Happy Fourth of July. No matter where you live. I mean, what’s not to like about a day that says “this is who I am and this is how I got here”. Especially if that day falls in summer.
I’m all grown up and then some. But I still wonder sometimes just who I am and how I got here. I mean a food blog. Really? A food blog? A blog that’s sometimes silly and oftentimes not much more than a light read on your way to someplace else. So why a food bog? And how a food blog? Well I don’t really know… exactly.
But I will say I’m a serious person with serious responsibilities.
I own a house. An old house, in constant need of artful repairs. My family is stretched coast to coast. I live in the big city and try to live a big city life. I am balancing this blog with all my other financial, domestic and artistic concerns. I am in a 20 plus year relationship. It’s the center of my life, and the thing of which I am most proud. But that doesn’t mean it’s not work. In fact, keeping my life on track is nothing but work.
Which sounds like I’m complaining, but I’m not.
“I doubt whether the world holds for anyone a more soul-stirring surprise than the first adventure with ice cream”- Heywood Broun
This post is not really about ice cream, but in the second photo a young Chris Grove of Nibble Me This seems to be embracing what will become a lifelong passion. The joy of food and the strength of family. In the photo his dad seems to be working hard to bring Chris this joy. What a gift. The kind of gift that only a potent combination of summer and childhood can bring. GREG
I grew up in the sweet sticky heat of Florida summers. I was literally “toes in the sand, head in the clouds” before I learned to walk.
I was raised in the “middle class dream” of block houses, lawn chairs, picnic tables, and family cook outs. We spent our weekends at the YMCA and the beach. My dad hand-churned ice cream in the backyard on summer afternoons.
Once I could walk, I beat the summer heat by getting out early and spending my mornings exploring the wide world known as “our lawn”. I would chase anoles (lizards indigenous to Florida, not Aholes, which are indigenous to most highways). I tried mimicking the birds that sang out to see if I could trick them into replying. I watched ants as they busied themselves building their mounds. I built forts for my plastic army men and streets for my Matchbox cars in my sand pit.
But the one constant to my summer days was just about the time it was getting too hot outside, my mom would call me inside for lunch.