my grandmother's dear friend, when she was spry, she used to babysit us. we called her the wicked witch...totally can't remember why. now, she crochets garish afghans. i can't stand'em, don't need'em...but can't make myself give them away.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
Ohmygoodness, I have stuff like that.
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