Sallie Satterthwaite's blog

Belated thanks to readers part one

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Searching for an archived column last week, I turned up a number of them with a comment attached. Most were friendly and/or informative, a few were negative, still fewer puzzled me – I couldn’t tell whether they were for or “agin.”

To all of you who have responded to the column, for or “agin,” thank you so much. Here are some of the comments I’ve received, edited for space, and I’m not using names. Read More»

London, Paris, Rome, and…?

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There are so many interesting places to visit in the world, and life is so short, one wonders how to choose.

There are those who believe travel should begin and end in their native land, thus depriving selves and families of the rest of it. And there are those who travel only in faraway places on the assumption that they can always travel “locally” when their health or money runs out. Read More»

Healing began on 9/11 2001

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In all of our lives, no matter how young we are now or how much longer we have to go, we will always be hearing new stories from Sept.11, 2001. This is largely a reprise on my column following that date.

First let me tell you what I learned about St. Paul’s Chapel, situated directly across Lower Broadway from the World Trade Center. Before the sun set on September 11, I heard news stories speculating that St. Paul’s – so close to Ground Zero – must have been destroyed. Read More»

Homemade Apple Pepper Pie

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How do you think we get new recipes?

Many of us use the recipe for another reader’s great-grandmother’s special chili sauce when she sent it to a magazine competition.

Or Grandpa’s Norwegian Christmas grog that the children should not be offered. Or we have a family classic recipe of renown simply because of a misprint in the directions.

When these became family kitchen secrets they may owe to the fact that they contain a drop of spirits that no one wants to admit. Besides, that just adds to the mystique. Read More»

Company gone

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This is the column intended to wrap up our summer travelogue, complaining gently about six loads of wash, mostly bedding, finally finished and folded. Dave’s such a good fellow, did his best to take up some of the inevitable burden. Because of the heat, we did not spend a lot of time outdoors when we could get almost the same experience within.

And we (or the young people) did a lot in those three weeks, in no particular order:

· Big beach and little breakers on each side of the Florida peninsula

· Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge

· Church Read More»

Not a good situation

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It was the kind of situation you think could never happen to you.

Believe me, it could.

I had not planned on going swimming in the Gulf last week. Women my age don’t need to show off the veins and bruises of their scrawny bird legs on the beach. But it was the evening before we were due to leave Anna Maria Island, and just dark enough to hide the scars on legs that had 75 years of hard use. There were very few other vacationers on the sugar-fine beach, and no threatening sun. Read More»

Company's come

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Company’s come. I know, the suspense was murder, wasn’t it?

“Company” this time means daughter Mary; her good, substantial Rainer; and his older son, Hartmut. Hartmut’s fiancée will be along in another week.

Despite our warnings that it would be hot here, the Germans had no choice as to when they’d be here: Most of Germany shuts down for the month of August. They delved into car rental as soon as they deplaned, and got to the house about 3:30. Not too bad for a flight from Frankfurt. Read More»

Company's still coming

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Company’s coming. I know that’s not news. It’s been the subject of this space plenty of times, and will for many more.

The cleaning has been ongoing for weeks already, and now the parts of the house that were cleaned first are, naturally, ready for dusting again.
There’s no good reason that I should want windows bright and carpets clean. That is by a husband’s reckoning.

“You act like it’s a big deal,” says the aforementioned husband. “It’s only Mary, and she’s only your daughter, after all.” Read More»

On being little

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Height is one of those givens most of us live by. All hail, consistency! At some point around puberty we stop growing and start filling out applications with the same numerals as ever. You don’t have to look it up.

Right there among some other knowns, it’s written on the wall of our skulls.

Our height.

But, eye color? Blue.

Hair? Brown (maybe).

Height? Five feet, 6 1/2 inches.

Weight? 124 pounds (unless you live in Europe, where your weight is logged in stones.) Read More»

Between home invasions

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They were here for a week, and now the house is so quiet. No shrill races on the deck. No whiney demands. No overturned furniture, no spilled juice.

Which is pretty noteworthy for brothers, ages 5 and nearly 8. I can think of only one time, maybe two, when their Mom had to intercede. They ate pretty much what was put in front of them and asked to be excused before leaving the table. Read More»

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