My hands reach up high, past her thighs and along the sides of each breast. She purses her lips, as if to say something in a whispered voice, but never speaks. Her eyes close, in pleasure and pain, and in that moment I am her lover. They say she once was queen- wrapped in scarlet with tassels at her feet.
She is flat now on her back, still, like a dead fish out of water, and her legs, like lures, dangle aimlessly about. Her hair, a pale amber, has soiled the satin sheets, while pools of crimson gather at each nostril, filling her folded skin. But once she was queen- with butter cream curls and a gait to woo the paupers.
Time has taken its want, though, and her body now lies vacant. Lifting each leg, exposing her warmth, I cradle tight her toes and swaddle her pain and my own. And like a screaming infant, gasping for breath, life begins again.
She calls to me like a daughter, and I answer in song to ease her lonely nights. And in the morning when I wake her, her pain's beside her, and once again I reach past her thighs, and up near each breast, and in that moment I am her lover.
24 December 2008
29 October 2008
home
And when I shall cross through those pearly white gates, no more shall I suffer, no more shall I wait. They'll size me and find me a gown of great glory and onto my back they'll finish the story.
My wings will stretch low and stretch o'er the streets, like a blanketed bed wrapped in satin white sheets. I'll soar through the night piercing death and it's sting, charting clouds, riding comets, in search of the king. And donning new bones, hair down to my toes, with dress silky lace, a shield to my face. Strung pearls 'neath my chin, and locked round my heart, the king I will wed and ne'er depart.
And cheeks full of rose and lips honeydew, sorrow be vanquished and death be slew. The starving will feed and the lame be freed, will soar o'er the land, a colorful band. Of my land and yours, of this tribe and that, warding off those of the deafening clan.
To live on those streets and fly through those trees, like bees, honeybees, come sweetness, come life.
My wings will stretch low and stretch o'er the streets, like a blanketed bed wrapped in satin white sheets. I'll soar through the night piercing death and it's sting, charting clouds, riding comets, in search of the king. And donning new bones, hair down to my toes, with dress silky lace, a shield to my face. Strung pearls 'neath my chin, and locked round my heart, the king I will wed and ne'er depart.
And cheeks full of rose and lips honeydew, sorrow be vanquished and death be slew. The starving will feed and the lame be freed, will soar o'er the land, a colorful band. Of my land and yours, of this tribe and that, warding off those of the deafening clan.
To live on those streets and fly through those trees, like bees, honeybees, come sweetness, come life.
15 October 2008
dry bones
For lunch, I consumed too much. The cooks made some sort of snazzy Ellio's pizza. At least the mushrooms atop the cheese made consuming the crap (that it was) worth it. And I say crap because, nutritionally, it was no good for me- not crap in a snooty way. Because I think of the clay disks the mothers in Haiti are serving their sons and daughters and that makes me sad and makes me ill.
But for some reason I live in a town with multiple grocery stores and I have a bank account with my name on it. I have a wooden front door with a peep hole and deadbolt, and even a bed full of down and warmth. A fridge, overflowing with food, and a medicine cabinet full of remedy. I own multiple jackets and numerous shoes and my closets are full of things like cameras, quilts and even extra bedding.
But in my heart, deep down, I wrestle with all my stuff- all the demons that whisper. I gaze 'round the cluttered walls and covered floors of my apartment and know that I am not worthy to possess such wealth, such lifestyle.
I don't desire a body of lace and ruffles. Not to be clothed with frill and rape me of my frock. The lines on my face and the freckles spattered about- they are just skin, colors, temporal. My hair falls out, more and more, every day. And this twenty eight year old body will one day rest beneath the earth in soiled grave. And the worms, vermin and creatures beneath will eventually make their way to mine. And this pretty girl will be rotten flesh. A pile of nothing. A stack of bones and a string of pearls.
But for some reason I live in a town with multiple grocery stores and I have a bank account with my name on it. I have a wooden front door with a peep hole and deadbolt, and even a bed full of down and warmth. A fridge, overflowing with food, and a medicine cabinet full of remedy. I own multiple jackets and numerous shoes and my closets are full of things like cameras, quilts and even extra bedding.
But in my heart, deep down, I wrestle with all my stuff- all the demons that whisper. I gaze 'round the cluttered walls and covered floors of my apartment and know that I am not worthy to possess such wealth, such lifestyle.
I don't desire a body of lace and ruffles. Not to be clothed with frill and rape me of my frock. The lines on my face and the freckles spattered about- they are just skin, colors, temporal. My hair falls out, more and more, every day. And this twenty eight year old body will one day rest beneath the earth in soiled grave. And the worms, vermin and creatures beneath will eventually make their way to mine. And this pretty girl will be rotten flesh. A pile of nothing. A stack of bones and a string of pearls.
06 October 2008
angels and demons
A creamy, white, sugary substance oozes down the teapot resting atop my desk- almost as if the kettle has burped and vomited the white goo. Kind of like demons, frothing at the mouth, desperate to woo one more.
I miss the way my dog would comfort me when I'd come into the kitchen, slump onto the cool tile floor and begin to weep. He'd hear my soft cries from whatever part of the house he was lying and make his way to mine. Then, beneath me, like an old afghan, he'd catch my tears in his old sagging ears. He couldn't understand the words I uttered. He didn't know who had hurt me or who I had hurt, but he'd sop my pain, all the same, just like water quenching his thirst. And I would carry on, hunched over, damp by my tears and smeared in his drool.
I heard of a war this morning on the radio. The demons and the angels. And sadly, the demons took the lead. A man, in rage, fired at another, and the shot man's daughter saw her father slump to his death. And the blood gushed from his head, like a quiet babbling brook, and the little child, stung by death, hit those demons head on.
The archangel applauded while the onlookers paused, and a flock overhead told of love once said. "Greater is he, and greater he'll be, in the dark hours of death and the bright hours of morn." And echoes were heard throughout all the land, and the creatures screamed out, "death be not shed!" But ripped her he did, with his sash of defeat, and the lamb was then shorn with a deafening bleat. Flesh and white bones, weeping forlorn, the child and the lamb crucified dead.
But Messiah came forth and onto the scene, and spoke to those present, and to those not seen. "My boy and my girl, my son and my own. I, Alpha Omega, hear all but one plea. Now come to my side and drink of my wine. Taste and but see, 'twas broken for thee. Now dine in my love and drink of my river, not to pass by gift or the giver. This chalice I raise, offers life to the dead, a labyrinth of loss will be no more tread."
