ENGAGE

I’ve found a great pedicurist who makes my feet look cute. So for a break from my everyday schedule of writing that plays havoc with my neck and shoulders, I thought I’d book a different treatment at the same spa. My appointment yesterday for a deep-tissue massage led to an interesting discussion with the therapist, whose […]

I found a lovely looking recipe on Pinterest and modified it to my taste. I think I’m going to include it in my novel, having my main character brew it up. Check it out! First, I diced and browned in olive oil in my cast iron soup kettle: Then I lightly sautéed in olive oil

I think I’ve had it wrong. The word comfortable has always sparked mental pictures for me of down bedding or a steaming bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup. But a recent reading educated me. Our English word comes from the Old French verb conforter (to comfort). Itis made up of two Latin words meaning “with” (used as an intensive to

I’m a bit under the weather today. Not sick, exactly—just slight chills and dizziness and, mostly, a feeling of lethargy. If I worked for someone else, I couldn’t quite justify taking the day off. As a writer-at-home, I was so looking forward to picking up drafting on my novel, set aside during a recent family

I once made the mistake, when speaking to a French friend, of calling chocolate “junk food.” You’d have forgiven me at the time, I’m sure, as I was referring to the thick tablets of chocolate pasted on the top of baby teething biscuits I found in the department store in a small town (Aix-les-bains), where

I’m in the mode. My desktop (okay, kitchen table) is stacked high with computer, binder of plot notes, reference books, sheafs of paper, pens, cups of cold coffee.  I’ll likely wear my housecoat till late afternoon, only dressing in order to walk on my elliptical while watching Dr. Phil. My suppers for hubby currently consist

The elegance of this richly embroidered silk slipper, looking like a cute doll’s shoe at three-and-a-half inches in length, belies its hideous history. More than a century old, it was worn by a bound-footed woman in Formosa (Taiwan) and now sits on our bedroom dresser mounted in a black shadow-box frame. The lady would have

My fourth-grade teacher made a single, round mark on the board as he stood in front of the classroom. “A dot is the end point, like the hole in a garden hose,” he explained. “If you tip the dot sideways, it becomes a line that runs on a plane forever.” Thus was my mind first opened

A batch of sourdough starter lives in a glass container in my fridge. I mixed it up last month and used some to make delicious loaves of white and rye breads, but the joy of sourdough starter is that the leftover keeps ripening and increasing in flavour so long as it’s fed weekly (with a

“My grandmother,” I said in a low tone, “would have said that we were all in exile, and that no earthly house could cure the holy home-sickness that forbids us rest.”