This Page

has been moved to new address

coming home

Sorry for inconvenience...

Redirection provided by Blogger to WordPress Migration Service
/* Primary layout */ body { margin: 0; padding: 0; border: 0; text-align: left; color: #554; background: #692 url( top center repeat-y; font: Trebuchet;serif } img { border: 0; display: block; } /* Wrapper */ #wrapper { margin: 0 auto; padding: 0; border: 0; width: 692px; text-align: seft; background: #fff url( top right repeat-y; font-size:80%; } /* Header */ #blog-header { color: #ffe; background: #8b2 url( bottom left repeat-x; margin: 0 auto; padding: 0 0 15px 0; border: 0; } #blog-header h1 { font-size: 24px; text-align: left; padding: 15px 20px 0 20px; margin: 0; background-image: url(; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-position: top left; } #blog-header p { font-size: 110%; text-align: left; padding: 3px 20px 10px 20px; margin: 0; line-height:140%; } /* Inner layout */ #content { padding: 0 20px; } #main { width: 400px; float: left; } #sidebar { width: 226px; float: right; } /* Bottom layout */ Blogroll Me! #footer { clear: left; margin: 0; padding: 0 20px; border: 0; text-align: left; border-top: 1px solid #f9f9f9; background-color: #fdfdfd; } #footer p { text-align: left; margin: 0; padding: 10px 0; font-size: x-small; background-color: transparent; color: #999; } /* Default links */ a:link, a:visited { font-weight : bold; text-decoration : none; color: #692; background: transparent; } a:hover { font-weight : bold; text-decoration : underline; color: #8b2; background: transparent; } a:active { font-weight : bold; text-decoration : none; color: #692; background: transparent; } /* Typography */ #main p, #sidebar p { line-height: 140%; margin-top: 5px; margin-bottom: 1em; } .post-body { line-height: 140%; } h2, h3, h4, h5 { margin: 25px 0 0 0; padding: 0; } h2 { font-size: large; } { margin-top: 5px; font-size: medium; } ul { margin: 0 0 25px 0; } li { line-height: 160%; } #sidebar ul { padding-left: 10px; padding-top: 3px; } #sidebar ul li { list-style: disc url( inside; vertical-align: top; padding: 0; margin: 0; } dl.profile-datablock { margin: 3px 0 5px 0; } dl.profile-datablock dd { line-height: 140%; } .profile-img {display:inline;} .profile-img img { float:left; margin:0 10px 5px 0; border:4px solid #8b2; } #comments { border: 0; border-top: 1px dashed #eed; margin: 10px 0 0 0; padding: 0; } #comments h3 { margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: -10px; font-weight: normal; font-style: italic; text-transform: uppercase; letter-spacing: 1px; } #comments dl dt { font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; margin-top: 35px; padding: 1px 0 0 18px; background: transparent url( top left no-repeat; color: #998; } #comments dl dd { padding: 0; margin: 0; } .deleted-comment { font-style:italic; color:gray; } .comment-link {margin-left:.6em;}


05 November 2007

coming home

vibrant radishes

All the way home, as the plane strode across the continent, my mind kept ringing with one song: “I want to see him. I can’t wait to see him!”

Days in cities filled with people who drove to see me — delightful and filled with stories. But nights alone in strange beds without him — dreary and fitful sleeping. I swear, once I knew how to sleep alone. In fact, I did it for decades. At night, I’d flail out my arms and stretch out my toes and take the entire bed to myself. But now, I naturally lie on one side, the sheets besides me remaining unruffled.

It feels so strange to walk through the world without him by my side.

How does this happen? One day, you meet a man, a stranger who feels familiar. Even though there is something in his eyes that feels like home, still — you don’t know him. You’ve lived a life of orange slices and fennel bulbs, roast beef and Dodger dogs, season after season, summer coming once again, and he was never there. And he comes in. Everything feels new. You taste everything for the first time with his tongue. Sleeping in the bed with him feels utterly strange, even though it’s wildly exciting. Every bite, every breath, every blessed day with him feels new and alive.

