A Recipe Is A Story That Ends

There Is No Teacher More Discriminating Or Transforming Than Loss.

There Is No Downside To Winning. It Feels Forever Fabulous.

My Mother Raised Me To Be A Writer.

We Children Sat Transfixed Before That Moon Our Mother Had Called Forth From The Waters. When The Moon Had Reached Its Deepest Silver, My Sister, Savannah, Though Only Three, Cried Aloud To Our Mother, To Luke And Me, To The River And The Moon, "oh, Mama, Do It Again!" And I Had My Earliest Memory.

These Are The Quicksilver Moments Of My Childhood I Cannot Remember Entirely. Irresistible And Emblematic, I Can Recall Them Only In Fragments And Shivers Of The Heart.