Tiara Me Sue

Thanks to an online community sharing group, I am now the proud owner of a breadbox. I’ve wanted one for a long time; every single time I buy bread and am forced to make that decision whether or not to put it in the refrigerator. Do I know how soon I will use it? If I leave it out, will it go stale? Is it too humid to leave it out? I hate putting bread in the fridge (it doesn’t stay nice and soft), but what I hate more is having to throw away stale or moldy bread that I’ve left out on the countertop because I didn’t use it soon enough. Every time I have this conversation with myself, I think of Grandma. Grandma Josie had a breadbox. Grandma’s bread was always fresh. I want a breadbox. Of course, Grandma pretty much always bought her bread fresh from the bakery daily – but even the ‘leftover’ bread was still good. Because she had a breadbox. My former mother-in-law had a breadbox, too. Coincidentally, her name was Josie, too. She, too, was a tiny little Italian woman who bough...

40 Years in April It was another April, years ago  - less than the years it would take to decide if something will matter later (if time really does exist) that time, that April I was offered forty years - forgetting time is an illusion, a moment … a whim as was that promise April in New England is the same each year the promise of May flowers is April’s illusion; a reality that brings out the fool in all of us as the native, I believe in April rendering me the fool having learned the gift of those forty years like Spring, was only to last a moment a moment that springs up through the green in the snow and then’s washed away each year by April’s cold showers When April returns foolish illusions spring forth once more with the promise of May   - may it be that wonderful again.