My Cardboard Balcony

Spaghetti and Meatballs by Belinda Roddie Spaghetti and meatballs fill up my plate as I serve the whole family, and we enjoy the meal. We aim to celebrate another year of simple revelry, as well as my dear wife's latest birthday. There she is, all pink-lipped and rosy-cheeked, sending sweet, lopsided smiles my way, making everything below my waist weak. Spaghetti is her favorite dish, you see, and I don't mind; it's quite easy to make, and it is delicious, obviously. I do prefer to boil rather than bake, and so I offer seconds to my kin and my sweet bride, white cheese across her grin.

I used to love autumn. I felt at peace when the mornings got cooler and the air got brisker, when the leaves gathered in crispy clumps around gray gutters and street corners. I adored the variety of colors that assailed my eyes on any given afternoon after work, and when I walked toward the bay, the wind would pick up and nearly carry me away like a sprite on a chariot. But I don't love it anymore.