I have been sick for almost a solid month, with only a teeny window of wellness timed fortuitously during my Aunt Jane's recent visit; on her last day with me I felt something insinuating itself into an otherwise good time and sure enough I had a taken on a new and improved upper respiratory bug … Continue reading Back in the Saddle
Month: March 2013
When Chefs Can’t Decide
Because, as Handsome Chef Boyfriend himself said so laconically: We've had enough compelling chicken.
Road Rage, Princess Style
A recent phone conversation between Handsome Chef Boyfriend and myself: Me: I had this guy on my tail in his pickup truck heading towards Bromley, trying to pass me in the right lane. Big beard, baseball cap, checked wool jacket, sitting in his huge-ass truck. HCB: Why were you driving in the wrong lane? Me: … Continue reading Road Rage, Princess Style
You have no choice.
On a sweltering day in August of 2009 a hundred or so ballet teachers in training at American Ballet Theatre’s New York City flagship facility shuffled back into muggy Studio 9 on ABT’s 4th floor following an hour lunch break; it was difficult to hear much except the clang of metal folding chairs over the … Continue reading You have no choice.
Fairy Godmother
This is my Fairy Godmother, my "Auntie" Jane, who also happens to be one of my former ballet teachers, currently visiting all the way from Memphis. This picture of her was made just before a spring workshop performance there in about 1975; I was among those young ballerinas in the photo somewhere. Although we are … Continue reading Fairy Godmother
Angel, Second Class
I regularly get letters from irate MacNeil-Lehrer-watching readers who ask: ''With all the serious problems facing the world, how come you write about your dogs?” To which I answer: Because I don't know anything about your dogs. —Dave Barry, 1988 November of 2011 was second only to October in its unimaginable rock-bottom misery on … Continue reading Angel, Second Class
Ice fishing, anyone?
This was ice fishing derby weekend on the lake where I live. Last night the people who belong to this particular ice fishing shanty--and who clearly have a sense of humor--were possibly up all night, bright lights ablaze (still shining when I went to sleep past midnight), presumably attempting to hook the prize winning catch. … Continue reading Ice fishing, anyone?
Sycamore Stories 