Somehow, over time, he blends into you, though. You rise from sleeping to see his eyes smiling at yours. You drink coffee in the morning, and you learn how he likes his. You stop making fun of how much sugar he drinks in it and simply swirl it in and smile as you stir. You memorize the order in which he reads the section of the newspaper and start the day by handing him the comics first.

He’s a dork. He wiggles his butt at you as he leaves the room, and you laugh. He does funny voices in inappropriate places, and you laugh so hard you can feel it come out of your nose. He grows teary when the chicken and rooster from down the street are in the back yard in the morning, waiting to be fed. “They love us,” he says, and you agree, and then you tease him that the fact that he throws them half a pound of bird feed every morning may have something to do with their loyalty. He doesn’t mind you teasing him. He loves it.

He’s nothing like you ever imagined that the man of your dreams might be. He’s everything you ever wanted.

And somehow, in all the planning for a wedding, and honeymoon to Italy, and trips to different cities to celebrate the book, you have a shared existence. And in all the late-night dinners cobbled together from leftovers from the restaurant in a white takeout box, and the angry burns on his hands that fade into pale scars, and the drives to work and the kisses at every stoplight, you create a life. And with every breath and deep chuckle and out-loud puzzlings, you become something else together. Something more than you and him, or even the two of you. You become each other’s hands, and each other’s breaths.

You become a warm bed meant for two.

And so lying in a hotel room with the other half of the bed cold and untouched? I didn’t sleep at all, for days.

On the plane, coming home, I imagined the scene when I would see him again. I’d leave the airport in a shuttle, pay fast at the parking garage, and drive home singing. When I pulled into the driveway, I’d honk hard, and leap out of the car. He’d come bounding down the steps to meet me, and sweep me into his arms. I’d kiss his lips and laugh through my tears, and he’d hold me close, saying how much he missed me. We’d walk into our home and close the door.

There’s a funny thing about the human mind. We’re always imagining the lives we will have. And the living is never as we imagined.

Why do we walk around with these fully formed expectations when they never come true?

Someone wise once said to me, “Expectations are premature disappointments.” That sentence still rings in my head, every day.

When the plane descended through dense grey skies — as slithery as soup spilling off a spoon — I smiled. Lowering clouds and spitting rain — ah Seattle, I’m home. The wheels skidded across the concrete and I turned on the phone. I dialed his number on speed dial (#9, if you must know) and waited to hear his familiar voice, as soft and warm as tomato sauce. But after one touch, his voice mail clicked on. Disappointed, I waited until we reached the gate to try again. Voice mail again.

With increasing frequency, I tried. And tried. He always clicks over when it’s me. So do I. What was going on? Where was my telephone reunion?

By the time I reached baggage claim, I worried that something horrible had happened to someone in his family, and he was talking on the phone to everyone he knew. As I walked out of the airport, the rain suddenly seemed cold on my skin. Without his voice, my body remembered all the trips I had taken when I had arrived home alone, no one waiting for me at the other end. I remembered the way I had dropped my bags and looked around, suddenly bereft of anything to do. I usually headed for the fridge first.

In a split second, I was single again.

When I was single, I convinced myself that I didn’t need anyone else. I worked hard to be independent, fill my life with friends, and tell myself it didn’t matter if I never found love. But now that I have, I realize that my life then was like a complex red wine sauce, built of veal stock and a swirl of creamy butter, but no salt. With one little pinch of sea salt, crunched in and stirred, the taste dances on the tongue.

So where the hell was he?

By the time I was nearly home, I could only imagine he was dead. An hour and a half after I had landed, and I still hadn’t heard from him? Oh god, he must have had a heart attack. (Never mind that the man is entirely healthy, not sick once since I met him.) Suddenly, I imagined running into the house and giving him mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The phone rang (or more to the point, Stevie Wonder started singing) and my heart tumbled in my chest. Finally! But when I looked down, I didn’t recognize the number. Damn. I’m not answering that. I don’t want to deal with anyone else right now. Besides, I was so close, only a few blocks from home.

