This Is Not Nostalgia


On my walk home for lunch, I smelled my grandmother’s cooking. Not a specific dish, but the smell of her kitchen: warm and savory, like potatoes and bread and pie dough.

It was a little shocking and a lot weird, because my grandmother lived nearly 200 miles away and she’s been dead for 30 years. If she’s trying to haunt me, she’s running way behind schedule. Which isn’t like her at all.

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