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July 28, 2009
From 7/27

As I scan through lavishly-worded accounts of their daily routines, pausing occasionally to admire their hand-embroidered napkins, I confess I'm somewhat daunted. Why canít I, too, refinish that scuffed old vanity I found on the Vermont roadside and replace its missing drawer pulls with antique varieties found at the flea market that my husband and I drive to every Sunday in our slightly dusty red pick-up truck? Why canít I listen to Billie Holiday while baking biscotti made with flour I ground just that morning and currants I plucked from wherever the fuck currants come from?

Continued 7/29