Now, I grew up in the camp of “seeing is believing.” If it can’t be measured, it doesn’t exist, and numbers don’t lie. Statisticians sometimes do, but numbers do not. And of course, judgmental-me thinks you would agree if you bothered to take the time to look.
I am the luckiest crocheter… EVER! What an experience!
This past summer, I volunteer-crocheted two panels, each ~14’ X 10’ (yes, feet) as part of a public art project for the Canal Convergence in Scottsdale, AZ. When I shipped them off with a sigh of relief in July, I never dreamed
In the local newspaper, I recently read about a local artist, Jennifer Davey, who uses her art to help process violence. It was her own brush with violence that brought urgency to the issue. In 1999,
I just returned from a lovely road trip to south Louisiana for a family reunion. We gathered to celebrate my mom’s 100th birthday if she were still alive. Our family silent auction netted $1,100+ and the entire proceeds were donated to the Acadiana Hospice for their loving care of Mom in her final days.
It seems a lot of folks I’ve spoken with lately notice how things are changing. Not just births, deaths, marriages, graduations, i.e. the usual. The changes felt cultural or a response to things being out of control. (Like Hurricane Harvey last year). Along ...
As I was tidying up after dinner last night, I had to decide: Do I throw out the leftover chard cooking liquid, or drink it? It honestly didn’t take much deliberation to make short work of that delicious nutrient-rich beverage.
Had that chard come from the grocery store
I hate onions.
There. I said it. I have faced years of ridicule in my family for hating onions, especially as deeply as I do, yet I have endured.
I remember a cute little song from my mom’s childhood about the sheer odiousness of onions