by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
I’M ABOUT TO MAKE CONFESSION that will likely land my name on some top-secret, un-American list, but I refuse to make turkey for Thanksgiving dinner ever again. For years I’ve attempted to achieve the holy grail of the Thanksgiving meal, i.e. a juicy turkey,...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
Dear Halloween Candy, You are my weakness and nemesis. My knees turn to rubber when confronted with a piece of candy corn. I swoon at the sight of orange and black gummy bats. Shamelessly you prey on my sense of nostalgia. You conjure up crisp nights when I’d roam...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
I was talking to a friend the other day and I mentioned my recent meal at a meat-and-three. Being a transplanted Yankee she never had the exquisite privilege of eating at one and I had to explain what it was. (I was patient with her, but frankly if you’re going to...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
Asiago pinwheels or pesto ricotta tarts? Burnt lilies or mini gerberas? Invitations with or without vellum overlay? I’m not talking gibberish. I’m talking “weddings,” which have a separate language all their own. My anniversary was last month and weddings are on my...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
You begin to hear the distant drumbeats in March, but by May the message is louder than a leaf blower on a Sunday morning. Put down the pecan pie, back away from the banana pudding. It’s swimsuit season! Yes ladies, once again it’s time to adorn your pale,...
by Karen Gillespie | Southern Sensibility
I REMEMBER WHEN FACEBOOK FIRST CAME OUT. Back in the day it was mostly a young person’s pursuit like twerking or pouring vodka into your eyeball. (And yes, vodka eyeballing is really a thing and, no, I haven’t tried it, but I’m tempted.) Eventually Facebook became so...
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