At the front door, I think of the scribbled note left on my bed. Hastily and angrily written. I look at my yellow rubber boots, at my sister on the couch, and the crying windows.



A family recipe. Handed down from my grandmother to my father and eventually, after much begging, to me. The same mustard yellow 4x6, creased and ripped, touched by every member of our family. Cut haphazardly from an old cardboard box. The Goldilocks Family Shortbread Secret Recipe. I'd share specifics with you, but I'd have to … Continue reading 1.