It’s rare when Kurt and I choose the exact same thing on a restaurant menu. Usually he’s steak and pasta to my fish and chicken. I’m wine, he’s a soft drink or Marguerita. And yes, we are that really annoying couple who often orders two different things and halves our plates so we can enjoy … More Food Friday: Fighting over ravioli at Crystal & Jules. Madison, Indiana
You might be thinking I’m going to talk about a bluegrass event. Perhaps you are even thinking it could have a better name, like The Gatorade 2012 Pickin’ and Pluckin’ Classic. Or you might wonder if this will be another tale about my banjoing, fiddling family and their pick-up music. But if you’re at least … More 2012 hillbilly jam. Brought to you by Gatorade.
I have a crush on a restaurant. Really, it’s more like love. Sure, I might weigh a couple bucks and change, but this is one Pooh-Bear-bellied woman who is not afraid to be seen with her head stuck in the honeypot. I seek out interesting places and tasty dishes. I knew I would find delicious … More “…it tasted like I might need to go to confession…” 605 Grille in Madison, Indiana
In south Việt Nam I wandered the early morning streets of Hồ Chí Minh City. I was searching for a rooster but ended up finding breakfast:
From my seat by the window, I was sipping the tea and attempting to draw what was in my line of vision: Thap Rùa (The Turtle Tower/Pagoda) in Hồ Hoàn Kiếm (Lake of the Restored Sword, or of the Returned Sword). That cafe, the Avalon Cafe, I visited twice. It gave me views, tongue-rolling tea and … More Iced Tea that Tastes Like Happiness from a Little Cafe in Hà Nội
Happy Summer Solstice! I’ve been celebrating summer for a few days already by picking my ripe black raspberries and making jam. I wanted to share a delicious mix with you, as well as a taste of what I did last night. I suppose the title of this blog should be Summer Solstice, Poetry, Jam…and Clowns, … More Summer Solstice Poetry Jam…and Clowns
My grandma Hazel smelled like Cashmere Bouquet Soap. I know, because her hugs embraced my six-year-old self in a full-body envelope. Walking into her house on Factory Street in Marion Center, I always smelled cookies. I always hoped she had been making Sour Milk Jumbles, my favorite. The entryway greeted me with a loping wooden stairway to my … More Grandma Hazel: A Sense Memory
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