Sarah Sweet is, in spite of her potty-mouth, a gentlewoman; she is a scholar. She loves cats, a fact which all by itself proves my preceding two claims. On the interwebs, she is known as The Catastrophizer. She is also my bestie. The following is an incomplete but representative list of the things she’s given…
Month: April 2013
Hard to place within any straightforward phrenological system
There was a writer named Nikolai Leskov (1831-95)–have you heard of him? It’s possible, perhaps even likely, you haven’t. According to editor David McDuff, even though Leskov was “after Gogol, the most quintessentially Russian of writers” (8), he was also one of the least popular. Nineteenth-century Russian literary circles, it seems, weren’t notably inclusive of…
Chickpea love
I’ve written here before about my uninspiring beginnings as a food-eater. Given that I was unable to pick garlic out of a lineup up until my 24th year on this beautiful earth, it shouldn’t surprise you at all to learn that chickpeas weren’t in my culinary lexicon either. I believe my husband introduced me to…
Blubber-and-slush
Many, many moons ago, my dad gave me his copy of Mark Twain’s short stories; his name and the year–1967 I believe–were inscribed in the front. A keeper, even though at the time I found it hard to commit to stories longer than 4 pages (I read “Hunting the Deceitful Turkey” about 50 times and…
The post-handwriting age: letters written with pens on paper
The “post-handwriting age” is a phrase I’ve been using in conversation for quite some time, in part to apologize for my almost unreadable scrawls, and in part to comment on our culture’s increasing disinterest in maintaining our hold on this particular skill. Don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a rant on kids these days…
George Meredith: genius
Having missed out almost entirely on the Victorians during my 500-year sojourn in university, I am now making up for lost time. Honestly, I’ve never been so happy to exhibit gaping holes in my education, for the past two years have been pure reading joy. And there is no end in sight to this festival…
Jam and Idleness 
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