“What’s that smell?” I asked about a half hour into the trip. My keen olfactory nerves were picking up a repugnant aroma that might only be recreated by locking a bowl of beet pickled eggs in the back seat of a 1974 Galaxie 500 over a long hot weekend in August.
Pandemic Fashion Faux Pas
For a few minutes last weekend, I was winning at life. My husband, Francis, and I were getting ready for a small gathering of friends on our neighbors’ wrap-around porch overlooking the bay. It was a warm summer evening, my stomach felt flat for once, and I was in the mood for a cocktail.