The Ink-Stained Gypsy

I cleaned out the bedroom closet last week. On the surface, this sounds like a mundane domestic chore but like so many things in life—includ...

When the Farmer and I got married, we got towels as wedding gifts. A. Lot. Of. Towels. I’d registered for household furnishings at a local ...

I’m not one of those trendy food bloggers who thinks everyone has time to hear them wax poetic about their culinary skills and the merits of...

Several people (you know who you are and this is all your fault) asked me recently where the Gypsy had disappeared to. Honestly, the last ti...

WARNING: this post contains unprofessional language, irrational annoyance, childish whining, lustful references to celebrities and a TWD spo...

In 1975, I went to my first dog training class. I put a choker (required) on the family beagle, clipped a six-foot leather leash (required...

The Gypsy has been remiss in posting. I know they say if you want something done, give it to a busy person but this autumn truly got away f...