“D’ya wanna go for a couple spins round the track this eve?” This was the Geahead, calling from the kitchen window. The sun had just crested the horizon and the…
The Gearhead is a charmer. Not like a snake charmer, more like a snake oil salesman. He’s a person who, given a reason and a mind to do so, could…
Race weekend preparations are stressful. For all of us. Here’s the Coles Notes version: The race car isn’t working. It needs to be track ready in less than two days.…
Frustration and disappointment: the necessary darker side, counterbalanced against… what? Hope? Optimism? No, those don’t quite fit. How about the frustratingly titled “activities of daily living”? [wife edits: how pedantic].…
When I arrived at the racetrack, the Gearhead’s car was marooned on the tarmac, a red, black and yellow beacon signaling—unmistakable—abandonment. In the moment it took to register the empty…
I know. One should be wary of maniacal grins. But they are intriguing. There’s something else there, buried beneath. You know you’re going to have a fun time, pulled round…
We’re home after three weeks away in England and France. The Gearhead and I planned this vacation over several years: a week in England visiting family and the London sites,…
“Why don’t you make normal jams, like strawberry? Why does it always have to be some weird hybrid? “I missed strawberries this year” I guess he didn’t read that post.…
Fixing cocktails is mandatory around here, where you’re liable to trip up on an extra vehicle or two you know you didn’t discuss purchasing. Something cool and refreshing that softens…
I missed the strawberries this year. It’s the second year this has happened. Harvest days came and went and I spent those days dutifully at my desk at work, optimistic…
Food by the Gearhead's Wife 