“Life’s too short to eat crappy food.”
Those words, courtesy of my co-worker, have become my mantra when it comes to cooking.
I recently attended a rally for Gaza in Churchill Square. The organizers were handing out chalk, and hand-shaped pieces of paper with the name and age of one of Gaza’s thousand-dead. We all made chalk outlines in the Square, each body stamped with the name of the dead. Continue reading “Chalk On My Hands”