And when I had stopped, with my bout of great tears, my face shone of mercy and was filled with his ease. Wrapped 'round in thick wool, the naked sheep cries, the child of the father, deceived by his lies. An orphan, a dog, a soon to be liver, this life but a midst, is only a sliver. For tomorrow will dawn, the newness of day, conquering demons and traipsing o'er graves. In victory, white, blinding set sail, onward to heaven, forever prevail!
I miss the way my dog would comfort me when I'd come into the kitchen, slump onto the cool tile floor and begin to weep. He'd hear my soft cries from whatever part of the house he was lying and make his way to mine. Then, beneath me, like an old afghan, he'd catch my tears in his old sagging ears. He couldn't understand the words I uttered. He didn't know who had hurt me or who I had hurt, but he'd sop my pain, all the same, just like water quenching his thirst. And I would carry on, hunched over, damp by my tears and smeared in his drool.
I heard of a war this morning on the radio. The demons and the angels. And sadly, the demons took the lead. A man, in rage, fired at another, and the shot man's daughter saw her father slump to his death. And the blood gushed from his head, like a quiet babbling brook, and the little child, stung by death, hit those demons head on.
The archangel applauded while the onlookers paused, and a flock overhead told of love once said. "Greater is he, and greater he'll be, in the dark hours of death and the bright hours of morn." And echoes were heard throughout all the land, and the creatures screamed out, "death be not shed!" But ripped her he did, with his sash of defeat, and the lamb was then shorn with a deafening bleat. Flesh and white bones, weeping forlorn, the child and the lamb crucified dead.
But Messiah came forth and onto the scene, and spoke to those present, and to those not seen. "My boy and my girl, my son and my own. I, Alpha Omega, hear all but one plea. Now come to my side and drink of my wine. Taste and but see, 'twas broken for thee. Now dine in my love and drink of my river, not to pass by gift or the giver. This chalice I raise, offers life to the dead, a labyrinth of loss will be no more tread."
And when I had stopped, with my bout of great tears, my face shone of mercy and was filled with his ease. Wrapped 'round in thick wool, the naked sheep cries, the child of the father, deceived by his lies. An orphan, a dog, a soon to be liver, this life but a midst, is only a sliver. For tomorrow will dawn, the newness of day, conquering demons and traipsing o'er graves. In victory, white, blinding set sail, onward to heaven, forever prevail!
02 September 2008
5-0
At first it was just the one cop car. No one was in the back, and he didn't have any handcuffs, so I just watched from my open bedroom window. I tried to listen as he dispatched to the other cop that was on his way. Then, almost immediately, he was finished with his words and the other cop was in the drive.
Seeing the two cops in the drive caused my heart to palpitate just a bit. So, I closed the door to my apartment and made my way down the carpeted stairs to the first floor porch. Opening the old screen door, I was met with a familiar face. I could have been mistaken, but the blond haired, blue eyed officer looked remarkably similar to the officer that ticketed me the other week.
Any way, he looked at me with his spiked hair and starched shirt and asked me if I knew where apartment "hay" was. I answered, "A? As in number one?" "No," he said, "Number eight." "Oh...number eight," I said back. Because he had the gun, I complied with his request and told him just how to get to apartment number eight. "You see, you take this winding staircase, all the way to the top..."
And that was the last we spoke- the cop with the spiked hair and I.
I heard him and the other cop questioning the old lady up on the third floor. But it was rather unfortunate; the carpeted stairs proved to be excellent insulators and made eavesdropping nearly impossible. I could barely make out any details of the conversation. All I could hear was Mary, the old lady, defending herself.
I liked Mary. Her and I used to sit out on the porch- on hot summer nights, sipping cool tea, just waiting for the sun to drop. One night we watched a great storm come in from the east. The wind picked up and the rain soaked us to the bone. The popcorn we shared lost its flavor and soon we did too, and that was when we said good night. It was a night I'll never forget.
Once, I even gave Mary a ride to the library. "You going to Wayne?" she asked. I wasn't, but I wanted to give her a ride in my air conditioned car. It was the peak of summer and blazing hot and all I could think of was Mary and the heat- and just that the two didn't mix. She thanked me for the ride and I waved goodbye.
I've often thought about her story. I wonder about Harry and John too. John is the most frightening of the three on the third floor. He's got this laugh- this most godawful, creepy laugh. And, even though he's in his sixties, he asks me to do things with him- like almost dates. "Hey Laura, if you want to go to a movie later," or "Hey Laura, some time we should get coffee," or "Hey Laura, I'm walking to town later."
"Laura...Laura...Laura..."
I could hear the voices from the third floor growing louder. There was shuffling directly above me and soon a quiet stampede flowed down the winding corridor. Near embracing the old wooden door, I pressed up against its peephole for a silent view. I watched the first cop pass, then the second.
Next thing I knew it was the afternoon, and Mary's metal bed frame was out on the porch. I locked the front door to my apartment and turned up the music. Pacing back and forth I turned the dial a few more notches. But, still, through the vent his laughter oozed- until the walls of my apartment had had its fill. And drunken with guilt she stepped outside and offered her hands up high.
Seeing the two cops in the drive caused my heart to palpitate just a bit. So, I closed the door to my apartment and made my way down the carpeted stairs to the first floor porch. Opening the old screen door, I was met with a familiar face. I could have been mistaken, but the blond haired, blue eyed officer looked remarkably similar to the officer that ticketed me the other week.
Any way, he looked at me with his spiked hair and starched shirt and asked me if I knew where apartment "hay" was. I answered, "A? As in number one?" "No," he said, "Number eight." "Oh...number eight," I said back. Because he had the gun, I complied with his request and told him just how to get to apartment number eight. "You see, you take this winding staircase, all the way to the top..."
And that was the last we spoke- the cop with the spiked hair and I.
I heard him and the other cop questioning the old lady up on the third floor. But it was rather unfortunate; the carpeted stairs proved to be excellent insulators and made eavesdropping nearly impossible. I could barely make out any details of the conversation. All I could hear was Mary, the old lady, defending herself.
I liked Mary. Her and I used to sit out on the porch- on hot summer nights, sipping cool tea, just waiting for the sun to drop. One night we watched a great storm come in from the east. The wind picked up and the rain soaked us to the bone. The popcorn we shared lost its flavor and soon we did too, and that was when we said good night. It was a night I'll never forget.
