Saturday, February 8, 2014
Correction- that recipe makes one largish and one smallish pie.
Also- how could I forget the Jimmy Buffet concert at the Civic Center wherein I was delivered from the deepest depression after my friend Sue's death? You can say what you will about Jimmy but trust me- he saved my life one night. Showed up onstage wearing board shorts and flip flops and his mermaid back-up singers swayed and sang and his female horn player wailed blues and I laughed and I cried and I had reason to go on and I spent the summer at the beach with my babies, soaking in the salt-water, threatening my skin to melanoma, watching the dolphins and the pelicans, walking the endless shore, dancing to Fruitcakes at night in my tiny cement-block apartment where I slept on a futon, healing myself from my first true friend-death. Dear Jimmy went on to write a song about one of my oldest friends, Bill Wharton, the Sauce Boss.
It's a little like religion and a lot like sex. You should never really know when you're gonna get it next.
I will play for gumbo.