
Scallops on risotto, I think

You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall

Anyone else have that regular moment of panic when you’re logging on to a familiar website and you have to try to remember the right password?
Like exactly where am I now?
instead of sleeping late as planned, awoke about 8, brewed coffee, stared at the penicillin growing inside my refrigerator, and returned to bed, hoping to figure out what to do the rest of the day eventually showered but went back to the prostrate meditation then launched into one of those days of starting on one pile, jumping to something else, jumping to something else, then realizing I’d done nothing with the first pile or my routines so I finally escaped down along the river to check on ripples and wildlife, at least anything that’s moving besides traffic

I’m also quite fond of folk music. Here are some concerts at the top of my list.
In my novel What’s Left, Cassia’s extended family revolves around a big Victorian house, one that’s undergone extensive restoration.
Do you ever dream of living in a big old house? What most attracts you?
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Dwelling in a rundown, low-income part of town or the countryside is a common theme in much of my writing. Call it funky, if you will, but it’s there – like I recall.
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Assuming you’ve had a similar experience, where did you do your laundry?


As a genealogist, I’m not alone in facing situations where key questions are unlikely to ever be answered. If only we could go back in history and ask the individuals themselves, hoping they might know. (Dealing with more recent situations, I’ve found three different people often have quite different recollections. Take that as a caveat.) And that’s presuming we could even understand each other, considering the differences in dialect and customs.
So, back to the ancestors. They had to be dead before I was born, right?
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How about you and your roots?