Once, I even gave Mary a ride to the library. "You going to Wayne?" she asked. I wasn't, but I wanted to give her a ride in my air conditioned car. It was the peak of summer and blazing hot and all I could think of was Mary and the heat- and just that the two didn't mix. She thanked me for the ride and I waved goodbye.
I've often thought about her story. I wonder about Harry and John too. John is the most frightening of the three on the third floor. He's got this laugh- this most godawful, creepy laugh. And, even though he's in his sixties, he asks me to do things with him- like almost dates. "Hey Laura, if you want to go to a movie later," or "Hey Laura, some time we should get coffee," or "Hey Laura, I'm walking to town later."
"Laura...Laura...Laura..."
I could hear the voices from the third floor growing louder. There was shuffling directly above me and soon a quiet stampede flowed down the winding corridor. Near embracing the old wooden door, I pressed up against its peephole for a silent view. I watched the first cop pass, then the second.
Next thing I knew it was the afternoon, and Mary's metal bed frame was out on the porch. I locked the front door to my apartment and turned up the music. Pacing back and forth I turned the dial a few more notches. But, still, through the vent his laughter oozed- until the walls of my apartment had had its fill. And drunken with guilt she stepped outside and offered her hands up high.
26 August 2008
Ruby
It's been quite a while since I've posted. So I figured today, the day I killed the bird, would be a good time to write.
I told a friend earlier that I had killed a bird. He reminded me of the children. Just after dusk, they'd gather 'round and ask Mama, "Where's Papa? Surely he isn't out still searching for worms?" Sadly, those worms won't be making it to the dinner table. No, that beautiful ruby bird's gone and smashed itself into the pavement. I was reminded of that deadly sin, gluttony, when my tires crushed it's fragile body. Why'd the darn thing have to be so consumed with the rigor mortis roadkill when my death machine of a car happened upon it?
I've had countess close calls prior to today's mournful event, but never, never has the darn bird stayed on the road. Always, at the last second it gloriously chants out, "I'll fly away..." and phew, just in the neck of time, peering out my rear view, I see the bird free in the air and near diminished- a speck to the eye.
But not today. The salmon feathered bird was gnawing away, apparently forgetting it had perched itself on a highly traveled and winding country road, and the bits of whatever it was prying off the pavement must have been that tasty. That tasty that it cost him his life. Think of the children.
But, I'll admit, about four minutes after the deadly encounter, I was sipping on my doppio espresso and had forgotten entirely about my murder. I suppose my chance meeting with gluttony, or perhaps greed, freed my mind from the guilt of my killing. Oh well, tomorrow's another day. And, sadly, there's many a more rubies in the rough.
I told a friend earlier that I had killed a bird. He reminded me of the children. Just after dusk, they'd gather 'round and ask Mama, "Where's Papa? Surely he isn't out still searching for worms?" Sadly, those worms won't be making it to the dinner table. No, that beautiful ruby bird's gone and smashed itself into the pavement. I was reminded of that deadly sin, gluttony, when my tires crushed it's fragile body. Why'd the darn thing have to be so consumed with the rigor mortis roadkill when my death machine of a car happened upon it?
I've had countess close calls prior to today's mournful event, but never, never has the darn bird stayed on the road. Always, at the last second it gloriously chants out, "I'll fly away..." and phew, just in the neck of time, peering out my rear view, I see the bird free in the air and near diminished- a speck to the eye.
But not today. The salmon feathered bird was gnawing away, apparently forgetting it had perched itself on a highly traveled and winding country road, and the bits of whatever it was prying off the pavement must have been that tasty. That tasty that it cost him his life. Think of the children.
But, I'll admit, about four minutes after the deadly encounter, I was sipping on my doppio espresso and had forgotten entirely about my murder. I suppose my chance meeting with gluttony, or perhaps greed, freed my mind from the guilt of my killing. Oh well, tomorrow's another day. And, sadly, there's many a more rubies in the rough.
07 July 2008
redemption
i met a great old man yesterday. his name was lester. i was driving through maryland, going faster than i should have been, but there's just something about winding country roads on hot summer days that makes your right foot heavy and thus the wind on your face and all through your hair indeed all the more glorious.
in my speed, i passed an old white farmhouse that had a sign propped in the front yard next to a table full of glassware that said "FREE." so, i pulled into the nearest driveway and turned around to head back to the table full of glassware and the sign that said free. and that's where i met lester. i hope that some day i'm like lester, or that my husband, widowed or not, is in some way like him too.
he had beautiful, countless wrinkles all over his face like a map of the state of virginia. rivulets and winding roads, his face with elevated plains. he was suntanned like sweet caramel and wore a crown of bleached white hair. he moved slow but with strength. he had a crisp white undershirt on with suspenders by his side, chashew colored trousers and his work boots nice and worn like an old thatched roof.
he had lived there in that house about forty years and in that small town since the 1930's. he had two wives over the course of his life- both now deceased. they had each shared some time, living with him in that beautiful old white farmhouse.
his smile drew you in and his gentle voice was a near whisper. his daughter lived in another white house across the road from his. i glanced back as he told me this, thought maybe i'd see her on the porch, but had no such luck. he had a ball cap on with a large visor that stood tall atop his wispy white hair. lester. you just don't hear names like that these days.
i found some beautiful dishes on the long tables that his belongings were strewn across. when i first pulled into his drive he was "just setting up shop," peeling back tarp after tarp, going from one table to the next, uncovering all the dishes that had been hidden from the rain that was on-again off-again all week. he said that the large sign boasting "FREE" always got the people to stop- just like it did me. i told him he had a great collection of tools. some were new but mostly old. it's the old things that have such beauty and character. just like lester- old and full of stories.
while i walked along the tables, filling my plastic grocery bag, lester sat on a covered bench swing next to the table that held most of his tools. he told me that most of the items for sale he had acquired at auctions. he brought a crystal dish over to me still donning its old price tag; $25.00, it said. lester showed me the only blemish he could find, said his eyes were too weak to see it, but his fingers had come across it. gently caressing the rim of the bowl he came to the small chip of missing glass and had me feel its roughness. he probably would have asked a quarter for it. he seemed to be a very generous man.
i wondered how much stuff he had inside. if his whole house was full of nick knacks and trinkets from living life the past seventy years there- with his first wife and second, the scampering of children in and out, young and now grown. living on in that house and a bed once shared. i wondered how often his daughter, in the other white house, came for a visit or maybe to share some dinner. if i lived near those white houses, i'd like to think that i'd sit out there a lot with lester. we'd sit out on the bench swing and watch the sun set and hear the birds sing. and maybe i'd remind him of his former wife, or a daughter, or maybe just that there is still love to be held and life to be shared.
