My Photo


  • a happy, ordinary, middle-aged, suburban woman who paints odd pictures, gardens in a straw hat, lives with the love of her life, is owned by one cat and the ghosts of several others, and walks a little funny 'cause she has a fake leg. She started this website because there's more to life than what we lose, and we need to let each other know what's possible, even if it's only a happy, ordinary life.

November 2011

Sun Mon Tue Wed Thu Fri Sat
    1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30      


  • E-mail me at:

    sara at saraarts dot com

    Make sure the subject line of your correspondence is clear and specific. I do not open e-mails from strangers unless I can tell in advance that I want to read them.

Shameless Self- Promotion

  • I Took The Handmade Pledge!

Good reads, grownups only

« No promises. | Main | Some of the Things I've Been Doing Instead of Reading Descartes »


Feed You can follow this conversation by subscribing to the comment feed for this post.

Ron Sullivan


Does the world implode when she runs out of suits?

Srsly, the purest vision of hell I can think of just now is endless campaign BS all over the airwaves/print/Web/etcetera. Global Warming, you betcha.


Seriously, there seems to be a whole lot of, er, greenhouse gas in the atmosphere just now.

Somebody light a match. The stench is unbearable.

Kay Olson

It makes sense that Episcopalian terrorists would be involved in this vision of hell somehow. They're very sneaky.


Oh, Kay, you have no idea. Did I ever tell you the story of the Episcopalian bake sale? Well, my mom and I used to frequent the annual antique show and bake sale at the Episcopalian church near my junior high school in a pish-posh suburb of southern California. Yes, it was the kind of place where it made pefect sense to combine fund-raising with a commercial shopping event. I bought my first string of pearls from one of those antique dealers. But I digress.

My mother was the sort of woman who insisted on making everything from scratch, no mixes, no convenience foods, and she was also the sort of woman who insisted on reminding us all as frequently as she could how very fortunate we were to have a mother who did not have a day job away from home and who made absolutely everything from scratch. When we contributed homemade baked goods to a bake sale, they were really homemade. When we bought things at a bake sale, it would often occur that I would gravitate to a cupcake with pretty sprinkles only to be told with a wrinkled nose, "Well you can have that if you like, but you know it came from a bakery," or "but you know it came out of a box." My mother would also say things like this about other women's personal style, e.g., "Yes, she's quite attractive in her way, but you know that hair color came straight out of a bottle." But I digress again.

Anyway, one year we discovered these bags and bags of adorable little crescent rolls at the Episcopalian bake sale and antique show. We bought one to try. Neither of us suspected anything "wrong" with them, and when we got them home, we adored them. The whole family did. So every year after that we would always look for them, and would always buy several bags if we could.

Fast forward to my home ec class in 7th grade, and being taught to make a number of culinary treats common in many households but which I had never tried before. Among them my teacher presented us with a recipe for pigs-in-blankets that were basically just hot dogs wrapped in Pillsbury crescent rolls and baked.

There was something so familiar about those crescent rolls. So familiar. But they were Pillsbury. They came from the refrigerator section of my local grocery store. When on earth would I, the child of a woman who stayed home and did all her cooking from scratch and made sure everybody knew all about it, ever have tasted such a thing?

I'll tell you where. At the Episcopalian bake sale. Those sly women's auxiliary ladies had been selling them to us for years and never breathed a word about their provenance.

Those Episcopalians. I'm telling you.


The comments to this entry are closed.


A Good Idea This Year, Too


I Don't Know What Came Over Me

Then There Was The Time I Lost My Mind for a Month

Blog powered by Typepad