It started at a kitchen table in Providence (an auspicious place) as I had, after a meal of home-made salmon ceviche and two or three glasses of wine the impulse to write:
AN Old Curmudgeon’s Book of Days and cooking guide: a sometimes sentimental (but not too often) and (mostly) true account of travels in used, second-hand and hand-made America. This will be the story of how one old Cynic looks for and finds (he hopes) his ‘lost’ tribe of compadres and commamas hidden among the small cities, small towns, intentional and unintentional communities, backyards, gardens, and even occasional woodlots across the nation. Remember the old saw about the boy finding his bedroom full of horseshit on his birthday?
Romancing Resilience 