Author(s)

Bull Garlington

Document Type

Blog

Publication Date

10-27-2019

Abstract

It was March in Spain and it was cold as hell and I needed soup. Good soup. Hearty soup. I'd just driven from Barcelona to the capital and my nerves were shot. I was hungry for soup from someone's mother, soup from someone's home kitchen, comfort soup with hunks of potato, with bones, with poorly diced onions, with a skim of crimson shining across the top, served in a bowl with a chip in the rim like some ancient grandma's missing front tooth as she hugs me and pulls me in from the cold and gives me soup improved slowly over generations of careful tweaks and improvements until it tastes like a good night's sleep in a clean room with a warm fire.

Keywords

Erma Bombeck, humor writing, Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop, University of Dayton


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