Bookshelf
From the Blog:
Oublier le temps des malentendus
In the spring of the year I lived in France, when I was 18, I hitchhiked one weekend with my six-foot-tall, blond, eccentric Swedish friend Elisabeth, a seminary student at La Mhotte, to visit a Count in a medieval northwestern French village somewhere… I can’t...
You can carry my heart with you or you can drop it like a stone
At the end of a hard, interminable, raw winter day a while back, when it was too late to schlep to the store, in need of a quick hearty feast, I invented an easy, unorthodox cupboard-supper version of puttanesca: I opened a 24-ounce can of fire-roasted tomatoes,...
Finger on the trigger and an eye on the hog
Seven years ago, my now ex-husband and I adopted a trembling, formerly homeless, possibly abused young dog. We named him Dingo, because that’s what he looked like – a skinny, wild, intelligent, aboriginal canine with enormous bat ears and almond-shaped brown eyes that...