after i gave him five dollars, we exchanged goodbyes and waved a few times. and as i pulled back onto that winding country road, with the windows down and my hair all a mess, lester waved once more. glancing back, the sunlight became surreal and quite suddenly soothing. and picking up speed, the white house out of sight, i simply thanked God for this humble introduction.
in my speed, i passed an old white farmhouse that had a sign propped in the front yard next to a table full of glassware that said "FREE." so, i pulled into the nearest driveway and turned around to head back to the table full of glassware and the sign that said free. and that's where i met lester. i hope that some day i'm like lester, or that my husband, widowed or not, is in some way like him too.
he had beautiful, countless wrinkles all over his face like a map of the state of virginia. rivulets and winding roads, his face with elevated plains. he was suntanned like sweet caramel and wore a crown of bleached white hair. he moved slow but with strength. he had a crisp white undershirt on with suspenders by his side, chashew colored trousers and his work boots nice and worn like an old thatched roof.
he had lived there in that house about forty years and in that small town since the 1930's. he had two wives over the course of his life- both now deceased. they had each shared some time, living with him in that beautiful old white farmhouse.
his smile drew you in and his gentle voice was a near whisper. his daughter lived in another white house across the road from his. i glanced back as he told me this, thought maybe i'd see her on the porch, but had no such luck. he had a ball cap on with a large visor that stood tall atop his wispy white hair. lester. you just don't hear names like that these days.
i found some beautiful dishes on the long tables that his belongings were strewn across. when i first pulled into his drive he was "just setting up shop," peeling back tarp after tarp, going from one table to the next, uncovering all the dishes that had been hidden from the rain that was on-again off-again all week. he said that the large sign boasting "FREE" always got the people to stop- just like it did me. i told him he had a great collection of tools. some were new but mostly old. it's the old things that have such beauty and character. just like lester- old and full of stories.
while i walked along the tables, filling my plastic grocery bag, lester sat on a covered bench swing next to the table that held most of his tools. he told me that most of the items for sale he had acquired at auctions. he brought a crystal dish over to me still donning its old price tag; $25.00, it said. lester showed me the only blemish he could find, said his eyes were too weak to see it, but his fingers had come across it. gently caressing the rim of the bowl he came to the small chip of missing glass and had me feel its roughness. he probably would have asked a quarter for it. he seemed to be a very generous man.
i wondered how much stuff he had inside. if his whole house was full of nick knacks and trinkets from living life the past seventy years there- with his first wife and second, the scampering of children in and out, young and now grown. living on in that house and a bed once shared. i wondered how often his daughter, in the other white house, came for a visit or maybe to share some dinner. if i lived near those white houses, i'd like to think that i'd sit out there a lot with lester. we'd sit out on the bench swing and watch the sun set and hear the birds sing. and maybe i'd remind him of his former wife, or a daughter, or maybe just that there is still love to be held and life to be shared.
after i gave him five dollars, we exchanged goodbyes and waved a few times. and as i pulled back onto that winding country road, with the windows down and my hair all a mess, lester waved once more. glancing back, the sunlight became surreal and quite suddenly soothing. and picking up speed, the white house out of sight, i simply thanked God for this humble introduction.
17 June 2008
green and red
a strand of white pearls hangs just above the neckline of my ivory shirt, accentuating the femininity of my neck and jutting bones, and looking in the mirror, i almost pass me by. today in the paper i read about a former classmate of mine who died just a few days ago. 28 and already gone to meet her maker.
death always seems to put things in perspective. i am astounded at how much time i waste thinking of myself, living this life, with my numbered days. it could very well be me that's next in the obituary column. her name was laura too.
there is nothing morbid about the realisation that God alone knows our day of death, our deathday. more so, i believe this is health. if only i could learn of this well being, live this health, rise from these dry bones and be the fisher i was born to be.
there is something glorious about dangling your feet in the cool summer water on a hot summer day. the splintered deck rubs against your thighs and repositioning yourself frequently so as not to sweat yourself stuck, your body burns from the rays. and you cast out a line and hope that the lure goes deep, but only time will tell. the sun blinds you and near hypnotizes you, and soon, the bobber looks there, gone, there, gone. or is it just the sun?
but sooner or later clarity arises. you either have an igloo full of life, or an igloo gone and dead. and i just pray i'm alive when i die.
death always seems to put things in perspective. i am astounded at how much time i waste thinking of myself, living this life, with my numbered days. it could very well be me that's next in the obituary column. her name was laura too.
there is nothing morbid about the realisation that God alone knows our day of death, our deathday. more so, i believe this is health. if only i could learn of this well being, live this health, rise from these dry bones and be the fisher i was born to be.
there is something glorious about dangling your feet in the cool summer water on a hot summer day. the splintered deck rubs against your thighs and repositioning yourself frequently so as not to sweat yourself stuck, your body burns from the rays. and you cast out a line and hope that the lure goes deep, but only time will tell. the sun blinds you and near hypnotizes you, and soon, the bobber looks there, gone, there, gone. or is it just the sun?
but sooner or later clarity arises. you either have an igloo full of life, or an igloo gone and dead. and i just pray i'm alive when i die.
13 June 2008
death cab for cutie...
put on a pretty daggon good show last eve. it was a beautiful night. a great night to see a show at the mann. i forgot how much i liked that place. the last time i was there, i saw wynton marsalis with my brother. we were on the lawn, and i remember that day being a good one too. i miss my brother. and i miss summer nights on lawns.
i worked my last day at the bakery this morning and am pretty excited about that. i will cherish having my mornings free once again. i'll have time to bake (not massive loads of cupcakes), keep on top of cleaning (okay, probably not) but most enjoyably, frequent what seems to have become my second home lately- valley forge national park. i just love it there. i'm discovering more and more ways to connect various trails, finding what trails are best for sunny days and which are best walked under clouds.
i made a fantastic black and tan loaf the other day. if you haven't sampled the beverage, it's a beer that's half dark ale and half light. so for the bread, i used a bottle of guinness and a bottle of yuengling, mixed in some walnuts, dates, and chocolate chips among other things, and all in all, the bread turned out quite tasty.
june is here and already flying by. hard to believe that soon the fourth of july will be here. i'm looking forward to the fourth, for i will see all my family- my brother and his clan, sister and hers, and the folks too.
jessica, if you happen to be reading this, congratulations! i am thrilled for you and scott. what an incredible time.
