Good morning. Daylight saving time ends tomorrow. The decrease in daylight can be destabilizing — and clarifying.
Quality timeThe hour between dog and wolf, or “l’heure entre chien et loup,” if you prefer, is, I think you’ll agree, the dreamiest way to refer to twilight. (I will entertain arguments for “the gloaming” and “the violet hour,” but I don’t suspect litigants will get very far.) It’s that time just after sunset when the atmosphere is still partly illuminated by the sun, when the light is ambiguous and the sky can’t choose between blue and black. Night hasn’t yet fully fallen and we are in the borderland between day and dark. One might be forgiven, in this threshold moment, for mistaking a dog for a wolf, for mistaking safety for danger, for feeling slightly off. Daylight saving time ends tomorrow. That first Sunday in November is a full day suspended between dog and wolf. We’re still grasping at the corn-silk tendrils of summer just as winter gets more insistent. An undertide of confusion persists: Evening car accidents increase, circadian rhythms reset, the moon’s out before dinner. That space in between is strange and destabilizing until we get used to it. Each year I assume there’s a wolf hiding in the earlier sunsets, that there’s a certain sorrow implicit when daylight decreases. The dog days are literally and metaphorically over. In the northeast U.S., spring and summer are seasons you can pet. Fall and winter have fangs. Not everyone feels this. I always consult my friend Leigh at this time of year to try to catch some of her glee. “License to hunker!” she nearly bellowed at me when I reminded her we change the clocks tomorrow. “Sorry, it’s 4:30, I can’t do anything more today. Time to have a drink and watch your shows!” I love her delirium, and I want to borrow some of it to wear like a shawl until spring. The ancient Greeks experienced time in two ways. Chronos was the clock time that governs our lives, bedtime and estimated departure time, the hour gained or lost. Kairos referred to a more figurative measure of time — the right time, the moment of opportunity, the sacred window for action. In order to recognize kairos, we have to be aware, awake, present. Madeleine L’Engle wrote: “The child at play, the painter at his easel, Serkin playing the Appassionata are in kairos. The saint in prayer, friends around the dinner table, the mother reaching out her arms for her newborn baby are in kairos.” When I think about the mystical possibilities of kairos, it seems mundane, boring, uncreative to be blue about a lost chronological hour. In any season, there is kairos. These moments of possibility, of serendipity, arrive in all seasons, but we have to be awake to seize them. The stillness of the colder, darker months — that license to hunker — is a time to slow down and observe. What windows of luck and chance and coincidence emerge when we’re a little quieter, a little more observant? I’ll be observing the sun setting an hour earlier tomorrow, wondering about kairos, those moments of opportunity in the offing that the clock and the calendar can’t touch.
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The British singer Lily Allen has released a bombshell divorce album, one that manages to both comprehensively eviscerate an unnamed partner (believed to be her ex-husband, the actor David Harbour) and also actually be good. Our critic called it “irresistible.” I started listening to the album, “West End Girl,” in a bath the other night, and I didn’t stop until the water got cold. The details were salacious, shocking, unbelievable — it was a royal tour of the wreckage of a marriage, each track a new plot point in a story of sex, lies and discovered texts, some of which she reads aloud. Allen seems to be suggesting that writing so explicitly, and with such salacious detail, about her own life is “a way of reclaiming her power in her broken relationship,” our critic writes. On the song “Let You W/In,” she sings, “I can walk out with my dignity if I lay my truth on the table.” That she did. Related: Allen and Harbour listed their nearly $8 million Brooklyn brownstone recently. That has added to the lore.
Monster CookiesIf you’ve got extra Halloween candy on hand, use it to Nigella Lawson’s sweet and chewy monster cookies. You can fold whatever needs using up into the oat-speckled cookie dough. Chocolate varieties like peppermint patties and peanut butter cups work especially well, getting just a little melty in the oven’s heat. Or use M&Ms or Reese’s Pieces, which add a delightful sugar crunch.
The Hunt: A senior couple, craving a downtown area with shops and restaurants, set their sights on Portland and Seattle with a $725,000 budget. Which home did they choose? Play our game. Do it yourself: Painting furniture is trickier than you might think. Here’s a guide.
Where to eat: Visitors to New York deserve a little treat. Times journalists picked the city’s best snacks. Travel 101: If you slept in and missed your flight, don’t panic. Here’s how get your trip back on track. DocGPT: It’s becoming more common to ask A.I. chatbots for medical advice. Experts shared advice for how to do so safely.
Sometimes store-bought is fineLife doesn’t always afford time for slow cooking. For busy parents juggling school drop-offs, college students with a mountain of homework or even experienced home cooks in a rush, a jar of marinara can be a lifeline. And store-bought sauces have come a long way. Nowadays, grocery shelves are replete with a staggering number of promising options, some of which taste convincingly homemade. We taste-tested 41 jars of marinara sauce and found several standouts for your busiest moments — including a thick and tangy sauce for dunking mozzarella sticks and a rustic take that tasted delicious on its own. — Maki Yazawa
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