When the little jingle of the voice mail tinkled, I picked it up to listen. And suddenly, the sun shone again. His voice.

Get this. The dear man does not drive. (I had the car, anyway.) Even though he had worked late the night before, he had woken early, walked a mile from our home, and taken a bus all the way to the airport. Just to surprise me. (He said he woke up in our bed early, alone, and couldn’t go back to sleep anyway. He was too excited to see me.) Once he reached the airport, he stood near the gate where he thought I would emerge and practiced standing nonchalantly with the newspaper. And waited. And waited.

By the time he realized he had the wrong gate, and that I must have left already, he realized the battery on his phone had died. He couldn’t reach me.

So, the number I didn’t recognize was actually him. There was his voice — as familiar as the feel of his legs against mine in the bed — calling from a pay phone. He stood by it for five minutes, hoping I would call back.

Of course, I did. And I cried into the phone, so happy to hear him. And then I turned around the car.

When I reached the airport again, the traffic snarled in front of me, all the red taillights sinister in the slick pavement. I just wanted to shake the steering wheel and shout, “Get out of my way! I want to see my husband!”

An hour later, I ran from the parked car and ran toward him. He wasn’t there.

As I stared into the emptiness of the pavement where he said he would be, the phone rang. This time I answered the unknown number. “Are you downstairs?” Yes, sweetie. “I’ll come to you.”

When I saw him emerge from the sliding doors, the Sunday paper spilling from underneath his arm, I felt in that moment he was the most beautiful man I had ever seen.

And so, our imagined reunion — holding each other and crying into each other’s arms —happened on the sidewalk in front of the Alaska airlines arrival doors, surrounded by exhaust and people frantically smoking cigarettes after a six-hour flight and rain splattering down into our hair. Mostly, we were laughing, at his kind gesture gone awry, and my ridiculous imaginings.

Then we drove home.

You never could have told me that the most complete, romantic feeling in the world would be lying in bed eating chips and salsa, watching Larry the Cable Guy on Comedy Central.

Life is rarely like recipes, words printed on stiff paper, an imagined story. It’s onions, roughly chopped, sizzling in the last drops of the oil in the house, keeping warm on the only burner on the stove that works. Real life tastes so good.

We slept well last night, in the same bed again, at last.

sea scallops with black rice flour

Sea scallops dusted in black rice flour

True love is the Chef coming into the restaurant on his day off, when we had not really seen each other all week. He walks into the kitchen to do his work, again, for a party in your honor. He gathers the ingredients and starts cooking. And when you call out that you’re hungry, and could you please have some food, he emerges from the kitchen with this.

Yes, I married him.

6 large sea scallops (as fresh as you can find them)
3 tablespoons forbidden black rice, ground into flour in the spice grinder
1 tablespoon good-quality olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter

Heat a pan until a drop of water sizzles on the surface.

Dredge the scallops in the black rice flour. Shake off the excess.

Add the oil and butter to the pan. When the butter is foaming, but not yet brown, add the fish to the pan and shake the scallops around a bit, so they stick.

Cook the scallops for a minute and a half, or until the rice flour forms a crust on the fish. Flip the scallops over, then cook for a minute or two, or until the internal temperature is 90° to 120° (depending on how you like your scallops).

Serves two.


At 12:42 AM, Blogger girl30 said...

ok, i'll be honest. I read the first couple of par's of your post and nearly clicked over to my next website.... as a single girl, well, I was feeling a bit ill at all the love talk and yes - I enjoy being single (trust me, it's taken me years to get here!).

But i kept reading, and slowly my scowl turned to a smile, then a gorgeous grin, and I just had to write.

Thanks for yr beautiful entry - the imagery, the feelings, the sparkles. Enjoy your time back home, with tea for 2.

I await yr next installment xx

At 2:29 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Oooh! I like how you love, darlin. Glad you're home & welcome back.

At 3:00 AM, Blogger Hyena In Petticoats said...

This post is gorgeous in so many ways, that I can't even begin to process it.

