old soul: on the charm & melancholy of small towns

For all my love of cities, there is something unspeakably touching about this simplicity, about the kind of place where your child could still ride their bike all around town and promise to be home for dinner. Maybe we shouldn't be too quick to mourn these places; maybe they will evolve and survive. A town's soul, after all, has more to do with its people than with places to buy artisan bread or local beef.

from newlywed to retiree: on places, and what it means to love them

It's interesting what we block out when we dream of or anticipate a place. We must ignore the great unspooled ribbon of mind-numbing highway. The ugly big-box stores. The cloud cover that renders a day as colorless as a lump of pizza dough. Sometimes I think we reserve those kinds of stringent observations for home: to criticize what we are used to and tired of.

the proof is in the profiteroles: on “dieting” in france

Dieting is not an especially French activity. Nor does it feel particularly patriotic to live down the street from a small market and ignore the siren song of its milky white goat cheeses and fresh baguettes. But that's what I did (or tried to) for a whole month. All in the name of health, I …

Continue reading the proof is in the profiteroles: on “dieting” in france