Coastally Deprived

I wrote this post a few weeks ago and I’m resubmitting it in response to the WordPress Daily Post prompt of “Water.”

Image from www.visitmaine.net

For yet another day (I’ve forgot how many so far) the temperature here in my part of the Midwest U.S. will be near 100 degrees. This is just one reason why I am so thrilled to be heading out on vacation in a few days. Mr. Maid and I are packing up to spend a week in Maine where the high temperatures promise to be in the low 70s. Sounds like absolute heaven!

Our plan isn’t complicated: explore the coast between Portland and Bar Harbor, Maine, hike in Acadia National Park, sample local beer and wine, and eat our weight in lobster.

As a lifelong resident of Illinois, it will be a particular treat to spend time by the ocean. The sea is so foreign to a landlubber like me. I am jealous of those who live near it and wonder if they take it for granted.

The bodies of water that I grew up with were limited to lakes and backyard pools.

The pools in our middle-class neighborhood were not snazzy “c-ment ponds” like on The Beverly Hillbillies, but the above

In Sickness and in Health; In Polish Sausage and in Sauerkraut

Something exciting has been keeping me busy and away from my keyboard lately. In less than two weeks, my stepdaughter will be getting married!

Weddings have changed a lot over the years. Just since my own wedding to her father 15 years ago, there are numerous traditions that have sprung up and others that have been abandoned. With all of the preparations underway, I can’t help but be a little nostalgic about the weddings I remember as a kid in the 60s.

Growing up on Chicago’s south side, weddings were very much about

In Cheese We Trust

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Community Service.”

Dear St. Louis Community,

When I relocated from Chicago to an Illinois suburb of your fine city 16 years ago, I found something that was so foreign, so disturbing, that I can no longer stay silent. I fear you have all been brainwashed. I’m not sure who is responsible, and I don’t know that there is any hope to reverse it. I’m talking about what you have been told is “pizza.” Or, more specifically, what you refer to as the “cheese” on this “pizza.” People of St. Louis, your pizza makes me sad.