You lucky, lucky girl.

And what a lucky man to have such a wonderful passage written about the love you share.

Divine. Thankyou.


At 4:43 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Yes, that is all well and good. But what is the beautiful multicolored halfmoon on the side of the plate?

At 6:12 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think that the ground black rice crust here is a great idea for anyone with a sesame allergy. I also think these scallops could get a treatment with a soy-mirin-dashi-like sauce and become the protien in a Japanese meal. Nice job.

At 6:21 AM, Blogger sweetpea said...

I know what were having for dinner tomorrow, thanks to you and the forbidden rice! We are very blessed indeed with such tremendous spirits for partners!

At 6:39 AM, Blogger Jen said...

What a beautiful story, well written! My husband laughs at me so often for imagining some elaborate fantasy that reality can never quite live up to, so your phrase about expectations and disappointments really rings true for me! Please could you enlighten me as to what the green and pink fruit (is it a fruit?) is?

At 7:04 AM, Blogger Mindy said...

Whoa- my heart was racing there Shauna!

Amazing where the mind sometimes goes when we are away from our lovers- at least I know its amazing where mine goes....

welcome back to you Seattle home.

At 8:03 AM, Blogger Tay said...

Welcome home to the northwest, Shauna! I hope you and D have many snuggly nights before you have to be apart again....

You give such a good story. Ver satisfying.

At 8:46 AM, Blogger POUKÉ said...

enough already !!! again your evocative writing had me with tears streaming down my cheeks.Love is truly a divine blessing. I adore how you bring it alive to the page in such an effusive and caring way.Thank you.

At 10:00 AM, Blogger Linda said...

I'm glad you're back in each other's arms again. Beautiful story. I love how you tell a story.

At 10:15 AM, Blogger Shelby said...

So beautiful! Yea, I guess the story's nice too...

At 10:35 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I found your blog very very recently through SouleMama and only just now have I decided to break my lurkdom.

I love this post. I mean, I love to hear you write about your experiences and food, wonderful food but it was this line, "One day, you meet a man, a stranger who feels familiar" that got me. Well, that and the rest of the story. It's how I feel right now and it's so nice to see someone else put it words that makes me think, "Yeah, that's it" and smile all giddy-like because it's like some secret club of smitten girls.

And I'm waiting (somewhat) patiently for my copy of your book to arrive at my bookstore. :-)

At 10:36 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

The flickr page says they're vibrant radishes. Wow, I've never seen anything like that.

Beautiful story, Shauna.

At 11:43 AM, Blogger LZ said...

OK, long time lurker here :). Absolutely stunning post. With sentiment and style. You make me want to go hug my husband in the next room who I'm blessed to work with and also share a car. Thanks!!


At 11:52 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

1. I have tears in my eyes. That's the way we all should feel. Always.

2. I hope one day we all can (including me!).

3. Mine is #9 on the speed dial too.

Shauna, you are such an inspiration. Thank you! xo

At 12:49 PM, Blogger Melissa said...

damn you always make me cry. :)

I love what you said about real life. and also about how his voice was as familiar as feeling his legs next to yours. you write so vividly and so emotionally, I feel honored just to be one of the people reading it.

thanks for the scallop recipe too. ;)

At 1:01 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Do you know why my comments don't go through half the time? I guess it's a Blogger bug but it doesn't seem to happen anywhere else that I leave comments.

(Assuming this shows up), is anyone else having this problem?

At 1:39 PM, Blogger loverstreet said...

what a comfort to know i am not the only person in the world who immediately jumps to worst case scenarios when my husband doesn't answer his phone. thank you for putting my frantic feelings into words.
also, although you are the gluten-free guru in my virtual world, you may not know about a wonderful little bakery from my central oregon small town, called angelines. here is her website: and enjoy if you haven't already.
-mrs. overstreet

At 1:43 PM, Blogger loverstreet said...

i just tried to post and my comment vanished also. grr to the blogger bug.
anyhow, what i wanted to say was that i am glad to know i am not the only one whos mind races to the worst case scenario when my husband doesn't answer his phone. i love to feel normalized.
although you are the gluten-free guru of my virtual world, i was not sure if you have heard of/tried angeline's gluten free products. she orginally opened a small, cozy bakery in our small central oregon town with a few gf items. now she has a pdx factory and produces in bulk to sell in the northwest. check her out at
-mrs. overstreet

At 2:08 PM, Blogger Chris Hanisco said...

