Monthly Archives: August 2012

Being cooked for is a great and startling pleasure for those of us who are used to being the ones who cook for others. For my 50th birthday last week, Brendan and I drove up to Montreal with Dingo for … Continue reading →

The worst dark nights of the soul, I think, are when my smaller failings rise up one by one in a chorus of metallic voices: that unwritten obligatory important letter, my tipsy, laughing, unintentional, klutzy faux pas booming into a … Continue reading →

Back in my late 30s, when I lived in New York, I used to go fairly often with my then-husband to a French bistro called Casimir on the edge of the East Village, at 6th and B. Their waitstaff was … Continue reading →

It rained all weekend, perfect weather for long, all-afternoon games of Spite & Malice played on the uneven narrow coffee table with small green glasses of red wine at our elbows, using two ancient, soft, weatherbeaten card decks we found … Continue reading →

All my life, I’ve done a lot of daydreaming, otherwise known as woolgathering, fantasizing, and spacing out. It’s one of my favorite hobbies, along with eating. It’s free and portable and available to anyone, anytime. You don’t need any equipment … Continue reading →

It’s a quiet, green summer morning. The watery humidity makes birds’ calls sound liquid and amplified. The smell of the fresh-mown grass in the field around the house is mixing with the smell of coffee at my elbow. The air … Continue reading →