Sometime around yesterday afternoon, I realized something: I was sick. More than a few of you are likely thinking, “Well, obviously. It’s not normal for a grown woman to constantly obsess about baked goods and Jeff Goldblum. At least she finally admitted it. Now she can get help.” And to those folks I laugh and…
– How does the old adage go? Photos without people in them are merely postcards? Something like that. It’s a fair criticism. But I’ve always been of the mind that photos with people in them, standing and smiling at the camera as though they were just recovering from a lobotomy, aren’t much better. I mean,…
Over the years, I’ve amassed an impressive collection of self-portraits from our travels (and roped my poor, innocent husband into a few shots as well). I take them with one arm extended as far in front of me as my short-limbed genes will allow, and I click a half-dozen times. With any luck, in at…
There are times when I start to get a little bit big for my britches. Fortunately, the universe usually decides that’s an appropriate time to slap some sense back into me. Take a few months back, when I was in my kitchen, pouring salt into a concoction I was working on (because really, next to…
Historically, the times that I’ve actually known what I was talking about have been few and far between. This is particularly true when it comes to travel, or geography, or really, facts of any kind. Once, when we were in downtown Seattle, a middle-aged couple stopped Rand and me and asked where they could find…
– My husband occasionally has moments of brilliance. He has moments of utmost stupidity, too, but since I love him more than Seattle on a sunny day (a rare phenomenon that I can see outside my office window as I type this) I’d like to focus on the brilliance. At the end of our trip…
– With the exception of my thighs and derriere, I am not what you would call a hearty girl (though those two parts of me could survive drought, famine, pestilence, and probably a nuclear war. Everything, really, save for another season of skinny jeans). But excluding my well-developed lower region, I’m kind of wimpy. My…
– Haggling is an art form, and my mother is Picasso. Analyze her technique too closely, and it will fall apart, but stand back far enough, and a masterpiece emerges. I’ve seen her haggle in retail stores. RETAIL STORES. With success. She will take an item up to the cashier and note that a thread…
Hey folks – my apologies for the blog being so thin lately. I’ve been on the road – a lot – and I can’t seem to justify spending my days sitting in a hotel room blogging. We’ll return to daily posts next week, I promise. In the meantime, read on about Peruvian foods you must try.…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
In Hardback, e-book, and audiobook from these booksellers:
