She rinses black beans and pauses to watch them glisten in the strainer. Before opening the can, she had fished the tail end of a red onion off the fridge door, found it still firm, and, twack, enjoyed the crunch of her knife cutting the crisp pulp into a satisfying dice. Oil, a splash of lemon juice, a pinch of herbs, salt, pepper, a grabbed fork, whoosh, she settles into the soft chair by the window to eat her lunch. She never takes calm, clear moments like this for granted—times when she gets to savor the simple wonderfulness of life. In between bites of lemony bean salad, she looks around the room at clear, dust-free surfaces. But it’s not always like this. She’s just crawled out of a busy phase. This morning, she restored order to her house. Each tasty bite now feels like celebration. Yesterday, every surface — tables, bureaus, and counters — overflowed with debris. Weeks ago, mail piles had begun innocently enough - an envelope here, another stack over there. Weeks later, they’...
Memory believes before knowing remembers. Believes longer than recollects, longer than knowing even wonders. — William Faulkner