You have such an incredible way with words. I too have a wonderful husband, and I know how you feel. :) Mine cooks me GF dishes as well, but not as fancy as your chef. Regardless, he's a keeper! Best wishes!

At 2:26 PM, Blogger McCall said...

This entry was truly inspiring - and brought me to tears today! I, too, have gone through the same sense of dread and panic when a certain chef has not answered his phone - and even went as far as to call local hospitals! While I'll admit it's sometimes difficult to read about your fairytale romance as a currently single gal, I'm so happy for you. Your story (and a chef that dedicates so much time and effort to his relationship!) is very special. Looking forward to reading about more of your amazing experiences.

At 3:39 PM, Blogger Ellen said...

Was holding my breath there. Beautifully written. What a sweet gesture! (coming to the airport like that...)

At 5:19 PM, Blogger Sandra Lundy said...

OK - this post is so incredibly stirring!! I think I'll have to return several more times for a quick read to let this one slowly sink in with all of its truth. Absolutely lovely and its a great reminder to all of us lovebirds! Thank you so very much for sharing!!

At 6:07 PM, Blogger ioyces said...

what a beautiful story!!!

At 7:50 PM, Blogger Melanie said...

Wow...forget the book....when's the movie coming out??

At 9:34 PM, Blogger Joy said...

As a very happily married woman, who knows what it is like to miss her husband and look forward to joyful reunions, I was extremely offended by this post. I have many fabulous single friends who live happy and fulfilling lives without a man (or woman). To imply that it is only ignorance that fools a single person into believing they are happy is insulting at best.

At 12:30 AM, Blogger Samantha said...

You're so good at making me feel like I'm reading my own thoughts about my fiance.

At 7:24 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I'm with Joy. It's wonderful that you have this relationship but please consider that there are many other readers who do not. The constant reminders can be terribly depressing.

At 8:26 AM, Blogger Shauna said...


Thanks. You know, I enjoyed being single too. I really did. In fact, the year before I met my husband, I consciously chose not to date, because I was finally well. I wanted to be with myself.

But my life is better with him. That's not always true. Just being in a relationship means nothing. But for me, my life is better now.

I'm just telling my story.

Thanks for your comment.


thanks, sweetie. I'd love to see you soon.

hyena in petticoats,

oh, i am lucky. that's why i write about it. gratitude.


That's a watermelon radish. Slightly sweet, great crunch. Go find some.

Wheatless bay,

yes! The ground black rice is tremendous. Great color and taste. We both love it and use it dust almost every white fish.


oh my dear, I hope you enjoyed your dinner, as much as I enjoyed my time with you in Chicago.


Isn't it funny where our minds can go? He's good at keeping me calm, too.


I didn't mean to scare you! All is well.


Thank you, my dear. We are going to San Francisco tomorrow, but we'll be together (and eating). portland again soon!


Oh my! I didn't mean to make you cry. You know, this piece was just born, instantly. I hadn't been able to write in days. The first time I sat down, there it was. I was really writing for myself. If anyone else enjoys it? Yay.

Miss Artichoke,

Thank you. I'm glad someone does, because I just keep telling them!


thank you. I was really happy with that line. It's the only way I can describe what it felt like to meet him.


Vibrant they are! I had never seen them before the Chef set them down before me. Find some!


oh do go hug him. You know, I have my snarky moments, and we are always teasing each other. But I think when you meet each other in your late 30s, after a lifetime of not finding each other, it's all much sweeter.


Thanks. Again, I keep remembering how hard my life was before. Not because I was single, but because I was suffering. To be well and find him? I have to sing it.


thank you. That's one of the things I love most about the internet -- how it connects us. The scallop recipe really works.


