From his summer in the Italian Alps, Sean brought home a half dozen souvenirs: some herbal genepi from Aosta, a stick of torrone for dad and, from his hamlet in Val D’Otro, a round of fresh goat cheese. And a jar of alpine honey ”for Auntie Belinda,” he said. “I bottled it myself: it’s strong… Continue reading
Reading Wittgenstein is a lot like contemplating zen: as soon as the magnesium ignites you catch a shadow of something at the edge of your vision and you’re instantly off into another bardo. No tags for this post.
Tom grabbed this one as we slogged across the meadow toward the putative mill pond, our backs to Grover hot springs where the rest of our families were undoubtedly warmer. Tags: aye0
Winooski is a small town just ouside of Burlington, Vermont, near lake Champlain and close enough to Canada that my father spoke fluent French all his life, albeit with a proletarian accent. It was also a mythologic place of maple syrup snowcones, woolen mills whose doors were locked right after the morning whistle, and a… Continue reading