Peak Perspective

“What do you know about rye grains?” This was a question from my boss at the distillery I worked at. “I know that we use them,” I’d answered. I’d been working for the company for what felt like mere minutes at that point. “Well, you’d better know a helluva lot more than that by tomorrow morning at nine, because a journalist is going to call you with questions, and I’ve pitched you as an…

I grew up in Wisconsin in a family that gardened. Correction—I grew up in Wisconsin, birthed by a woman who is a gardener but who did not have as many hours in the day to tend to the gardens she created and, therefore, I was compelled to garden like the rest of my siblings. It’s not that we were gardeners; we were the labor force of the head gardener. Her gardens were beautiful. Flowers with…

It has been a crummy month. I have had more balls thrown at my head, more rugs pulled from beneath me, and more Charlie Brown and Lucy football moments in this short space of time than an Amazon warehouse has isles. One wretched thing after another has befallen where I find myself looking up into the ether and wondering if it would be easier to find the nearest cliff to leap off, or if I should…

There is nothing I love more than suddenly getting the undeniably gleeful itch to go on a trip, and then, just as suddenly, coming to my senses and feeling around on my head to see if I’ve developed a large lump that would suggest some sort of tumor or disease, or maybe even discover the whole thing is absent. I think I’m like a lot of people in the world—those who can envision the excitement of…

One of the best, most desired gifts I received this year during the holidays was a box to hold garbage. I know, you’re all wondering if I’ve accidentally held my head in the oven too long whilst last cleaning it or, if finally, all those heavily scented, potentially carcinogenic candles from Bath and Body Works that I sniff on an hourly basis to keep me meditatively peaceful have created some…

I know many people look at January as a fresh start—the beginnings of new habits, the shedding of old ones, and the promise of a brighter, shinier version of themselves—that is, if most things stick on the list of I’m-serious-about-it-this-year resolutions. But January has adopted a new meaning for me over the last couple of years simply because I’ve taken over a task no one at work is terribly…

The Wood Stove Chronicles – Part II

Part 1 of The Wood Stove Chronicles can be found HERE. I fussed. I fretted. And I fumed over the few “inconsequential details” I’d just been given—rather last minute—by my new woodstove manufacturer’s salesman. Yes, of course, before we do the install, you must have an insurance approved, certified heat resistant hearth board for the stove to sit on. Wait, you don’t supply…

If You Can’t Take the Heat, Don’t Lie Beneath the Wood Stove

There are three introductory phrases I begin sentences with that truly define who I am: The First—I can’t believe I have to repeat this, but … The Second—If you truly want my opinion … And the Third—When I was growing up in Wisconsin … It’s the third, well-practiced utterance that we shall focus on today, as I feel this introductory remark is cemented in my daily speech and appears as often…

This Too Shall Pass–Maybe Like a Kidney Stone

The moral of this story is that you should stop eating, and teeth are really just expensive chunks of enamel with an agenda of pure evil. Or possibly it’s Go slowly. Wait—no, it’s Research. I don’t know. Maybe you can figure it out by the end. That all withstanding: I love food. Except when food doesn’t love me. And except when food becomes a sharp and wicked thing that tries to eradicate…

There are a few words or phrases that universally send a shiver down the spine of most people. Examples like Internal Revenue Service, or gerrymandering, or even the never-appreciated advice to calm down. But I think this month I’ve got those entries trumped with two words I’ve had to utter with great frequency and usually in a sphincter-clenched whisper. Root canal. I’d place a bet with high…

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You I’m Out of a Job

Occasionally, as a writer and an educator, I get asked to speak about my books, do a reading, or hold a class. Typically, I get asked questions during the end of those speaking sessions from the audience to whom I’m directing said speech. Seldom are those questions worth sharing. Except for the ones that make water squirt out your nose. Below, a sampling, for your enjoyment, and as a reminder…

The Historically Boozy Woozy Benefits of Hooch

As a person who works within the spirits industry (the drinkable not ghostly kind), I am often told of the detriments that accompany imbibing alcohol. We are reminded by our physicians, by our parents, by well-meaning, health-conscious friends, and by finger-wagging party poopers as to the many harms, dangers, and hazards that accompany a tipple or two, and are firmly advised to give hooch a wide…

Last week, one of my cats did something weird. That statement, in and of itself, is a little unusual, as this particular cat is always doing something weird—talks to lamp shades, tests the running water temperature from a faucet before agreeing to drink from it, and as she’s left-handed, she insists on ergonomic southpawed Fiskars, so for me to notice … well, I think you get my point. This new…

Problems with One’s Nose: It Just Doesn’t Make Scents

I think we can all agree—that whether you’ve experienced it firsthand or not—having Covid is no fun. I can’t think of any illness that would actually fit into the “fun” category, so perhaps the above statement is a bit of a no-brainer declaration. Still … there is an aspect of this affliction that is forcing me to do something I do find to be pleasurable—research­­—as I (along with millions of…

How to Keep a Bridge Quiet When in the Car

There is nothing like writing a book to illuminate just how awful a communicator you are. I think everyone should do it. Not only for the (eventual) resounding joy of completing such an accomplishment, but also to recalibrate your ego—bring it down to a more palatable level. Like bug height. And it’s only at such a degree that you will see the crucial minutia—the details, the complexities, the…

Not So Fit as a Fiddle, but Still Music to My Ears

This year for the holidays, I received a beautiful gift: a bow. Not a knot tied with two loops and two loose ends to adorn my hair or embellish a box. Not a weapon from which I would launch arrows to fend off foes or hunt whilst hungry. Instead, it was a wooden rod, curved and carved, attached to horsehair, and meant to fill a room with sound once drawn across a set of strings. I’ve been…