Sometimes the memory of a flavor is all it takes to rekindle a foodie’s enthusiasm. One fine Autumn day as I wandered around our yard, I happened upon an unexpected “mushroom bouquet” and my first thought was food. They immediately evoked memories of mushrooms past. Slowly simmered in a velvety red wine sauce laced with garlic.
Apologies for another post hot on the heels of my last one, but I felt the need to write. (Also, cherries were on sale at Wally World and I couldn’t pass up that bargain yesterday or the “photo op” this morning.) Thanks for bearing with me. For some reason, corny phrases have inundated my mind lately
I recently spent hours online — okay, minutes because I’m blessed with the gift of reading extremely fast — researching the term: “the bluebird of happiness.” We have bluebirds here and most of the definitions I found applied. (Feel free to Google it or “ask Alexa.”) The one above may be an indigo bunting indigenous to
When The Man Of Few Words ‘n’ I moved here a decade ago (during the summer), I was looking forward to a respite from the bone-chilling winters I’d previously experienced in Minnesota. New terrain, new seasons to assimilate. Plus, I knew how to dress warmly. Surprise, surprise… that winter Oklahoma had record-breaking lows. Fast forward to
Recently The Man Of Few Words tripped on his way to work (at 5:00 a.m. in the dark) when his foot caught on an immovable object on our patio. After ascertaining the source of his unexpected imbalance, he cordially offered a greeting: “Hello, armadillo!” It didn’t budge. He finally had to step over it and they both