I’m not a big bourbon fan. Actually, I’ll go even further and say that brown liquor is not my drink of choice—be it rum or whisky or scotch. (Between you and me, I entered a tequila phase about five years ago and I don’t think I’ll ever go back. Because, margaritas.)Read More
The entire world seems to be glowing with green these days—there’s been so much rain everywhere. Central Park is a riot of vivid jewel-tones, between the grassy lawns and the stately canopy of trees that line the cobblestone sidewalk of Fifth Avenue. I went home to the farm for the weekend; as we turned down the long driveway, the rolling hills of the farm were laid out in front of us, in various shades of dark green, pale green, and bright green. The cow pasture, the tops of the trees in the woods beyond the stream, the high grass of the field above the ponds…all green. (This is the farm where I grew up—the namesake of this blog and where my parents still live, and I still—and forever—will call home no matter where I live.)Read More
My brownstone is nestled up right next to another one; our buildings share a stoop and set of steps down to the street. When it’s nice enough out, one of my neighbors likes to sit on the top step and read his newspaper. He’s like the mayor of our little block, always waving to passersby. He even sometimes brings his cordless telephone out and takes a call. (I’ve always wondered who he is talking to.)
Every single time I happen to come home when he’s sitting outside, he looks up as if completely surprised to see me, and without fail he says: “Nice day, isn’t it?”Read More
We’re all good at different things. Sure, we have big, shiny, professional-grade skills, but I’m more interested in the little talents, quirks, and interests that make us us. My older sister can speak in a flat-out flawless British accent, knows how to curl her hair to look like a Pantene Pro-V ad, and has a textbook golf swing. My little sister is an exceptional cook who can whip up calzones one-handed (with a newborn baby on her hip), and has an excellent ability to stay unflaggingly cheerful under nearly any circumstance (airplane travel, the brutal 11th hour of a damp and rainy 12 hour hike up a steep, rocky Adirondack mountain, a run-of-the-mill bad day).Read More
I live just a few steps away from a very famous bakery. (No, it’s not my own kitchen, weird right?! Funny how word hasn’t caught on about my mad kitchen skills yet…) People come in droves to buy their cookies; I’ve counted lines of 70+ people on more than one occasion. They make a lot of excellent items—a perfectly domed blueberry muffin, squares of thin-crust squares of pizza shingled with rosemary-flecked potato slices, a dense banana bread packed with chocolate chunks—but most customers only have eyes for their cookies. Granted, the cookies are worth the wait.