The cranberry farmer reached a calloused hand into the crate and grabbed the loose scruff of one pup’s neck. Holding the limp six-week old yellow Labrador retriever, the farmer grumbled, “You can take this one if you want. The rest are spoken for.”
“You empty a bag of Utz’s Dark Russet potato chips onto a cookie sheet…” I began. “Then you sprinkle crumbled gorgonzola cheese over …”
“Rusty potato chips?” my mother asked, turning her good ear toward me.
I’ve always wanted to say, teeth clenched with haughty intonation, “We were on the Vineyard yesterday,” as if it was my regular routine now that we live in New England. So, last weekend, the unofficial end of summer, my husband, Francis, and I took a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard, the preppy vacation spot for the rich and famous…
Tell Your Story: Remembering 9/11
Today, call a friend, knock on a neighbor’s door, chat with someone in the street — and ask the question: “What were you doing on 9/11?” Let them tell their story, and then tell yours. Here’s mine