tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59203872074093251702016-03-18T10:35:26.301-07:00the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-83531627366017500232016-03-10T10:00:00.000-08:002016-03-16T14:16:34.234-07:00

Empire State Building lit up in orange, the official color of the National Kidney Foundation, to celebrate World Kidney Day (Image Source:  NKF) The second Thursday of March is World Kidney Day.  World Kidney Day is a global campaign started in 2006 to educate about the importance of this vital organ, to promote kidney health, and to bring awareness to chronic kidney disease (CKD).  And

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-80836206025832954252011-01-01T23:11:00.000-08:002016-03-16T14:20:11.462-07:00

Hi, my name is Allen, what's yours? With this simple question, I am redeemed. Years earlier I watched from my kitchen window as Allen was taunted by a teenage boy.  Even though Allen is mentally disabled, I did nothing to help him.  I did not dart out of my apartment to defend someone who was weaker than myself.  I did not call the police or ask my neighbor for help.  I simply watched and

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-24866498184392977202006-01-01T21:30:00.000-08:002016-03-10T22:33:34.762-08:00

There is no new post. You haven't written anything in a month. You haven't written anything in two months. Are you ever going to write anything again? Umm...well... I don't have an excuse really. There have been things to write about. For Little Red Apron there was a rabbit gumbo and svinina v kislo-sladkom souse (pork stew with dried fruit). For the Ox and the Scorpion there were relationship

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-70491330154038152952005-09-26T07:20:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:17:34.005-08:00

Mon baggage...perdu...il n' est pas ici.... After 30 hours of travel, I find myself at the Air France counter in Figari, Corsica trying to explain in very bad and very broken French that my bag didn't make it with me. Finally I find my baggage claim ticket, and the woman helping me understands. As she's processing my lost baggage form, she tells me that it is going to rain for the next 3 days.

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-48948165522251309052005-09-08T23:55:00.000-07:002016-03-10T22:33:34.802-08:00

Once again I'm off exploring! This time the destinations are Bonifacio, Corsica and Toulouse, France. The Grocer's Daughter will resume on Sept. 21st...

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-15008910233748617022005-09-02T12:30:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:24:55.393-07:00

I confess to trolling Craigslist personals lately. It amazes me what you'll find on a given night. Posts range from upfront and honest to detailed and amusing to gimmicky but cute. I will spare you the ones that we can only hope is some sort of social experiment. (Note to the boys out there: the word "obedient" and pictures of penises generally do not encourage response.)Writing a personals ad is

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-46200767717236709772005-08-23T19:05:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:00:02.609-08:00

I had the most perfect high recently. I held my friends' newborn daughter in my arms. I was holding her awkwardly at first. She squinched up her face in protest. My friend adjusted my hold and immediately she burrowed into me. She rooted around trying to find my nipple and then gave up and fell asleep. We all just stared at her for over an hour...and she doesn't even do much yet.This may seem a

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-76075590806259582572005-08-23T19:00:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:00:41.756-08:00

Thomas? Thomas. Clarabel. Clarabel. Henry. Henry. I am at work and having a conversation with a two-year-old boy that consists entirely of first names. The two-year-old says a name, and I repeat it. If I don't hear him correctly, he says the name again. His father explains that they are names from the Thomas the Tank Engine series. Harold. Harold. Cranky. Cranky. Elizabeth. Elizabeth. The

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-44550952104580220042005-08-17T18:45:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:01:40.644-08:00

Many years ago, I suggested to a friend that we make waffles for dinner. Waffles for dinner? He was stunned. Waffles were not dinner food. (Clearly he had never had the strange but yummy fried chicken and waffle combination.) Eventually he came around and soon he was even planning waffle dinner parties. I was never one to limit food to a particular dining time. When I was a child, my mother

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-37009094451286603662005-08-14T09:00:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:02:17.403-08:00

A friend and I are discussing our perspective first dinner dates. Do they like us? Do we like them? My friend is a bit worried; his date hasn't called him yet. He talks of his dinner at Aqua. (And let me tell you, that's one heck of a place to take a girl on your first dinner date.) "How did your date end?" I ask, "Did you kiss?" "She might have made some vague kissing motion by my ear," he says,

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-77176727986675884702005-08-09T22:45:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:03:04.626-08:00

I live in a city where it's easy to become hardened. We pass by people living on the street daily. When asked for money, we breeze by, mumbling a quick, "Sorry." That is not to say that we are completely heartless. We support our free clinics. We buy the street sheets. We know that homelessness is a social problem, and unlike some cities, do not consider it criminal. I found myself dragging a

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-44253977872796680292005-08-07T23:45:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:18:33.739-08:00

There was a message on the machine when I got home from work. It was from a boy I broke up with about a year ago. He had made a few attempts at contact after the initial break up (a break up box and a cd), but I hadn't heard anything from him since. His voice on the machine seemed practiced and breezy. He said he was curious to know how I was doing and suggested getting together to meet. An hour

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-55828075832866297032005-08-02T23:55:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:03:42.227-08:00

Like most kids, both my parents worked. Unlike most kids, I was lucky enough to have a sitter. I would walk to her house after school, she would feed me a snack, we would watch soaps, and she would keep an eye on me until my mother arrived at the door.My sitter's husband worked on the roads. I don't know exactly what he did, but I remember him stopping by in his "don't run me over" orange vest.

