While travelling, I read Lee Child’s 61 Hours, a paperback I’d given Paul for Christmas. While I can sympathize with Tiffany’s frustration with this mystery (I know she expressed this somewhere recently, but I can’t…
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Let me begin my post on eating with a photo of my cycling in Yountville — and mad props to Pater for setting this one up — I’d have sworn (based on much experience!) that…
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Not only am I trying to make some headway on an article I’m supposed to be writing (Research Leave isn’t all about traipsing around lovely new cities, after all), but I spent the weekend with…
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A week ago today, Pater and I were in a completely different climate (it’s 18 Celsius there today, apparently!) wandering through the foodie’s paradise that is San Francisco’s Saturday Ferry Market. We sampled a few…
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Isn’t that a sumptuously melancholy title? So indulgent . . . And yet the novel doesn’t wallow in melancholy nor nostalgia, rather examining the past, remembering a bright adolescent Jewish lesbian girl’s coming-of-age in 1970s…
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