Boy is it hard to find a silver lining, but the novel coronavirus has had one unintended consequence that dared to fill my heart. Both my college sons got blown off course and ended up back at home –– my home! –– which means I have been cooking for more than one, for nearly the
My apartment is really small. It’s four floors up. It has been known to house unexpected wildlife. The rent is more than most people’s mortgage. And still, my boys come home. Young Matthew was first back to the city this year, down from UVM while his brother was toiling with finals at Ithaca. Matty’s only
My son was a lousy batter. There. I said it. The kid was sports-addled from the age of 3 when he was a pumpkin head on a chubby body swatting wiffle balls with a fat red bat. In the heyday of his Little League years he was a great team leader and solid fielder, but
Nothing beats fireworks on the Fourth. I remember when I was just a kid my parents would pack me and my brothers in the back of our beat up old Ford station-wagon and drive to the high school where they held the annual fireworks display. We’d stake out a spot, spreading our blanket on the
In light of this week’s news from the border, the above image is almost unbearable, right? In one breath, a child and parent celebrating diversity and acceptance. In another, from the turbulent waters of the Rio Grande, the diametric opposite. How can we derive hope from despair? Pride has changed. Before my son came out
M.F.K. Fisher. Ruth Reichl. Michael Pollan. Every generation produces a writer or two who unfailingly embraces the ethos of food and is driven to capture it in their own ineffable way. Meet Gabrielle Langholtz. In an era when there are enough food bloggers to break the Internet and the printed book has been declared dead
“The meek shall inherit the Earth.” So we are told in the bible, Matthew, 5:5. That was written a long time ago and its author has not met today’s kids. Meek is the last word I would use to describe them. In three separate conversations with three college kids home for the summer, the main
These days when we talk about bravery, it often involves a mass shooting and first responders. The hero who flung himself on a gunman in a North Carolina classroom last week saved lives. I asked myself, would I have had the courage to do that? In the same newscycle, a young man named Matthew Easton
Just over 21 years ago, in an extraordinary flash of reproductive coincidence, my best friend and I bore witness to our respective wives giving birth to two children, 200 miles and a mere few hours apart. I realize this sounds a little like the beginning of a very cheesy (or brilliant!) novel, but in fact
On a bright spring day 15 years ago I walked up a tree-lined block to a vacant garden apartment in the bottom of a Brooklyn brownstone. I held the hands of my two children, aged 4 and 6. We pushed open the door and a shaft of sunlight cut across the polished wood floor. “Okay
