Barbra Austin

I got into a little bit of trouble back in high school.

Like many teenagers, I viewed parental absence as an opportunity to have parties. Not the kind of out-of-control, house-trashing, toilet paper-strewn, beer-soaked ragers from the movies, but small get togethers (still beer-soaked) that I hoped wouldn’t compel the cranky next door neighbors to tattle.

I like to rearrange furniture when I’m bored, but since that isn’t really an option for me in my current apartment, I’ve moved my blog.

I know, I know, I haven’t written anything new in over a week.

In cleaning out my mother’s house I discovered something about my father.

Happy new year, wherever you may be!

At the risk of diminishing whatever small amount of credibility I have established with you and my other seven readers, I will tell you that this was not the worst meal I’ve had in the past week.

I kicked off my birthday weekend by climbing into my apartment on a ladder.

…And so am I.

I would like to dedicate this photo to every Parisian cashier who has ever given anyone a hard time for not having exact change.

Today I bought myrtilles in Paris for a tart I’m working on. Exactly one year ago I went blueberry picking with my mother in Ohio.