When I ask you a question, you always come through. Holey, moley. And when you take those few minutes in your day today to zone out and procrastinate on the internet (Who me? Procrastinate on the internet? NEVER!)–read through the comments from the last post. Really, really beautiful, guys. I’m walking into this day with…
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lemon-pickled turnips
Sometimes, a pickle can make all the difference. I’m not talking about cucumber pickles that you eat on their own, or as a spear alongside a sandwich. I’m talking about that which I seem to have started to call “pickle” as if it were just another taste on the plate.
roasted radishes and brocolli raab
Years ago, when Sadie’s hair was toddler-thin and Rosie was remarkable in her resemblance to a potato (I say that lovingly, of course, but anyone will tell you that it was true), I worked as a governess to three girls. I think I’ve told you about them. I don’t know what stories I have told…
clutching flowers
Oh, the city. Just after we last spoke, I was on the train, then catapulting into Grand Central, a quick stop into Posman Books to hug Anna, and then I had 20 minutes to find the right building, the right entrance, and the right floor for Martha Stewart radio. If I have ever visited you…
friday reading
About that haircut. She wanted bangs, and I said no, because she would just want to grow them out, so Rosie took matters into her own hands. Miraculously, this has happened only once before in our household. This time, it was subtle, just a stubborn little spike sticking out near her left temple, and when…
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