Yesterday I moved from one apartment in Boston to another - a disgusting activity, given the temperature outdoors.

During the process, my moving-helpers and I decided to pull the empty drawers out of my dresser before carrying it down the stairs to the street.

This is when we found a handful of yellowed sheets of paper, wedged up in the interior crevices of my dresser.

These sheets of paper were two separate New York Times articles, one from Sunday November 20, 1988, titled The Aging Grace of Roquefort, by Florence Fabricant

03 April 2011 Sonoma, CA I have no internet, nor even a chair for that matter.  My furniture is coming next week.  I have only what went to Italy with me, plus a few things I’ve needed since landing.  There is dust everywhere from renovation, yet inches below are a fantastic kitchen and an entire house with tiled floors and a garden.  My new home in Sonoma.  But right now I can only see brooms, my trashed socks, white pawprints on everything, and the air mattress where Lincoln the Dachshund and I sleep folded like a taco under a 1970s sleeping bag.  The past two weeks Lincoln and I have been sleeping in the loft portion of an R.V.