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The Marvelous Boy

Here’s what driving carpool really means: the floors of your car fill up with food remains, the seams of your seats darken with embedded crumbs, the windows smudge over with the residue of sticky/sweaty foreheads, noses, lips and fingers, the air sours with the lingering odor of left-behind articles of clothing peeled off while wet, half-sucked candy inefficiently rewrapped and hidden in the handy little storage trove on the rear passenger door, right above the door handles, greets you when reach for a grocery bag. There you will also find last Halloween’s Tootsie Rolls, already-chewed gum, used Kleenex, torn Twix wrappers, tiny plastic ducks and whatever else was once held in a grimy or sweaty hand.

 

Sometimes you find a treasure in the trove – I recently unearthed a tiny origami love message to my son on what once was a 1” yellow sticky note.

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Nature Reserve

I stood at the far end of a long, shallow reflecting pond, fuzzy green with algae and scum, offering no reflection. Four brown ducks, aligned in a row, glided toward the opposite end, taking turns bobbing under then popping up above the surface. Four perfect triangles, feathered and syncopated, arose then vanished. One’s bottom would pop up, submerge its head, feasting on some delicacy which lives in green murky still waters; then the next’s.

 

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Sorry, PETA

I’m the kind of girl made for fur. I’m on the petite side of things, small boned, small hipped, with a modicum of upper body strength and strong, sturdy long legs and calves.

 

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Bernie Weiss’ Soup

Every autumn, as the shocking color of orange drenches store shelves and windows, bags of candy nestle side by side with back-to-school supplies, I switch gears to fall menus. I pull out my recipes for chili and stews and whatever else will simmer all day in the slow cooker that has been empty since last spring. I lean in to the idea of hearty, creamy, substantial foods instead of the Caprese salads and tomato reductions and quickly prepared light foods that have filled the summer.

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Tucked Between the Pages

-For those who dwell within

 

Tucked between the pages was a birthday card from Mort, who apparently missed my party in 1998 but was thoughtful enough to give me a book of poetry celebrating grandparenthood. Taller than me, older than me, more experienced in the world than me, Mort was kind enough to let me be his teacher at a time when I was ensconced in the study of the old. I’m not sure I ever read his gift. I put it on the “keep” pile as I continued to weed out books I would never read again yet have been packed and unpacked, shelved and unshelved, across state, marital and life lines. Maybe I’ll read it later tonight.

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