Rhubarbarian

If cranberry and celery had a baby, they’d name it rhubarb. Who knows, maybe there’s a bit of Granny Smith in that pseudo-family tree, too. Either way, what can I say except rhubarb is tart. Brutally, wonderfully, deliciously, tart.

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Rough Ter-Rain

It’s a chilly Saturday evening – the eve of Mother’s Day – and my youngest son, a teenager, is bored. “Let’s go hiking or something, mom.” He laments. My husband pecks away at his computer keyboard, working on his homework, so I reckon it’s up to me to keep the man-child busy.

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In the Pink

I used to hate the color pink. I think it stemmed from when I was younger, my mother only ever buying me pink clothes for my birthday and Christmas. Perhaps it was her attempt to cure me of my tom-boyish ways.

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