An Angel in Cashmere

Three Blind Dates and a Holiday Miracle

People who know my wife Wendy, a worldclass baker and human dynamo, often ask how we met.

I sometimes think this is their polite way of asking how such an amazing renaissance woman ended up with a mildly reclusive Southern writer who could happily spend the balance of his days living in the Maine woods, watching nature and reading philosophers and poets by the fire – a redneck Henry Thoreau.

The short answer is: I’m still not sure. But lucky me. Here’s how a holiday miracle unfolded.