I wanted to write this as a story. I was so sure that was how it planned to show up. A fiction, woven with that familiar scent that tales ancient without being musty, tend to have. There is a universality to the fear that comes of doing it wrong, whether that is mixing up baking powder and soda while baking, or forgetting to cross your fingers when walking under a ladder in a cemetary on the 13th of Tuesday. We’ll…
