If you had asked me even a year before could I see myself living in the American South, I would have shaken my head.
I met Shirley and Ken Kenneally in 1981 when Cathi invited me to their home for a party. Although the house was set a good way in from the street, I could hear the music from the sidewalk.
Our nature cravings keep us on our toes, but as far as addictions go, I wouldn’t say this one is craven.
Happy Saturday! Bob and I are into our fourth month of social distancing. During the week he holes up in his office while I play the entitled retired housewife. I don’t identify as an extrovert, but social isolation is wearing me down. Most days I keep myself too busy to notice, but on some days […]
“Notice anything different about this one?” Shelley asks, holding a newly-feathered chicken with both hands. It’s an Australorp, she tells me.