Musings, recipes, snarks, and counted blessings from a transplanted Arkansan in Seattle.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
who I am
"Rinsk" is a made-up name, given to me by my dad. Sometimes he embellishes it, and then it's "Rinsky-dinsky"--I don't know where it came from, but he's the only one who calls me that. It's not his serious name for me, when the conversation involves money or death or pain or disease or war. It's a "come home soon" name. A "you are smart and funny and you're my daughter" name.