I love a great chip, don’t you? Potato chips, veggie chips, corn chips and tortilla chips. Chips with ridges, kettle-cooked, salt and vinegar, black pepper, nacho-cheese and barbecued – I have enjoyed my fair share of chips and dips over the years.
I’d say I’ve been pretty lucky in the food-allergy department; in fact, I’d say that I’ve enjoyed being able to experience whatever foods were on the table for most of my life. I’m not sure if it’s because more people have food allergies or if I’m simply more aware – but the statistics of folks with some sort of food restriction is staggering: 15 million people suffer with various food allergies, an estimated 30 percent of our overall population are gluten-intolerant and I am in the 1 in 100 category who navigates the world of celiac disease.
I won’t swear to this but I don’t believe I experienced the buttery goodness of an avocado until my family made the move to Arizona when I was 13. Because back in the day, (a) ‘seasonal’ really did mean seasonal – as in, if it’s not in season in my hometown, it’s not on the store shelves and (b) Walla Walla isn’t an avocado growing climate, (c) I’m certain that if avocados were available ‘in season’, my family couldn’t afford them and most importantly, (d) Avocados are green. With knarly, bumpy skins. And they are soft and squishy. My grade school self said ‘Gross!’
[grooveshark width=”250″ height=”40″ id=”30568784″ style=”metal”]
Musical pairing – The Name Game by Shirley Ellis
We met in a somewhat unorthodox way. Cheryl was a panelist at a conference and I happen to sit in on her session about writing; funny, smart and articulate, I was an instant fan. Later in the day, we found ourselves sitting together at a table listening to a different group of panelists . . . actually, we were trying to listen to what was being said . . . but apparently, the two attendees also sitting at our table felt the conversation they were having was more important.
Musical pairing – Blindsided by Bon Iver
In the crush of finals week, I practically forgot a very important aspect of the end of the school year: moving back home. The last day of my semester arrived (unseasonably cold and sodden) and still all of my books were on their shelves, my desk drawers were still stuffed with papers and pens, my closet still stuffed with clothes. In a one-night whirlwind, I swept everything into some semblance of organization, though admittedly in a less stream-lined way than was probably possible. With the help of two of my friends, my roommate, and my dad, everything was carted down to the car the next day, I turned in my room key, and home we drove.