Burnt Chocolate Stories

My 60th Birthday Present from Steve Created by Steve in a Neighbor's Barn Perhaps you’ve wondered how Steve and I ended up in Dodgeville , Wisconsin , of all places. The short answer is that around our thirty-fifth anniversary, we thought a place in the country might be fun. A family retreat for our children and grandchildren appealed to our sense of adventure. But, like a lot of things, it’s more complicated. In 1974, we moved to an expansive home next to Lake Michigan in Evanston , Illinois. Some years later, we renovated the nearby University Club, converting it to a celebrated public museum only to have it destroyed by an electrical fire before its third birthday. Once the details of that disaster settled, and the last of our children left for college, I felt the urge, the necessity, to move away. It didn’t matter where. Just someplace new and different. Long Grove was both of those things and it was there we experienced both anonymity and life as incorrigible ...

We’re buried inside on this snowy day. Winds blow thick tufts against my balcony door. Driving is a needless risk, walking past the mailbox a foolish notion. Super Tuesday primaries have settled enough to turn off the television and enjoy Leonard Cohen’s music, read a book, write a few words. Years ago, when Rebeccah was a toddler, a similar snowstorm piled mountains of the stuff on our front lawn, covering sidewalks in five foot drifts and blockading streets. A Chicago mayor lost her job, disgraced by irate citizens for her delayed response to the blizzard. But for me, those few days remain a cherished memory. Time stopped. We had plenty of food, wine, books, each other. Quiet moments, safely inside. Respite. I’ve recently emerged from a different kind of respite, one filled with fear and sadness. But being at this end reminds me that I can still surface, that I still have enough spirit left to carry me the distance. Just a few days after I last posted, Steve slipped on ice from...