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-89097229686061785292005-07-30T11:15:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:04:08.945-08:00

I met a boy for coffee the other day. We are at that get-to-know-each-other-do-we-like-each-other? stage. I am sort of rambling...all this nervous energy to expend. The herbal infusion called "calm" that I'm drinking is not doing a darn thing. (For all you coupled folks out there, I would like to remind you that dating his not easy. You have to be "on" and present one of your better selves but

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-82678567549374638842005-07-28T23:50:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:24:58.021-08:00

I was quite smitten with honor system businesses during my trip to Oregon. Amused, my friends indulged me and took me to another place just outside of town, the Mini Barn Bakery. It's an adorable spot that looks (obviously) like a little red barn. (Red barns are always photogenic) Like Granny's Garden, the store is self-serve. You select your items and put the appropriate amount in the cash box.

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-69974429712865320872005-07-25T19:55:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:06:10.761-08:00

My little sister just got married. For those of you who are unfamiliar with wedding planning, let me give you a little peek. My sister sent this out two months after her engagement: ...nothing is scarier than an industry intent on manufacturing love and happiness. It’s Valentine’s Day times ten. Million. Photographers, florists, and bridal dress consultants insist that the wedding will be "the

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-5731119667010629082005-07-22T21:35:00.000-07:002016-03-12T00:06:39.295-08:00

Flirting is a funny thing. My friend sent me the Social Issues Research Center Guide to Flirting recently. We are both single and could use a brush up in the art. The article breaks things down quite nicely. It talks about flirting for fun and flirting with intent. It talks about who and how and where. And despite having read this piece, in real life it's not so clear.A customer gave me his

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-66930303240244506322005-07-21T22:20:00.000-07:002016-03-10T22:33:34.972-08:00

...it takes your sleeping self years to catch up to where you really are. Pay attention to your dreams: when you go on a trip, in your dreams you will still be home. Then after you've come home you'll dream of where you were. It's a kind of jet lag of the conciousness.-Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams This is how I feel about writing. You are always a bit behind...running after your experience.

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-63196801486018162302005-07-09T18:55:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:28:52.332-07:00

Siskin, siskin, where were you?On the Fontanka, had a fewVodka, vodka, one drink moreNow my head is really soreSometimes memories are not about the snapshots you take but about the snapshots you miss.St Petersburg is sometimes referred to as "Venice of the North." Like Venice, St. Petersburg is a beautiful city full of canals and bridges. We started our second day in St. Petersburg with a canal

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-71908056913548260962005-07-06T15:45:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:27:39.710-07:00

And to your right is Sweden, to your left is Finland, coming up is Estonia...okay everyone back on the bus and to the boat... -overheard at the Copenhagen airport Hallo. Hej. Hei. Zdravstvuite. Tere. Dzien Dobry. Goddag. As I've mentioned before, my mother's side takes a family trip almost every year. This year's destination was the Baltic. 18 of us (grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins)

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-34606020125215774802005-06-21T23:21:00.000-07:002016-03-10T22:33:35.014-08:00

I haven't even finished my posts about Oregon and already I'm off again! Baltic cruise, here I come...The Grocer's Daughter will resume on July 5th.

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-6697302067099580332005-06-17T23:59:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:29:32.382-07:00

Who knew the country was so exciting? I wake to a flurry of activity. The chickens are squawking, the dog is barking, and the girls are twittering excitedly from below. I hear the door open and close, the oldest girl and her dad head outside to investigate. I have awakened to a murder. Wandering downstairs, I ask the youngest child what happened. She tells me a dog stole a chicken. "He killed

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-56104855698966567802005-06-17T23:25:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:29:49.602-07:00

When my friend asked if I would help sort toys during my visit, I breezily said the girls and I could do it while she was at work. Little did I know what I was getting into. When I got there, all the bins looked so innocent and benign. And then I had the bright idea of dumping one onto the floor, and I knew I was doomed. Clearly when the girls clean up, the bin opens and everything (and I mean

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-71467197911038123872005-06-16T23:35:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:30:10.137-07:00

As you already know, I'm up in Oregon playing housewife for some friends of mine. So "Adventures of a Shopgirl" are currently on hold. In the meanwhile, I present "Adventures of a Housewife": There is nothing like starting off the day with a cup of hot coffee and a dead kitten. No, this is not one of those dead baby jokes (although I'm sure the girls will be into those soon). I am in the

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5920387207409325170.post-50339454521384751982005-06-15T09:25:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:30:28.542-07:00

What's for dinner? The question dreaded by the family cook. For a family of one, the answer is easy. I prepare whatever I feel like eating. If that's Nutella on bread and a side of Greek yogurt, so be it. But when you're cooking for a family of 4 in addition to yourself, the question takes on a whole new meaning. Children eat differently than adults. It's not just the portions. Their taste buds

the grocer's daughterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15322878681974120273noreply@blogger.com6