Food is not rational. Food is culture, habit, and identity.

I believed him. I was not stupid. I was his wife.

Am I such a bad person for dreaming of a world that ends when I do? I don't mean the world ending with respect to me, but every set of eyes closing with mine.

We live in a world made up more of story than stuff. We are creatures of memory more than reminders, of love more than likes.

We could imagine all sorts of universes unlike this one, but this is the one that happened.

Dogs are wonderful, and in many ways unique. But they are remarkably unremarkable in their intellectual and experiential capacities. Pigs are every bit as intelligent and feeling, by any sensible definition of the words. They can't hop into the back of a Volvo, but they can fetch, run and play, be mischievous, and reciprocate affection. So why don't they get to curl up by the fire? Why can't they at least be spared being tossed on the fire?

We spent our lives making livings.