Author: ruhlwrite

I live around the corner from a private high school. If I ever need to be reminded of this fact, all I have to do is look up in the sky. Are they lonely at the top? There, dangling dangerously on the high wires of the telephone poles, are sneakers strung up like Christmas tree lights. They look as though they’re running away. From what, I don’t know. I can’t help but wonder why the shoes were so callously tossed to the sky. I suspect it has something to do with marking off territory…

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If you don’t know anything about Pedro Fernandez de Unamuno, and most of the world doesn’t, look at his hat. He’s wearing it so you’ll ask him about it. Ask Pedro about his Boina. It’s a black Boina, a Basque-style beret that he sets rakishly atop of what’s left of his wispy white hair. It, and the Spanish flag unfurled across the living room bookcase like a banquet banner, remind him of the homeland he was forced to flee. Pedro, an Old World charmer who kisses…

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The cats didn’t do it. Paul Santell wants that to be perfectly clear before he bares his left arm. The cat didn’t scratch Paul. It is covered in a river of red ruts. He got them when he gouged it against a trap while trying to stop one of his rescues from bolting. It was, he says, a small price to pay to contain the cat. There’s a pause then the paws. Gucci, Vita, Nino and Luca gather around his feet, purring and prancing. Nino jumps on top of the running dishwasher then cranes…

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Minnie Daddario places a plate of pizzelle on the table. There aren’t many people who make the Italian snowflake-shaped cookies any more. Minnie thinks that’s a shame. Minnie is a very young 89. Because it’s so easy. All you do is mix the ingredients — flour, eggs, sugar, baking powder, butter and anise — and spoon the pancake-like batter into an electric press that is similar to a waffle iron. Close the lid, count to 30 and, presto, you have a pair of pizzelle. With…

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It’s not as easy as it looks. Tony Loupakis, who stands a mere 5 feet 4, grabs the bar of the parallel baam, spreads his legs in a V and hooks his feet, like eagle talons, onto the smooth, bare wood. Tony bets you can’t do this. From this unlikely perch, he zips his legs and shoots his trim torso straight into the air like a torpedo. He and his 126 pounds of muscle could stay like this, if not forever, then at least for a very long time. But he comes down because he wants me to try…

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