off to keep the inne.
i worked my last day at the bakery this morning and am pretty excited about that. i will cherish having my mornings free once again. i'll have time to bake (not massive loads of cupcakes), keep on top of cleaning (okay, probably not) but most enjoyably, frequent what seems to have become my second home lately- valley forge national park. i just love it there. i'm discovering more and more ways to connect various trails, finding what trails are best for sunny days and which are best walked under clouds.
i made a fantastic black and tan loaf the other day. if you haven't sampled the beverage, it's a beer that's half dark ale and half light. so for the bread, i used a bottle of guinness and a bottle of yuengling, mixed in some walnuts, dates, and chocolate chips among other things, and all in all, the bread turned out quite tasty.
june is here and already flying by. hard to believe that soon the fourth of july will be here. i'm looking forward to the fourth, for i will see all my family- my brother and his clan, sister and hers, and the folks too.
jessica, if you happen to be reading this, congratulations! i am thrilled for you and scott. what an incredible time.
off to keep the inne.
23 May 2008
louis vuitton
so yesterday was my birthday. i am now a whopping 28 years old. to celebrate, a few of my friends had me to a brunch at this local diner. this place just wasn't any diner though-it's called 'the classic diner'...and yes, the food, ambiance, service, all owns up to it's name- it was classy indeed. but i'll sure tell you one thing that wasn't so classy about the experience-but moreso brashy.
i joined my two girlfriends at our table, in a back room that, at the moment, was only shared with one other occupied table. at this other table sat an american man, probably 54 years old, and two younger late twenty something Indian girls. no more than 3 minutes into our greeting, the man from the other table turns to us and interrupts with, "excuse me ladies, but is any one else joining you today?" to his question, i thought he was going to ask to remove one of our 'extra' chairs or take a fork or something, but no, he goes on "well, can you do me a favor? can you use your 'inside' voices? do you know what that means? your inside voices???"
we all kinda just looked at one another in bewilderment.
ummmm.... umm.... okay, it's not like we had out party hats, were throwing confetti and all hurrahing one another. we had merely exchanged a normal greeting of hello and maybe two times, 'happy birthday' was uttered. bah humbug. it's not like we were a trio of teenagers, playing MASH, getting all worked up over who got the cuter guy to marry or who ended up with the lamborghini...
i'm nearly a grown woman- odd too think, but yes, at 28 i could have married and been with child multiple times! the other two with me were aged 33 and 20. so, i'm really not sure where this middle aged haggish looking man got off suggesting such as using our 'inside' voices. even if in his spare time he was a preschool teacher, his comment was out of line.
so, after his comment settled in, i turned to him and asked "are you serious?" he said "hell yeah." and at that, i threw back my chair, ripped off my baggy sweater (to expose my huge biceps) and charged at him. no less than 30 seconds later, i had his toupee on the floor, his cardigan shredded, and the ladies accompanying him, ran for the door. what can i say, scraping all those huge industrial bowls at the bakery have given me quite the muscular physique.
ha! yeah, right.
no, i did ask him if he was serious, at that he replied "yeah, well, you know, if your voices escalate, then we have to raise our voices, and then it kind of becomes this competing thing. so yeah, use your inside voices."
my two friends were just laughing at the suggestion of this and this haggish man, and so i excused myself from the table. no, i didn't charge the man. i went to the hostess girls and asked that we be relocated to a friendlier section of the diner. and they complied with my birthday wish.
a funny side note- the other innkeeper gave me these fabulous vintage louis vuitton (which i just learned how to spell today) loafers. i wear them because they fit and i like the style, not so much the name they bare... any way, on my way into the diner (before hag man) this lady was coming out with her older parents and she just gushed about my shoes. "oh my gosh, i lllooove your shoes! they're great!" i wanted to tell her i got them for free, but at that, she might have charged at me.
"you know you're on the mainline, when..."
i joined my two girlfriends at our table, in a back room that, at the moment, was only shared with one other occupied table. at this other table sat an american man, probably 54 years old, and two younger late twenty something Indian girls. no more than 3 minutes into our greeting, the man from the other table turns to us and interrupts with, "excuse me ladies, but is any one else joining you today?" to his question, i thought he was going to ask to remove one of our 'extra' chairs or take a fork or something, but no, he goes on "well, can you do me a favor? can you use your 'inside' voices? do you know what that means? your inside voices???"
we all kinda just looked at one another in bewilderment.
ummmm.... umm.... okay, it's not like we had out party hats, were throwing confetti and all hurrahing one another. we had merely exchanged a normal greeting of hello and maybe two times, 'happy birthday' was uttered. bah humbug. it's not like we were a trio of teenagers, playing MASH, getting all worked up over who got the cuter guy to marry or who ended up with the lamborghini...
i'm nearly a grown woman- odd too think, but yes, at 28 i could have married and been with child multiple times! the other two with me were aged 33 and 20. so, i'm really not sure where this middle aged haggish looking man got off suggesting such as using our 'inside' voices. even if in his spare time he was a preschool teacher, his comment was out of line.
so, after his comment settled in, i turned to him and asked "are you serious?" he said "hell yeah." and at that, i threw back my chair, ripped off my baggy sweater (to expose my huge biceps) and charged at him. no less than 30 seconds later, i had his toupee on the floor, his cardigan shredded, and the ladies accompanying him, ran for the door. what can i say, scraping all those huge industrial bowls at the bakery have given me quite the muscular physique.
ha! yeah, right.
no, i did ask him if he was serious, at that he replied "yeah, well, you know, if your voices escalate, then we have to raise our voices, and then it kind of becomes this competing thing. so yeah, use your inside voices."
my two friends were just laughing at the suggestion of this and this haggish man, and so i excused myself from the table. no, i didn't charge the man. i went to the hostess girls and asked that we be relocated to a friendlier section of the diner. and they complied with my birthday wish.
a funny side note- the other innkeeper gave me these fabulous vintage louis vuitton (which i just learned how to spell today) loafers. i wear them because they fit and i like the style, not so much the name they bare... any way, on my way into the diner (before hag man) this lady was coming out with her older parents and she just gushed about my shoes. "oh my gosh, i lllooove your shoes! they're great!" i wanted to tell her i got them for free, but at that, she might have charged at me.
"you know you're on the mainline, when..."
