Lie. Put down on paper the most interesting lies you can imagine. . .and then make them plausible.

Now it is you who everyone presumes is so fragile. Wounded. Scarred. Maybe they're right. Perhaps you are. A nursery rhyme comes into your head, and, like an egg, you allow yourself to topple onto your side, your legs still pulled hard against your torso. You lie like that a long while, watching the chrome shell of the tape measure sparkle until the sun moves.

The honest answer is more complex. On some level I was sent. Or inspired. Or called. But my calling, such as it was, wasn't a single booming invitation from above (really, is it ever?).

Food is a gift and should be treated reverentially--romanced and ritualized and seasoned with memory.

My wife and I would be very comfortable having a baby at home, or using one of the terrific nurse-midwives at the hospital.

Life is filled with small moments that seem prosaic until one has the distance to look back and see the chain of large moments they unleashed.

Lie. Put down on paper the most interesting lies you can imagine. . .and then make them plausible.