My Cardboard Balcony

Sugar Cookies by Belinda Roddie We made sugar cookies for the landlord - and the neighbors and the store owners, and the lonely old man who lived three blocks down and wore three snakes on his shoulders, which complemented his straw hat - and we saved a few for ourselves, spreading crumbs beneath the holly, the red light kissing the water from our window, where sleigh bells could be faintly heard.

"I'm going to the concert, but I have to do some shopping beforehand." "For what?" "Oh, you know." She waved her hand dismissively. "Bare essentials for the refrigerator. Milk, eggs, bread, butter..." "Get the Irish butter," I encouraged her. "It's perfect for the holidays." "And smell like a leprechaun for the Gay Men's Choir? Beautiful." "Hey," I said with a smile, "means there's a pot of gold at the end of their rainbow."