16 May 2008
honey
my eyes are half shut in the heat of the day. sun warms my bony back and wisps of hair hang, still, in the afternoon humidity. resting on my breastbone are the sunglasses i purchased for $4 earlier today. they are ebony with the name Oliver printed in small letters, near legible, on one of the side arms. they have two nose pads, making their wear not only fashionable, but comfortable as well. the afternoon sun feels so nice, warms my blood, and the second hand smoke i'm breathing in, isn't all that bad. the pomegranate green tea i drink tells me i'm in the far east, but all the white faces that surround me tell me i'm much further west. it's 4:20 and you know what they say-that's the best time of day. the perfect time for, say, reflection and sure, even meditation.
(just found out that those 'oliver' glasses i got at the thrift shop for $4 are well worth over $300. they are Oliver Peoples. a google search quickly revealed their worth. ha! i had a funny feeling that the clarity in which i was seeing, in that murky thrift shop window, was definitely worth the $4 they were asking. even funnier, the lady pointed out the 'designer' glasses in the locked case just before i forked over the $4. she must not be acquainted with Oliver or have the 20/20 vision to read his name.)
later that night...
after wearing my designer glasses in the afternoon sun, i met up with a dear friend to try on gowns. bridesmaid gowns. those two words together just make me cringe. maybe it's just the word gown. i think 1987. big. frilly. fuchsia. yeah. i decided a couple days ago that it's time to get rid of the bridesmaid gowns (eek) that currently fill my closet. (or maybe i'll just pass them on to my mom. she's keeping our frock's (my sisters and mine) for the grand kids to romp around in.) i'm no where near 27 (thank the Lord)...only up to five. five times that i've worn the purple, pink and green. five times i've walked the aisle, and five times i've watched from fish eye view. so any way, back to my story...i picked two dresses that had the most likeliness of being worn, ever, again (which still won't happen) and to make a long story short, well...actually i'll start from the beginning.
my friend picked me up at my apt. i, wearing my tiredness on my sleeve, asked if we could stop at the barnes and nobles cafe (in the same shopping center as the bridal shop) to get some caffeine before trying on the gowns. yes, my friend said, but don't they have a no drink policy? well, i got a latte and she got a steamer, and with steaming cups in hand, we entered the daggon bridal shop. we were greeted by a little lady that sat at this desk type thing near the front door. she clearly saw that we each had a beverage in hand. she said nothing. so, in my mind, i equated the silence to acceptance. no lynette, they must not have a 'no beverage' policy. lucky us.
so, lynette squeezed, buckled, harnessed and near stapled me into the first gown. it was okay. i resembled a 12 year old ballerina. okay, maybe 17. it was pretty. out of the fitting room i did a wee twirl and no sooner was lynette back in the stall with me unzipping the thing from me and helping me into the second dress. i noticed that the dress, not neatly hung, was instead tossed to the floor by lynette- and in the corner no less. but, i figured sooner than later, we, or the dress fitting lady, would put the darn thing back on the hanger so not to allow wrinkles to form too deeply.
well, our second friend and maid of honor appeared on the scene. since i was in the second gown, she'd have to at least see the first ballerina gown, at least on the hanger. so, up from the floor i scooped the thing to see it spattered with dark spots here and there. now, keep in mind, the dress was navy blue, so these spots weren't all that obvious. okay, yes they were, but it was less obvious than having spattered spots of latte on, say, a cream colored dress.
no more than 32 seconds later and one of the gals, who just minutes before was gushing to us about silly dyable shoes and what good prices they have them in, appeared on the scene with a furrowed brow (forced) and a stern voice. "we'll have to get this to alterations...now!" it was like watching ER and they whisked the darn gown away to get those big shocker things squirted with vaseline and plugged onto the dress to bring life back to it.
after looking in the mirror and seeing that i was still in my undershirt with frizzy, uncombed looking hair, i quick put on my nicer button up shirt and smoothed the frayed ends. (i wanted to look as tidy as possible in handling this situation of a spilled latte on an overpriced, china made gown.)
thinking, at most, the lady that gushed about the dyables would charge us a small fee for cleaning, if that, i was preparing a speech of sorts in my head.
with the navy gown draped over her forearm, she appeared at my stall door. her sad look said it all. she was going to try to tell me that i was responsible for purchasing this navy, ballerina, overpriced gown that was too big for me any way and wasn't decided as 'the one' at that. and that was exactly where she went with her words. "i'm sorry, but we tried to 'febreeze' the gown in alterations, but that odor, we just can't get it out." ODOR?!?!?! so, i leaned forward and buried my nose in the layers of chiffon. odor??? it sure smells sweet to me. come on, i got a HONEY latte. it wasn't like i was sipping on a cup of espresso. there was no coffee smell, no spots visible to my eye, and besides, isn't the customer always right?
well, with my buttoned up shirt and smooth slicked hair, i stood my ground and tried to convey that i wasn't some rich teenager using my parents credit card (because this is what she must have taken me as). no, in fact i was probably older than the lady, angela, that was telling me i had to fork over $135.00 plus tax for this gown, this gown, that:
one) wasn't my size
two) was a sample
three) smelled sweet like honey
four) was a freakin' gown. a gown. a gown costing $143.10.
so what did i do? i demanded that David come out. that's right, i want to speak with Mr. Bridal immediately. now that would be funny, but had i gone that route, i may have lost that ground that i so firmly had established with miss angela, the supposed manager on duty.
well, i told her it was pretty much ridiculous that she was suggesting i pay $143.10 for a gown i didn't want and asked to see this 'policy', this policy that if you accidentally get some honey latte on part of a dress, that you are then forced to buy the darn thing. well, she couldn't seem to think of a place that would have this policy in writing, and the other 'manager' in the back just couldn't breakaway from whatever he or she was doing, to help miss angela in this crisis. so, angela, clearly flustered, took down my number (and yes, i gave her the correct number) and said she'd follow up with me either way.
ridiculous. just plain silly. isn't that how clearance items appear on a shelf? they get dropped, stained, soiled, half eaten, doused in honey latte, etc...
so today i called two other david's bridal locations, trying to get their take on the whole 'policy'. the first store location i called said that yes, they have a no food or beverage policy. well, i followed up with, 'what if someone still brings in a drink and happens to spill some of it on a gown? Do you make them purchase the dress?' the lady said she has never had to handle such a situation because they don't permit people with beverages entrance to their store. 'well', i kept asking, 'what if still they come in with drink and spill some on a gown. do you make them pay???' she couldn't come up with an answer (i think she was miss angela's sister) and said she would have to handle it as a special case and go from there.
the second david's bridal referred me to corporate. so i called their corporate offices three times today and couldn't get through to any human person. all recordings. i'm by no means worried, but just want to get to the bottom of this. if it isn't posted anywhere in writing, and at least 5 david's bridal employees saw lynette and i with our beverages, said nothing, and then held us responsible for purchasing an unwanted gown for $143.10. well, to me, that is absurd- especially since the spots came out and all that was left was a smell of sweet honey.
so i joked with my lady friends last night that in the middle of the night there'd be a rap at my door and ...."DAVID'S BRIDAL...open up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" would be yelped. ha.
i'll take 'em to peoples court. yeah, me and miss angela, off to see judge judy.
