Showing posts from September, 2012


A while ago, one of my favorite bloggers wrote a post about how peaches make her feel rich. And it made me realize that my garden,such as it is, makes me feel unbelievably wealthy and privileged.

That's a snapshot after watering a few weeks ago... We're lucky to have this small space on our covered porch where I'm able to keep a handful of plants growing.  It may not look like much....but some days, I have the luxury of being able to step outside, and pick what's for dinner.

Glossy green spinach malabar  quickly becomes "spinach" white bean soup.

Or a round mauve eggplant

becomes homemade baba ganoush.

These are  moments I savor- when I'm able to just step outside the door, take something growing, and turn it into something that nourishes us. To eat food that you've grown yourself feels like both the greatest accomplishment and the greatest indulgence. When you're a pair of busy graduate students living in an apartment in the city, those feelings …

A letter.

Dear Scott,
I didn't dream about you last night. After all of the dreams about our conversations, about you, the weird metaphorical dreams about your death, this one was about the rest of us- your friends, your grandparents, your sister, trying to sort out your death. Stringing together our memories of you, keeping odd tokens to honor you in our lives, trying to figure out what went wrong and how it could have been different. It was a strangely painful dream, because it's been the story of my waking life since the moment I got that phone call. And I'm not the only one.

I don't know if you know this, but there are a lot of people still missing you. There's a young blond woman in Louisiana who drops flowers in a stream every year on your birthday. There's a curly-haired young man in South Carolina who still dreams about you, and still wonders about that call he missed from you days before you died. There's a redhead who can't pass a single life milestone …