You can’t go wrong with this Lithuanian “side,” even on the hottest day. Teenagers love kugelis; it fills all parts other padding-out foods fail to reach.
After I stopped crying on the way home from Lithuania, I realised that my head was as if I had been working on a jig-saw puzzle for too long.
The time has come and tomorrow the interment will take place. There will be friends gathered from far afield, relations and nearest of kin. I suspect there will be a full house and I fully expect the sun to shine.
The time is fast approaching for me to go again to Lithuania, this time to attend the interment of my beloved husband’s ashes in the church we chose together many years ago.
I never minded flying until I had children. Then in a trice I was smitten with aviophobia. What a boring name that is for the condition.
Ah Sung; talk about a Master Chef. And I haven’t a single recipe for Chinese food in my cook book. I wouldn’t dare.
My nephew tells me that this musical piece languished in near obscurity until Pope Francis heard it. The rhythms must have been familiar to him, and I like to think of him tapping his feet and having a twirl.
It can seem a bleak old world whichever way you look at it. But remarkable things do happen, and here is an instance.
It has to be said that ever since trying to make an armature from wooden spills for a replica of Degas’ “Little Dancer”, I’ve been a sucker for sculpture.
Would you rather be Tweeted, Snapchattered, emailed, or Facebooked? Or would you prefer to receive a picture postcard? Remember them?