Tales from Cheffing Around
My writer’s brain has turned into a bowl of half-eaten Frosted Flakes left in the sink all day. It’s slushy, impotent, and tasteless. For many years, I’ve been able to twist my words, like a party clown with a long balloon, into something resembling something, …
Last August, as Francis and I relaxed next to our washing machine drum firepit, Amelia, our lab/schnauzer mix, ran triumphant loops around our small backyard. “You meddlesome mutt! You chaotic canine!” I teased as I encouragingly clapped my palms on my lap. Thrilled to be …
I was thinking about lentils. And the creak my right knee made as the winding road inclined. And if it was worth wrestling my dirty laundry into the tiny Italian washing machine two days before going home. Gunshots from Umbrian quail hunters rang out regularly …
My writer’s brain has turned into a bowl of half-eaten Frosted Flakes left in the sink all day. It’s slushy, impotent, and tasteless. For many years, I’ve been able to twist my words, like a party clown with a long balloon, into something resembling something, …