Tossing out my anchor for this Glover Gardens 2023 Labor Day all-over-the-place ramble, with memories of rollicking good times and barbecue, family trips and dolphin sightings, recipes and Jimmy Buffett.
Pumpkin spice is a thing, a social movement, a gotta-have-mine-it’s-October pull of nature almost stronger than a biological clock, but geeeeez, trying to project that onto poor birds seems like a Big Bad Bird Wrong
A poem dedicated to my brother, a victim of suicide, who suffered in silence. Call the suicide prevention hotline at 800-273-8255.
Remembering storms whose names have spawned headlines and headaches, headstones and heartache, hardships and heroism. And wondering, why do we have to name storms after people? Why not use diseases or the periodic table? Or colors?
Gumbo is a family treasure, seashells elicit childhood memories, and these napkin rings made with shells we found 40 years ago bring echoes of the past into the now.
A poem by Gordon Parks speaks of curiosity, wonder, celebration of life and nature, and the awesome, simple, dead-on-target mindfulness of children.
I have hundreds of cookbooks. Literally. It’s Mom’s Fault (thanks, Mom!) I’m a cookbook collector, or maybe even a cookbook pack rat. It might be a bit of a sickness. I’ve tried to slow it down, but for a while there, I was on a […]