d i ē s   c a r p t ī
Front Archives September 2016 December 2010 September 2010 August 2010 July 2010 September 2009 September 2007 August 2007 July 2007 June 2007 May 2007 April 2007 March 2007 February 2007 January 2007 December 2006 November 2006 October 2006 September 2006 August 2006 July 2006 May 2006 April 2006 March 2006 February 2006 January 2006 December 2005 November 2005 October 2005 September 2005 August 2005 July 2005 June 2005 May 2005 April 2005 March 2005 February 2005 January 2005 December 2004 November 2004 October 2004 September 2004 August 2004 July 2004 June 2004 May 2004 April 2004 March 2004 February 2004 January 2004 December 2003 November 2003 October 2003 September 2003 August 2003 July 2003 June 2003 May 2003 April 2003 March 2003 February 2003	The sensation of snowflakes alighting on my eyelashes almost makes the cold weather worthwhile. Batter lapping into the flour-dusted pan. Acrid cinnamon and perfume of cloves, and nutmeg and allspice somewhere in between. The oven warms the kitchen as I wait for the gluten knitting into strands and clots, the caramelizing pumpkin, the swelling gas bubbles stretching the toroid along its axis. The premature crust bursts slowly, striae becoming tears and splits. The sharp, direct odors of the batter blend into a continuous spectrum of promises. Knife comes out clean. And now, much later, I'm making a late-night snack -- grilled cheese on pumpernickel. So many reminders of her.          posted on Saturday, December 04, 2010
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