In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Fortune His hands are like pQ(atoes warmed in the oven all day. Nothing delicate about them. Not only (hat but he cooks potatOes. I come into the hou~ and the lights are onj he's there in the kitchen and tho~ hands are holding a small wooden knife and cutting up potatoes, red potatoes, white; he's wearing his comfortable pantS with the roomy waist and something simmering smells like I've gone my whole life without eating anything£hat maners compared to that. Outside it's cold and inside I feel my good fortune growing the way a potato swells in the ground, at home with its territory, no need for fancy green shoots, anytime you burrow, there it absolutely is. 30 ...

Share