I just pulled out an old cookbook that falls apart when you open it. There are a few recipes in there I still use, and one of them is the cranberry salad I make at Thanksgiving. It’s a molded salad that involves Jello — yes, Jello! — but goes way beyond church potlucks in its appeal. It’s tangy and elegant, a different way to do cranberries.

This cookbook is a window into my past, a long-ago birthday gift from a friend I still count among my dearest, given to me at a pivotal point in my life, when I was moving back to Lexington from Chicago. 

The move was designed to let me try teaching and writing at the same time and see which one “won,” which one I would pursue further. There was no contest, and generations of high school English students are the poorer for it. 

Only kidding, of course. It’s I who am the richer for it. And seldom a day goes by that I don’t realize it.