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The recipe lives on an index card written in a scribble unmistakably my grandmother’s. The same cursive that signed off every greeting card and letter originating from her home.
Homes and towns dotted the darkness as I flew back to Austin the other night. Nighttime flying reveals people living in places off the path most traveled.
Sitting in an airport socially distanced doesn’t block phone conversations from people behind you. Thus I overheard one-side of an HR discussion while waiting for the flight to Omaha this morning.
The 2-mile walk around the perimeter of our neighborhood contains its share of vertical challenge. Especially for flat-landers from Houston or Orlando.
