My folks moved to Naples, Florida, an income tax-free state, almost a decade ago. They’ve always loved the water no matter where they’ve lived. I was basically raised on boats, in and out of galleys, heads, staterooms, pretending to learn port from starboard, bow from aft. We’re talking Tennessee River floating, slalom skiing, wave-running next to a nuclear facility. Not quite the California way of things. Not quite the peaceful, warm Gulf coast of Florida either.
My husband and I started a side musical project a few years ago called Bubble and Strife. Our anecdote:
Husband and Wife.
Husband and Strife.
Bubble and Squeak.
Bubble and Strife.
In short, Leftovers.
A few months ago, I began to feel toxic. Too much wine, too many verditas shots (thank you Esme and Cayman), not enough sleep. As a temporary single parent, I started to feel a little anxious. Sam was still away on tour. I’d been cooking for one and a half for two months and finding it creatively challenging.