“I miss Celia,” one of my friends said over a meal. “I miss Celia, too,” I replied. For Celia preserves what is sweet in life. To that sweetness it has offered an imperfect homage. More
I was startled, walking down Oak Street the other day, to discover that the building that housed Sarah’s Pastries was gone. There is an ugly hole in the block where it used to be. Its demolition was part of the long-planned redevelopment of the Esquire Theater, a nearby doorman told me.
Sarah’s fare wasn’t the greatest, but its location was outstanding. It was a place tourists didn’t know about, yet close enough to my haunts to be convenient. I loved going there when I needed a respite from shopping. It was great place to people-watch, a quiet refuge for the weary.
There a pair of lovers sat one fine spring day, this photograph the only vestige of an ephemeral scene.
Our uncle is dying. Just a month or so ago, he was perfectly fine—a bit off perhaps—; today he’s in hospice, riddled with cancer, breathing his last. He is far away, in Seattle, about to be more faraway still. Wherever he is, he is one of the elders who props up our world. His passing is momentous. My husband and I think of him, his condition, constantly, the details vivid. More