All posts filed under: comfort food

sweet potato + blood orange salad | a raisin + a porpoise

all the rest have 31

A very long time ago, my sister and I went on a spa vacation. This took place in pre-internet days, to give you a sense of the amount of time that has passed between then and now. Such a thing as a Yelp review had not yet been invented to assist the clueless traveler. Imperfect as that tool may be, a person can increase the accuracy of their expectations at least a little by skimming over the aggregate natterings of many people who have visited a place. We had a paper brochure to go on (remember those?), which very possibly came from a human travel agent (remember those?). The place sounded nice enough, and it suited our budget, and so off we went for a little girly getaway. There was much truth to the marketing: one feature of the palm-tree sprinkled property was in fact a health spa, with scrubs and wraps and rubs and various cosmetic applications and fitness options available all the live long day, and which we quickly surmised catered mainly to …

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not your mother's haroset, on a raisin & a porpoise

how i look

I am on my way to my high school reunion. I am hedging around saying which one it is, and it occurs to me suddenly how silly that is. It occurs to me how silly a lot of things are, when tectonic plates (real ones) and juggled plates (figurative ones) and other grand-scale matters are uppermost in my mind. I mean, lots of crazy bad crap is happening, at home and abroad. So the fact that I get to be 47 years old, and have three decades since high school to gaze back on—that suddenly seems like a silly thing to get squirrelly about. When I was plotting my course towards this occasion, I had to factor in that I’d be traveling quite a while before I got to set my bag down, and a lot of that on foot. Carrying several outfit possibilities around was kind of out of the question.  My default “feel more devil-may-care about how I look” setting is at the point on the dial marked “badass boots.” But I knew …

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launch date

When my sister’s firstborn left for college, she called me and wailed “but I’m not done!” I reassured her (correctly, as it turns out) that my nephew was a super guy and well-situated for a nice life.  But I was talking out my ear, as we both well knew in that moment, because in that moment how fine he was going to be was not at all what she was getting at. My own children were mere tots at the time that I was giving hollow reassurances to my sister, and as they get larger and more capable and closer to the door (one of them even got loose, I’m afraid–flew the coop for college in September while I had my back turned), I become more acutely aware of what I have and haven’t gotten around to teaching them, and how as a result they are (or aren’t) prepared for what will come their way.  I am fully aware, thank you very much, that efforts to prepare them undertaken by myself and others may have …

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