Voice Mail Archives

When I was a senior in high school, my adored English teacher took me to the Bread Loaf Young Writers' Conference in Middlebury, Vermont. I don't even really remember entering anything, or applying in any formal way. I suppose I must have, but I honestly don't remember that part at all.

This week at the Farm Stand, Jess was kind enough to bestow on me one dozen fresh eggs, which quite honestly made me quake with desire.

I've got a bright and sunny breakfast recipe for you that I'm going to spell out to you in excruciating detail in just a moment. It's just perfect for Sunday morning, which for me is the day after I pick up my fresh produce at Jess's Farm Stand and so everything is still bursting eagerly out of the refrigerator, yearning -- yearning I say -- to be eaten.

Folks, it's summertime on Cape Cod. And I'm going to be honest here: I much prefer fall. And winter. And yeah, okay, spring.

For an old band geek like me, the Fourth of July means just one thing: Parades. Lots of 'em. And the many, many, many layers of heavy clothing one must wear to march in them.

"You mean Humperdinck WINS? Jesus, Grandpa, what did you read me this thing for?"

Everybody loves a good conversion story, right? Especially if it involves a handsome young man, dripping wet from a quick swim in the river near his school.

Ripped from the actual biography of a highly prominent 19th century American figure. Yes, one you have definitely heard of.

I am sometimes just a wind-up nostalgia doll. Pull my string, watch me go.

Well knock me down. Looks like I'm not the only one with a little fetish for a good looking man in a cravat.