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.
“God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.” There is some dispute to whom to credit this simple bit of logic. Which seems appropriate to me, because God can be many things to many people. Chef Louise Mellor of the food blog Satisfied, finds comfort and meaning in the protection that clouds offer. Leaving room for her mind to wander and her heart to heal. GREG
Clouds, Coconut, and Summer S’mores
My therapist once told me that part of the reason I was feeling so worn out by parenting my children was because I had been parenting a child my whole life, me.
When my new friend Sup! asked me do a guest post about a summertime childhood memory, I happily accepted and then quickly pushed the idea to the back of the fridge. You know, way back there… with the old sour cream and the lost jar of olives. I did this because I knew thinking about being a kid would stir deep waters.
“There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy’s life that he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure.” These may be Mark Twain’s words, but they are Steve Dunn’s memories, and they are sweet like lobster. My summer series continues with this from Oui, Chef. GREG
My early childhood summers were fabulously routine, but never boring. I grew up in a typical New England “beach” town, so for me, summer travel required no more than a 4 mile trek.
Each summer vacation started the same, with Mom packing coolers of food and crates full of our summer duds (really nothing more than a few bathing suits and t-shirts), and loading them all into the Jeep. A quick stop in town for a tide chart, and a brief stint in the barber’s chair for a short, summer crew-cut, and we were on our way to Saquish.
Saquish was, and still is, a little time-portal of a place. A spit of sand jutting into the Atlantic, that while only a mere four miles from the town in which I lived, felt like a world away. It was there that my folks rented a cottage for us each summer, a small 2 bedroom number with no electricity and a rather charming little out-house. And it was from this little cottage that my sibs and I would dart each morning in search of whatever great adventure awaited us that day.