Monday night I just happened to catch the last episode of this season’s “Halloween Baking Championship”—you know, the one where they have the final four bakers and one of them wins $25,000 and a feature in Food Network Magazine while everyone else goes home empty-handed?
Years ago, a well-known celebrity lost a child when she was five months pregnant. She and her husband shared pictures of themselves holding their baby, obviously and understandably grieving their loss—and numerous people found fault with that.
In their later years, both of my parents suffered from dementia, my father thanks to Diffuse Lewy Body Disease and my mother compliments of vascular disease which led to portions of her brain slowly dying. Two very different causes, but the same end result.
Every December my daughter and I (and our special guest baker Tommy) gather for three very long days (plus usually one for gathering supplies) and we bake. And we bake and we bake and we bake.
We’ve all heard the old saying “You can’t take it with you”, right? And we all know why old sayings get to be old sayings, right? (In case you don’t, it’s because there’s a grain of truth hidden in them . . .)
It’s raining. A rare occurrence of late. And a welcome one. It’s done that off and on for the last few days, and you know what? The grass that once crunched under my feet is now soft and green again. And in need of mowing.
It’s Fair Week in Hardin County, Tennessee! Just like it is or has been or will be in the near future for many counties around the south. And maybe the north. I’m just not sure how many of our southern traditions they embrace.
The name they had chosen was filled with meaning, a combination of his father’s—Jon—and her father’s—Michael. Even before they knew what he was, they knew who he was.
It was sometime in the 1960s or perhaps even the early 1970s. We could possibly even narrow it down a bit more than that . . . let’s say the mid-60s to early 70s. There had been a murder . . .