(just found out that those 'oliver' glasses i got at the thrift shop for $4 are well worth over $300. they are Oliver Peoples. a google search quickly revealed their worth. ha! i had a funny feeling that the clarity in which i was seeing, in that murky thrift shop window, was definitely worth the $4 they were asking. even funnier, the lady pointed out the 'designer' glasses in the locked case just before i forked over the $4. she must not be acquainted with Oliver or have the 20/20 vision to read his name.)
later that night...
after wearing my designer glasses in the afternoon sun, i met up with a dear friend to try on gowns. bridesmaid gowns. those two words together just make me cringe. maybe it's just the word gown. i think 1987. big. frilly. fuchsia. yeah. i decided a couple days ago that it's time to get rid of the bridesmaid gowns (eek) that currently fill my closet. (or maybe i'll just pass them on to my mom. she's keeping our frock's (my sisters and mine) for the grand kids to romp around in.) i'm no where near 27 (thank the Lord)...only up to five. five times that i've worn the purple, pink and green. five times i've walked the aisle, and five times i've watched from fish eye view. so any way, back to my story...i picked two dresses that had the most likeliness of being worn, ever, again (which still won't happen) and to make a long story short, well...actually i'll start from the beginning.
my friend picked me up at my apt. i, wearing my tiredness on my sleeve, asked if we could stop at the barnes and nobles cafe (in the same shopping center as the bridal shop) to get some caffeine before trying on the gowns. yes, my friend said, but don't they have a no drink policy? well, i got a latte and she got a steamer, and with steaming cups in hand, we entered the daggon bridal shop. we were greeted by a little lady that sat at this desk type thing near the front door. she clearly saw that we each had a beverage in hand. she said nothing. so, in my mind, i equated the silence to acceptance. no lynette, they must not have a 'no beverage' policy. lucky us.
so, lynette squeezed, buckled, harnessed and near stapled me into the first gown. it was okay. i resembled a 12 year old ballerina. okay, maybe 17. it was pretty. out of the fitting room i did a wee twirl and no sooner was lynette back in the stall with me unzipping the thing from me and helping me into the second dress. i noticed that the dress, not neatly hung, was instead tossed to the floor by lynette- and in the corner no less. but, i figured sooner than later, we, or the dress fitting lady, would put the darn thing back on the hanger so not to allow wrinkles to form too deeply.
well, our second friend and maid of honor appeared on the scene. since i was in the second gown, she'd have to at least see the first ballerina gown, at least on the hanger. so, up from the floor i scooped the thing to see it spattered with dark spots here and there. now, keep in mind, the dress was navy blue, so these spots weren't all that obvious. okay, yes they were, but it was less obvious than having spattered spots of latte on, say, a cream colored dress.
no more than 32 seconds later and one of the gals, who just minutes before was gushing to us about silly dyable shoes and what good prices they have them in, appeared on the scene with a furrowed brow (forced) and a stern voice. "we'll have to get this to alterations...now!" it was like watching ER and they whisked the darn gown away to get those big shocker things squirted with vaseline and plugged onto the dress to bring life back to it.
after looking in the mirror and seeing that i was still in my undershirt with frizzy, uncombed looking hair, i quick put on my nicer button up shirt and smoothed the frayed ends. (i wanted to look as tidy as possible in handling this situation of a spilled latte on an overpriced, china made gown.)
thinking, at most, the lady that gushed about the dyables would charge us a small fee for cleaning, if that, i was preparing a speech of sorts in my head.
with the navy gown draped over her forearm, she appeared at my stall door. her sad look said it all. she was going to try to tell me that i was responsible for purchasing this navy, ballerina, overpriced gown that was too big for me any way and wasn't decided as 'the one' at that. and that was exactly where she went with her words. "i'm sorry, but we tried to 'febreeze' the gown in alterations, but that odor, we just can't get it out." ODOR?!?!?! so, i leaned forward and buried my nose in the layers of chiffon. odor??? it sure smells sweet to me. come on, i got a HONEY latte. it wasn't like i was sipping on a cup of espresso. there was no coffee smell, no spots visible to my eye, and besides, isn't the customer always right?
well, with my buttoned up shirt and smooth slicked hair, i stood my ground and tried to convey that i wasn't some rich teenager using my parents credit card (because this is what she must have taken me as). no, in fact i was probably older than the lady, angela, that was telling me i had to fork over $135.00 plus tax for this gown, this gown, that:
one) wasn't my size
two) was a sample
three) smelled sweet like honey
four) was a freakin' gown. a gown. a gown costing $143.10.
so what did i do? i demanded that David come out. that's right, i want to speak with Mr. Bridal immediately. now that would be funny, but had i gone that route, i may have lost that ground that i so firmly had established with miss angela, the supposed manager on duty.
well, i told her it was pretty much ridiculous that she was suggesting i pay $143.10 for a gown i didn't want and asked to see this 'policy', this policy that if you accidentally get some honey latte on part of a dress, that you are then forced to buy the darn thing. well, she couldn't seem to think of a place that would have this policy in writing, and the other 'manager' in the back just couldn't breakaway from whatever he or she was doing, to help miss angela in this crisis. so, angela, clearly flustered, took down my number (and yes, i gave her the correct number) and said she'd follow up with me either way.
ridiculous. just plain silly. isn't that how clearance items appear on a shelf? they get dropped, stained, soiled, half eaten, doused in honey latte, etc...
so today i called two other david's bridal locations, trying to get their take on the whole 'policy'. the first store location i called said that yes, they have a no food or beverage policy. well, i followed up with, 'what if someone still brings in a drink and happens to spill some of it on a gown? Do you make them purchase the dress?' the lady said she has never had to handle such a situation because they don't permit people with beverages entrance to their store. 'well', i kept asking, 'what if still they come in with drink and spill some on a gown. do you make them pay???' she couldn't come up with an answer (i think she was miss angela's sister) and said she would have to handle it as a special case and go from there.
the second david's bridal referred me to corporate. so i called their corporate offices three times today and couldn't get through to any human person. all recordings. i'm by no means worried, but just want to get to the bottom of this. if it isn't posted anywhere in writing, and at least 5 david's bridal employees saw lynette and i with our beverages, said nothing, and then held us responsible for purchasing an unwanted gown for $143.10. well, to me, that is absurd- especially since the spots came out and all that was left was a smell of sweet honey.
so i joked with my lady friends last night that in the middle of the night there'd be a rap at my door and ...."DAVID'S BRIDAL...open up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" would be yelped. ha.
i'll take 'em to peoples court. yeah, me and miss angela, off to see judge judy.
