It's gonna be real this year. Old school. Like major old school--heritage turkey style. The bird comes tomorrow, from a farm in Kansas dedicated to bringing back native turkey species. He's being FedEx'd overnight, first class. He's spending tonight in Indianapolis. I know because I tracked him. I wonder if there's a Ritz in Indianapolis? This is one special turkey. I can't wait to taste him.
Cinderella is not going to the ball. But she's daydreaming about one. Fall, 2002, Manhattan. My shared apartment on East 20th Street was in a corner building, sheltered from taxi packed 1st Avenue by a basketball court and a playground. It was close enough to work, that on the rare occasions exhaustion could pass for illness, I would walk home and observe the schoolchildren at play, untamed beneath my bedroom window. I was far from the wilds of nature, but the shrill sounds of laughing children felt organic enough, and I looked forward to them.