Christmas…
Christmas cookies taste like security. When I was growing up, my grandmother made sure all of our festive cookie needs were met with a dash and panache of silver and…