Field Notes
EARLY THIS MORNING, I BURIED my treasured plumcolored throw blanket in the dumpster. It was still wet from the washing machine where, for some reason unknown to me, it had simply disintegrated into small, soggy, plum-colored balls that would never again offer anything resembling comfort and warmth.
It’s been that kind of week. Around 8 pm last night, when I headed home to contemplate food and…