Pop a Molly
Thanksgivuchristmakah
I always cite the fourth Thursday in November as my favorite holiday. That’s saying a lot—drawing from two religious hats, I have a fair number to choose from. My Jewish father brings the apples and honey, menorahs and dreidels, and maror and charoset into our home, and my Episcopalian mother places nativity scenes on the mantle place and chocolate eggs in the corners and cupboards.
The Meanest Tree Stump
It wasn’t a fearful site—no friend of mine fell from its limbs to crippledom. No dear classroom pet requiescats in pace beneath the soil that surrounds it. In fact, the tears were happy ones, and yet I could not even attach a meaningful moment to the maple. The sapling, when it came down to it, was entirely average in all ways but one: In the fall, as its relatives took on varying shades of dull brown and orange, its leaves turned a brilliant red. And then my eyes began to sting.
On Logan Leslie (Again)
Don’t recognize any of those names? Neither did I. That’s exactly the problem.
