realized dream

This is the story of a realized dream.  What was my website full of recipes is now a blogg-ey website WITH recipes and oh-so-much more.

Photo credit Alexa Karen

Photo credit Alexa Karen

How did this dream of LARK begin?  Things began to happen a few winters ago, snow falling quietly on some nights and rain dripping and melting outside on others.  Always I sat on the grey tweed couch, fluorescent computer light and that dream keeping me awake.

Urge to write poetry materialized in what i found safest-writing out all my recipes-until one recipe became 100.  Too many to ignore, I started to visualize them in print (because I collect cookbooks and read them like novels), and realized my recipes had a theme and brand.  ON A LARK emerged-eating clean and thoughtfully during the week and going out on a lark (letting yourself splurge) a bit on the weekend.

Ultimately my final goal has already been reached.  I dreamed of writing poetry again and I am doing that.  I’ve joined a group of retired professors, local creatives-all thriving poets in what we call the salon.  I love it.


Each week (on my website, Instagram feed, Facebook) I’ll post a new recipe.  All cocktails-ALL made in a ONE GALLON size. Why? In order to throw parties you can enjoy, make a pitcher of cocktails. In my life, there's no room for mixing and measuring while the house fills up.  If you live alone and can’t drink a gallon (I don’t blame you) have a party to use it up.  Buy a nice pitcher for someone and give half to them, etc. etc.

Back to the dream-will you help it materialize?  Just because you like to grant wishes and support fun things? I'm shopping the book proposal around to agents and publishers and I need a bigger social media presence. Kind of dying over self-promotion BUT-I do have 65 drink recipes to share, and I think you will like them!  I know that I could self-publish this book, but my highest dream is to work with a publisher because I love paper and books and publishing houses. If needed I’ll self publish later down the road-but my Dad always told me to aim high.

On a Lark,