I couldn't tell you. All the comments are sent to me, and I publish them. I publish everything, unless it's personally attacking me and mean-hearted. They show up. But everything else goes up.

Mrs. Overstreet,

I'd love to try Angeline's. I fell in love with portland when I was there. We're definitely coming back.

Dippy Chick,

It's the cooking that counts. We all just want to find people who feed us.


I know. It's amazing the human mind's propensity to run to the silly! Nothing's perfect, that's for sure. But I thought it best to be honest, to admit that it never occurred to me that he would be at the airport (if I had thought for a minute, I would have seen it), and thought he was dying instead!


thank you.

gluti girl,

oh gad. that would be hilarious.


Extremely offended? oh my. I really think you read this the wrong way.

All I'm doing is telling my own story. I came home, after a particularly exhausting week, missing him, not being able to write. This is, after all, my own website. I write what comes up and feels urgent for me. Surely I have the right to tell my own stories?

That being said, as I've expressed before, I was single for a long time. And it was a wonderful, full life. But it was also a life of suffering in pain and not feeling well. My own experience has been that my life is better now with him here.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with being single. Of course. But for me, I'm happier now. That's all.

(besides, look how imperfect it is! There are plenty of people who don't want my life.)

please -- read it again in the spirit of someone telling her own story, and no one else's.


thank you, my dear. now go give him a kiss.


You know, I was 39 when I meet him. I had just spent three years being in pain and exhaustion, not really dating anyone significant. I was ready to give up. My happiness comes from that time as well. And I'm meeting a lot of women who say they take hope in this story. you know, if I could find him, anyone can.

This is my website. I write my stories. There are plenty of other stories too -- new food and traveling to other cities and nephews and potato parties. But on this website, I'm going to write my story.

At 9:15 AM, Blogger colette said...

I can not believe that I haven't been to your site in a couple of weeks and I completely missed that you were going to be in Chicago, my town. Shoot. I would have so loved to have met you. I really live right next to Evanston, there's a new gluten free bakery opening just down the street from in in Evanston. I've been waiting patiently for them to open. Perhaps I won't need them once I buy your book?? Goodness knows your pie crust is amazing (my children love it too).

At 9:29 AM, Blogger madre-terra said...

This is going to be one of those stories that years from now someone at the dinner table is going to say, "Ah please tell the story of when Daddy came to pick you up at the airport".
It's a great one.
I love the pictures of the beauty heart radishes. I work at a Farmers Market and someone the other day called them watermelon radishes. I had never thought about it. They do look like watermelons.

At 9:32 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...


I have only one thing to say: You are beautiful.

Thanks for sharing your incredible love.

Warmest Regards,

At 9:52 AM, Blogger Earthmamagoddess said...

My husband is in Spain at the moment and he requested we meet him at the gate, it seems it makes him so lonely to just get off there and come home. He has a fantasy of this elaborate homecoming greeting at the gate, and he just told me this, after 10 years of being married!
So we will give him this when he arrives home on Sat.
Thanks for sharing this lovely lovely post

At 9:52 AM, Blogger chris said...

Please don't censor yourself. As a married crumudgeon who spends her days mired in baby poo and pre-schooler drama, I find your stories to be a much-welcomed break. And, as a single friend of mine says, you give her hope of finding love mid-life too.

At 1:54 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Just thought I'd mention MSN.COM referenced your website on their main home page. Apparently "gluten free" is a highly searched item these days and you were listed as a reference. Just got your book, can't wait to read it!

At 6:26 PM, Blogger LizNoVeggieGirl said...

I absolutely adore reading about you and your husband - I can tell just how much in love the two of you are :0)

At 7:36 PM, Blogger Lael Meidal said...

Can I cry? I'm just about there...this was a simply beautiful entry.
A love story in Seattle-what could be better?!

At 7:36 PM, Blogger Zoomie said...

