Here’s some help with the pot-growing argot in Heather Donahue’s book, "Grow Girl."
DON'T MISS!
I've written hundreds and hundreds of posts over the years. To help you find your way to the best of the best, I've tagged my favorites "Don't Miss!" Scroll down here to find them.
Another way to locate Riffs on Life that you might enjoy is to click above on your favorite category – "My Ever-Changing Family," perhaps, or "Funny Button." You can also use the search box located way up top to hunt for stories by topic. There's fun reading at "garden," "aging," "kids" and, of course, "Jon."
The Writing Room: Heather Donahue and Me – How I Got Hooked on a Pothead
I bought Heather Donahue’s book about marijuana farming, "Grow Girl," because she’s a writer friend of a writer friend of mine. This is what happened.
Sam Lamott Couldn’t Make It, but Anne Arrived With a Bouquet of Bons Mots
Sam Lamott was too busy being an art student and the father of a 2-year-old to show up at a book signing for “Some Assembly Required,” the book he wrote with his mother, the best-selling author Anne Lamott. But Anne was present and had pithy things to say about writing — and being the mother of a 22-year-old father. Read more.
A Case of the Human Condition: Am I Scotch?* Or Midwestern?
Genealogically speaking, I’m not that far removed from Scotland. My father’s father was born near Glasgow. But the complex – presumably – set of beliefs and customs he and his parents brought with them to the shores of Lake Michigan in 1873 are lost to me now. Tartans have given way to Levi’s. Haggis has succumbed to pizza and Chinese take-out. When I think about where I come from, I do not think of Scotland. I think of Michigan. Read More.
My Mother’s Goneness
My mother is gone, but when she died, she left a few things behind — a battered old purse, a small sofa she liked to call the loveseat. Read more.
Purple Bearded Irises — Close Up and (Very) Personal
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An iris blossom close up. Purple. Photo by Barbara Newhall[/caption]
An iris blossom close up. Purple. Photo by Barbara Newhall[/caption]
There’s a heck of a lot of erotica going on inside an iris blossom. Stamen. Pistel. Haft. Claws. And, of course, those fuzzy, caterpillar-like beards. Read more.
The Writing Room: My Flesh Is Weary — Too Much Book-Writing, Not Enough Yoga
Can you guess who wrote this? “Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” Hint: The writer’s been dead for at least two millenniums. Read more.