Days in the city have been marked by pale, blank skies, temperate weather and a damp chill. A new semester begins, and the hallways of my workplace are feverish with students. No marking yet, so there are tiny bits of time to cook, or read a novel, between writing and festival submissions and the…
The hospital’s on a barren, windswept city corner, abrupt, austere, final. The entrance is bare bones. It greets you uncertainly: there’s no reception, just someone behind glass who quickly turns away from you when you arrive, and buzzes you in. Nowhere to ask anything, not that you know what to ask. Not even a…
Three Christmases in three cities. Three weeks, five beds, twenty people to buy small and large gifts for. Two turkey dinners, three Sviat Vechir (Ukrainian Christmas Eve) feasts. One tasting menu, one high tea (thanks, Blue Eyed Stranger!). My shortbread, my mother’s rugaleh, Marika’s pampushky (sweet yeast buns with plum jam), Lida’s star-shaped cookies,…