When my wife made Texas enchiladas, she spread a ladle of sauce on the plate before she placed the first tortilla. Then, she scattered a handful of onion and cheese on top of it, before placing another tortilla on top of the stuffing. She continued this routine until she created a pile that resembled a stack of pancakes. Finally, she would place a fried egg on top of the last tortilla with a spoonful of enchilada sauce and a sprinkle of Mexican cheese. But that has nothing to do with my printing a T on a Saturday after I’ve eaten breakfast and cleaned my mess. Except on this Saturday as I sat at the kitchen table and began to write, I looked out the window at the bare clothes lines and thought about our breakfasts together. As I printed, I
