Wife, writer, tinkerer, grower of food. I'm happiest outside our rambling farmhouse with a basket looped on my arm, picking dinner from the garden. That's joy right there. Please follow along; I'm so glad you're here!
There is always something wonderful about Ithaca weekends.
This might have a little something to do with the wonderfulness.
But it's also about sharing life stories and catching up and reading children's books at midnight after swilling bourbon (my friend would correct this and tell you he never swills). It's about yammering, mainly. Good conversations, nostalgic, intelligent conversations. This year there were conversations on couches and barstools and in a greenhouse and while spackling drywall in a 400 square foot cabin with no electricity. I met up with my parents Saturday night, to celebrate their (40th!) anniversary eve at their favorite Mexican place. And then I took them out for cupcakes.
It's a magical town, that Ithaca. Now, with a few hard freezes on tap this week, I am feeling ready to hunker down and make soup and bread and more soup and more bread.