It’s always a good policy to let people know when you’re going to write about them. It’s better if you do it before it’s published but I figured Stephanie wouldn’t mind. Yesterday, after posting my piece where she is the star of the show, I wrote to tell her that a tiny bit of the world would be reading about her. And then it got interesting.
I rarely comment on her posts but this one was so admirable and meaningful to me that I told her she was my hero. She wrote back, “I’m jonesing for lemon meringue pie!”
To help us through this difficult time, let’s gather a shred of historical perspective by leafing through a couple of old cookbooks written during difficult times.
If this was the before time, I would have not stopped at the fifth rewrite of this morning’s post about the virtual dinner party we had on Saturday.
Tom lives to photograph. I’m nothing if I can’t untangle lives that went before us. I think for us both, Dead Horse Beach is a portrait of brutal carelessness, giving up its ghosts with each low tide. That it draws so many to it–Tom and me, for instance–in wonder of its past and what it teaches us today is a reason to celebrate all the ugliness strewn across the sand.
It’s not hyperbolic to say the world shifted a little in having to contemplate the possibility that a recipe core to my identity, that was passed from one woman’s hand to another and then another could not be the total of its sum.
We’ve won the lottery! We’re alive in the 21st century! We may be suffering through a possible coronavirus pandemic but at least it’s not the 13th century when the bubonic plague burned through the known world.
I began to receive advice about a half an hour after I posted about my sad sex life. Lots of commiseration, too. Here’s a sampling.
This post is the first installment of THE BROOKLYN ALMANAC, a weekly supplement to I Can’t Believe I Did This. It will feature stories by writers and photographers riffing off the borough of Brooklyn. Enjoy!