I’m no cook. It’s true. I’m not. Cooking and baking for that matter are not anywhere on my top ten list of life’s favorite activities. There are a few things to blame for this.
First, you should know, I am the youngest of three, with an older brother and sister. By the time my sister was 12 she towered over me at 5.11′. Meanwhile, I was a feeble 4.9′ and just 18 months younger than her (people, genetics are unfair). My height did allow me several advantages, though. It was a hassle to have me in the kitchen; I could not reach the cupboards and I needed a step stool to work on the stove. Since Alysa was so darn tall, and just so interested in the domestic arts she got the long end of the stick and I got the short end. It didn’t matter to me anyway, I preferred hanging out in the yard turning over rocks and pouring salt on slugs – the salt that Alysa would hand to me from the cupboard beyond my reach. Continue reading
The Joy of This 