I had to laugh - right after I sent a link to this post to My Beloved, we had virtually the same experience. He tried to surprise me at work but I was later than usual so he left and I couldn't reach him by phone because he left his cell at home. We were pretty wrapped around the axle by the time we both got home and back together!

At 10:01 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Beautiful. Sweet. Funny. Happy Love. Glad you're both home safe...

At 8:31 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

this was an amazing story, and even more amazing to know that it's true. A real fairytale romance...

At 1:08 PM, Blogger terry said...

shauna, you kill me. i'm all teary-eyed at work now!

looking forward to meeting you two this weekend!

At 2:37 PM, Blogger Daphne said...

Oh, how I know that feeling!! So glad he was there safe and sound, and you two were reunited.

Getting tested for celiac, today!

At 4:10 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sweet thing,
Thank you for your gorgeous stories and love of life. NEVER apologise for your happiness. It gives hope to people looking for their joy, wherever it may be found. I have read your blog for quite a while and told people about you. You inspire me, and whenever I am feeling hesitant or unsure in life, I remember your tattoo and say 'Yes'. Thank you and thank you.

At 8:08 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

So I'm pretty much in tears after reading this post about you and your guy. Wow. You're a very good writer. Very.

At 11:41 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Whenever you write about your love for the chef, I cry. What a beautiful and inspiring story the two of you have. You do give hope to those of us who are searching for our true love.



At 5:42 PM, Blogger Deborah Dowd said...

Shauna- Again your warmth and your ability to capture the kind of love that makes your readers simultaneously laugh and cry.... and make the other wonderful things happening in your life pale in comparison! Thanks for sharing all of it with us!

At 7:07 PM, Blogger Zoomie said...

Can't resist chiming in again to say "Brava!" for writing your story and "Phooey" to the ones who would rain on your parade by saying some people don't have/haven't found this kind of happiness. It's your blog and your life and I love sharing it through your wonderful writing!

At 11:29 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

I just found your website from 101Cookbooks. I love Heidi and when she said she loved you and your sincerity and passion (and food), I had to have a look. I started with your beautiful story about the airport and I love it. I am in the exact same stage of my life and have not slept in days until last night when my husband flew in from a trip in san francisco. I digress... I love your site and I'm very thankful to come across another person who loves life and food.

At 8:43 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

As I am recently gluten free, my husband took me to Impromptu for my birthday dinner last night. We had the scallops (as well as lots of other tasty food and wine), and they were FABULOUS! Thank you so much for your sharing your life experiences with so much openness and enthusiasm -- it has helped to make switching to a GF lifestyle a fun adventure instead of a dreaded horror.

Oh, and The Chef was a gracious host. It was lovely to meet him. Both my husband and I look forward to your future collaborations. Cheers!

See you in Issaquah for your cooking class at the end of the month.

BTW -- to those who are wondering about those gorgeous colored slivers on the plate with the scallops -- I believe they are Watermelon Radishes. Yum!

At 8:27 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Lovely and romantic. Now, what are those gorgeous fuschia and lime colored things on the plate?

At 12:26 AM, Blogger Kathleen said...

On my own book tour, I was lucky to have my wonderful husband with me most of the way. But, there was that night in Asheville, when he couldn't be there, when I had those hours alone, and the fierce anticipation that followed when I finally saw him. In this kind of tour, it's the contrast that's hard to understand -- you go from the feast of attention from strangers or the media to the famine of an empty bed.

A beautiful post.

Kathleen Flinn
author, The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry

At 8:37 AM, Blogger Rachelle Nicolette said...

what a wonderful, beautiful entry. it's a friday morning, and it's crisp and gorgeous outside. the only thing i can think of is calling up my boyfriend and asking him to play hooky with me. of course, i tell myself that i shouldn't, that i should earn money instead.

then i read your entry and my eyes start welling up with happy tears. i start smiling and my eyes are all misty. i am overwhelmed with excitement for you!

okay, i have to call my boyfriend now and play hooky. :)

At 9:19 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

This brought tears to my eyes. Which is just what I needed.


Post a Comment

<< Home