My grandparents are dying and the world is teetering on the brink of what Twitter keeps calling World War Three and the anxiety is back, kicking and screaming WE TOLD […]
She hears there’s tricks i’ the world, and hems, and beats her heart, spurns enviously at straws, speaks things in doubt that carry but half sense. This, then, is a pie of half-sense, and of remembering. Bake it, and remember. I was all out of pansies, and I haven’t seen a columbine in years, and cooking with rue seemed foolish: but the other things are there, and they are very good.