All mimsy were ye borogoves

I’ve never had a clue what this line from Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” means, but to me, just the sounds of it describe our ride this early morning. Ye borogoves were all mimsy with Michaelmas and ox-eye daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, blue spiderwort and pink phlox, milkweed, hairy vetch (purple), orange daylilies ,  ripening red blackberries,… Continue reading All mimsy were ye borogoves

In praise of Laurie Colwin

Many food writers claim Elizabeth David, M.F.K. Fisher or Julia Child as their first inspirations. For me it was Laurie Colwin’s “Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen” (Vintage Contemporaries paperback, reprinted 2010). Originally published in 1988, Colwin’s was the first food writing to speak to me in a distinct voice. Chatty, funny, sensual, she… Continue reading In praise of Laurie Colwin

Hysteria on the lips and hips

Getting rid of these 27 pounds has been so gradual (8 months) that I didn’t realize until I tried yesterday that I could fit into the orange linen cropped pants I bought on clearance a year ago. And when I’m thinking at 8 o’clock every night about another helping of  whatever, I also tend to… Continue reading Hysteria on the lips and hips

Delusion + carelessness = avoirdupois

Aren’t all women over the age of 45 invisible anyway? asked a friend who’s lost 80 pounds and  had just read my post about disappearing as I shed 27 pounds. Maybe in this country (think about the devastating glamor of French women “of a certain age”) and maybe if we take ourselves out of or away… Continue reading Delusion + carelessness = avoirdupois

Sumer is icumen in

On Saturday morning He Who Wears Plaid Shirts took my favorite Chicago knife to the garden and came back with Chinese cabbage, regular cabbage, broccoli and the snowiest cauliflower heads I’ve ever seen. We’d already bought 2 gallons of strawberries and a pound of snow peas at Howard’s berry patch so after I tried another… Continue reading Sumer is icumen in

Rosemary is for remembrance

Our Carolina Piedmont springs and falls are almost obscenely beautiful. That’s the swap we make for having to endure the almost unendurable steamy summers. As I write, we’re moving toward Amazonian rainforest temperatures and humidity. The wisteria is trying, once again, to yank the deck from the house. The roadsides are morphing from Monet-scapes of… Continue reading Rosemary is for remembrance