the rose of kiev

It was a Wednesday night, and Dave and I had just finished eating a late dinner in the living room.  As the end credits scrolled across the television screen, I lay back on the couch. Long orange light slid across the kitchen floor - it was just before sunset, the night of the summer solstice.  Dave stood up, thanked me for making dinner, and went down to the basement to work. The DVD looped back to the menu, so I rose to eject the disc - season one of The Simpsons , the third disc of three.  I reached for the plastic rental cover and popped it back into place with the two others. I walked toward the basement stairs.  "Be back in a minute - don't lock me out!" I called down to Dave.  I heard the soft thunk of something mechanical.  "OK," he called back.  Discs in hand, I slipped into sandals and opened the front door. It was a beautiful night, and a thin summer humidity cooled by the evening wrapped wide ribbons around my ankles, calves and ar...

Certain sensations have a way of bringing back memories with stark clarity. My father's cologne is a familiar and distinct smell that goes back to my childhood and warm nights spent playing board games on the carpet as a family. When I was even younger and we still lived in that apartment on 13th Avenue I began to associate the smell of coffee with my Aunt Susan, who used to live on the floor below us.  But years from now, what will bring me back to the early days of my marriage are the smells of Spring and the chiming of church bells. There are few places in the world that can really truly appreciate the tender hope that spring brings with its budding weeks, but I believe Ohio is one of those places. Winter is our longest season, and it's icy and windy and wet and miserable; a good snowfall is a rare treat, and when we still get snow in April it ceases to be a treat at all. But when the good holidays end after the first of the year, and January follows December like an icy pun...