Today was like being let out of jail. The sun was shining. There was no wind. The sun, did I mention? It was shining. It was warm outside — 40s up into the 50s. I cleaned up the yard (dog poop patrol), cut some hollyhock stalks and put them over where I want hollyhocks to grow next year. I turned over a garden bed. I pulled all the dead stuff off the herb bed so the parsley and the chives can start coming back. I pruned a couple of errant branches off the greengage plum tree. Then I hung out…
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This is the first winter I’ve had a clothesline and I find I use it fairly often. If it’s sunny, and above freezing, I’ve been hanging things outside. Today is very windy, which is a bit of a challenge, but there they are, some clothes, getting dry without using my dryer. It’s a small thing, but makes me weirdly happy. (Plus the sheets smell so nice.)
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It’s funny, when I make up a dish, I don’t really think of it as a recipe. I was watching the Superbowl with a couple of friends the other night and I told them how I’d cooked a pork shoulder roast that afternoon even though I knew I wasn’t going to be home that evening. It just feels wrong not to have something cooking on a Sunday afternoon (and leftovers are what I live on all week). I was saying that I’d sort of crossed the Italian pork braised in milk technique with something Southwestern-y because a girlfriend sent me…
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There’s no shortage of praise going around for Updike’s work in the wake of his death, and I’ve been hesitant to jump in because well, there’s that prohibition against speaking ill of the dead. For all I know, in his personal life he could have been an exemplar of many fine qualities — I wouldn’t know. He was certainly productive, writing three pages a day over a lifetime he produced more than 40 novels, collections of essays, and short stories. However, I found his work repellent. The pervasive and unrelenting misogyny is only a part of what I hated about…
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Last night was one of those bad white nights where you wake at two and worry. The kind of night where you’re haunted by worries that are just practical enough to be real, and which yet, you know you can do nothing about at two in the morning. Or three in the morning. Or four thirty, when you know you only have another hour until the alarm goes off. And of course, by the time the alarm goes off, you’re finally finding yourself slipping under the wire into real sleep. Except that now, you must get up. The saving grace…
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Mornings in Montana lately have featured subzero temperatures and, as is the case this morning, 30-50mph gusts blowing right up against my kitchen windows (that sun porch I want is seeming less like an indulgence and more like an investment in insulation on mornings like this). At any rate, it’s been deepest winter here. Dark. Cold. Windy. And so, I’ve become addicted to this stuff, Zergut Hot Ajvar: It’s from Bulgaria. It contains peppers, eggplant, sugar, sunflower oil, salt, garlic and hot peppers, oh and some acetic acid (Vitamin C). It’s bright red. It tastes like summer. The jar says…
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I sometimes go on jags where I’ll find a new writer and read three or four books in a row, and Sebastian Barry has been one of those writers for me this winter. Irish literature was my undergraduate specialization — I went to Dublin for a semester my senior year to study Joyce (and lucked out and also got to work with Eavan Boland before she became famous). So it’s been a delight these past couple of years to discover Anne Enright’s work, and now, Sebastian Barry. Barry is an interesting figure — his mother was the Irish actress Joan…
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My dear friend Nina, she of the miracle-twins who restored our collective belief that things might work out in this world, has had her fifth baby this afternoon. The first boy! He’s a big beautiful healthy boy, and she’s just fine, and now I’m slightly crazed to be here in Montana while they’re all in LA. Yargh. And I have to say, as much as I love her four girls, my “fake children” as I like to call them — it’s a very girly house over there. I’m sort of psyched to have a boy to play with — I’m…
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We are flying the flag today for Barack Obama, for the restoration of the Constitution of the United States of America, for the revival of the American Dream. I hate crowds, but there’s part of me that now wishes I’d somehow managed to go to DC. What a day. What a miraculous day. I have a staff meeting that starts just when he’s supposed to take the oath and I think that I’m just going to have to call in late. I can watch the speech on TiVo, but I need to see, in real time, that this actually happens.…
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Sorry all of you who are trapped in the cold, but it’s 53 degrees in my backyard and I’m writing this blog post from the patio furniture, in the sun. And I’m just beside myself with happiness about tomorrow’s inauguration. A new day dawning. Oh happy happy day.