
This gallery contains 1 photo.
The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room,
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The moment when, after many years of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room,
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Hunkered in the frozen marsh, trapped in winter, in congealing mud, I waited. I assumed the subsequent meal, that there would be a reward for my persistence. My reward.
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My nickname is McGyver and I’m not much of a cook, so this isn’t going to be a cooking story.
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A year or so before my hippie parents broke up, my mom and her boyfriend and myself drove across country in April.
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Who is this “me” that expresses thanks? So much spirit in a carrier oil. This moment — This pumpkin pie curd Smashed against strong teeth — This coffee, dark, at the end of a meal — My heart unbuttoned, … Continue reading
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There’s no freedom in food. I’m locked in to my desires, ripped like a piece of fabric between the cravings and the need for sustenance. Sugar is my mistress, brandishing a black licorice whip, astride a pink cupcake
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Being poor killed my sister. Well almost. It was actually the steak that did it.
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The week after my first chemotherapy treatment I was working again at the front desk, the “Info” desk, at the library.
Autumn, the season of cool rains, Nourishment unseen. Winter storms, roots grow. I explore my strength, Withstand drought, The abundance of harvest Strengthens me.