Going Inkless

It was just about a week ago that I woke to snow falling soft and steady. It wasn't bitter cold, but it was the type of winter day that promised a slow, patient rise in the snowdrifts and the inescapable erasure of footprints and sidewalks. The path my husband had shoveled to free his car that morning was all but invisible by the time I peeked out at the driveway. Somewhere out in the haze of snowflakes, snow day magic whispered. There's beauty and comfort in an unstoppable snowfall when there's nowhere you have to go. As luck would have it, I had scheduled a vacation day, so I was in no rush, but there was a slate of errands I needed to accomplish in the precious free time. After a few chores around the house, I peeked again and noted that the carapace was still thickening on my car with no sign of slowing. Wait too much longer, and I might not be able to escape the driveway. Running those errands certainly wasn't going to get any easier. So I dug out and star

"I is We." My husband uttered the phrase over coffee at Baker's Square on my birthday. He was watching galaxies form from undisturbed drops of cream in his cup, a hobby he enjoys at every opportunity. The words stuck in my imagination not only because they were grammatically rebellious but because they expressed the idea so simply. When we entered the restaurant, each of us had held vestibule doors for an exiting patron, I on the restaurant side and my husband on the parking lot side. My husband was bothered because his act of courtesy had been plundered by another who, though unencumbered and in full view of the pie-laden woman we were helping, dodged through the open door before the intended. After discounting the idea that the inconsiderate one might not have seen the other, we concluded that she must have felt she was entitled to go first. It was simply a selfish impulse that might have been generated by any number of unknown factors, but what it all boiled do