"Shiroka strana moya rodina" ("O vast is my country"), the people are singing. "There's no other country where a man breathes more freely." Swept up in the collective elation, Mom inhales as deep as she can, filling her lungs with what she will always describe as "that smell"--the Soviet institutional odor of dusty folders, karbolka…
The morning that has passed seems far away as the afternoon advances, as the afternoon connects with the afternoon of yesterday of yesterday and of the day before, a repetition that must have a beginning somewhere but now is lost. -William Trevor ("A Day")I've been feeling surprisingly happy these last few weeks. I say surprisingly…
I've been trying to come back to this space more frequently--to get back into a blogging and writing rhythm (they say a writer writes and so it must go that a blogger blogs; here I am!). While I had always imagined that after the dissertation time would suddenly open up in magical ways, I now…
It's suddenly that time of year again, the season when life starts to vibrate with various possibilities. Everything seems to be in flux: the days suddenly stretch before you, inviting a certain leisure, and, at the market and in CSA boxes, you get a strange, but not unwelcome mixture of things like cabbage, asparagus and…
It seems that February somehow managed to slip away from me. One minute I was in the kitchen, making ice cream, broiling grapefruit and blanching endless amounts of greens from our CSA box (aphid season is upon us) for gratins, all while fantasizing about the many blog posts I would and should write about these…
Dining with Dostoevsky 