Tag Archives: The Muny

Frozen Custard and Ravioli

Nothing exemplifies the incongruity of my old life with my new like a pair of white debutante ball gloves. Oh, people in Estes Park, Colorado, do use leather gloves, but they are usually of the real work or calf-roping type rather than … Continue reading

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A Dancer Dances

I have never been the graceful type. I’ve never taken a single dance class, worn a tutu* or in any way dreamed of being a ballerina. My mother intrinsically understood me. While she shuttled my pink-clad from head-to-toe sister to dance … Continue reading

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