14 May 2008
hodge podge
i can be a clumsy person. i was a clumsy person this past friday night. i went to my favorite coffeehouse and was waiting for two others to join me-and that's when it all went down. i'm also a board game enthusiast and was one on friday night. here's the deal...
i had just entered the gryphon, with scrabble tucked under my right arm, and an aluminum tin of 144 domino's stacked atop the slender rectangular box. i was doing great, just fine (yes, for the whole 12 seconds i thus far had managed to balance the two against my ribcage), until for some reason i decided to drop the darn tin and let loose all 144 tiles. so, all over the floor they spewed- with force, vigor and speed. and yes, some even jumped ship, slid under the front door of the cafe and landed outside on the cement sidewalk, surprising the corral of teenagers that mingled there.
i think the only reason i felt a bit dumb, was because not a soul, not one, helped to pick up the tiles. it was like being in 7th grade, dropping your trapper keeper, and having all your folders and papers fly out in every which direction, and instead of your fellows giving you a hand, they peruse past with speed and indifference.
the people behind the counter just kinda glanced my direction. (everyone knew I dropped my domino's because of the obnoxious noise the tin made, hitting the wooden planked floor, welcoming the crashing 144). and I understand that the behind the counter people didn't help, they had work to do. but there was this one young fella, about 25 years old, who i've actually seen there quite a bit (he may even work there) who was no more than 9 feet away from the seen of the accident, and he just stared at me. he stared. it almost made me sick.
how can an individual, a supposed gentleman at that, not even offer a hand to someone, someone who clearly could have used one, to clear the 144 from the threshold of the doorway they cluttered and stoppered. if it were a girl, i'd be just as bothered. he never said he was a gentleman, so i can't hold him to that. but i just couldn't, and still can't, get over the fact that no one offered to help.
so, at an average pace, i managed to pick up all 144. and actually, i did get almost help from one of the teenagers outside. as i was on all four, the door cracked opened and in came a forearm with 6 domino's clenched tightly in the fist belonging to the arm. (i imagine there was a face to go with the arm, but i wasn't offered a glimpse). "here," the arm said. and that's all i got.
once the tiles were ordered in their box, i got a drink and found my way to the old kitchen table. about 8 minutes later, after i jotted a note of frustration about it all, my two friends joined me, and with them, i shared my sob story. i think i ended the story saying something like this:
"the most annoying part of dropping the 144 wasn't that i looked like a fool, but that i didn't get the opportunity to meet a new friend in the endeavor of cleaning the mess. you see, it's in the messiness of life that we have opportunities to help another, to love another or sadly to neglect another."
and that was that.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i had just entered the gryphon, with scrabble tucked under my right arm, and an aluminum tin of 144 domino's stacked atop the slender rectangular box. i was doing great, just fine (yes, for the whole 12 seconds i thus far had managed to balance the two against my ribcage), until for some reason i decided to drop the darn tin and let loose all 144 tiles. so, all over the floor they spewed- with force, vigor and speed. and yes, some even jumped ship, slid under the front door of the cafe and landed outside on the cement sidewalk, surprising the corral of teenagers that mingled there.
i think the only reason i felt a bit dumb, was because not a soul, not one, helped to pick up the tiles. it was like being in 7th grade, dropping your trapper keeper, and having all your folders and papers fly out in every which direction, and instead of your fellows giving you a hand, they peruse past with speed and indifference.
the people behind the counter just kinda glanced my direction. (everyone knew I dropped my domino's because of the obnoxious noise the tin made, hitting the wooden planked floor, welcoming the crashing 144). and I understand that the behind the counter people didn't help, they had work to do. but there was this one young fella, about 25 years old, who i've actually seen there quite a bit (he may even work there) who was no more than 9 feet away from the seen of the accident, and he just stared at me. he stared. it almost made me sick.
how can an individual, a supposed gentleman at that, not even offer a hand to someone, someone who clearly could have used one, to clear the 144 from the threshold of the doorway they cluttered and stoppered. if it were a girl, i'd be just as bothered. he never said he was a gentleman, so i can't hold him to that. but i just couldn't, and still can't, get over the fact that no one offered to help.
so, at an average pace, i managed to pick up all 144. and actually, i did get almost help from one of the teenagers outside. as i was on all four, the door cracked opened and in came a forearm with 6 domino's clenched tightly in the fist belonging to the arm. (i imagine there was a face to go with the arm, but i wasn't offered a glimpse). "here," the arm said. and that's all i got.
once the tiles were ordered in their box, i got a drink and found my way to the old kitchen table. about 8 minutes later, after i jotted a note of frustration about it all, my two friends joined me, and with them, i shared my sob story. i think i ended the story saying something like this:
"the most annoying part of dropping the 144 wasn't that i looked like a fool, but that i didn't get the opportunity to meet a new friend in the endeavor of cleaning the mess. you see, it's in the messiness of life that we have opportunities to help another, to love another or sadly to neglect another."
and that was that.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
09 May 2008
Good Night
Today at the local shopping mall I watched a teenage girl sit down to a McDonald's meal. She was at a small round table, identical to the one I was seated at, directly across from me. I watched as she ate one greasy thing after another and then watched her lift a large purple knapsack from off of the floor and onto her lap. With sack on her lap, I watched as she wrapped the remains of her hash brown loaf, tight, in the yellow and red grease stained paper. Then she stuffed the wrapped loaf in her front pocket- just like Napoleon. I had to laugh.
I met two people today. Didn't get any names, but at least struck up some friendly conversation with a few strangers. First was the barista at Starbucks. The one, and it seems they all do these days, that made my drink improperly. So we got to chatting, as he remade my drink, and he ended up rewarding me the errored one as well.
50 minutes later, after I sat and wrote, and watched the girl stuff the tater loaf in her pocket, I met a lady in the Produce Junction parking lot- who drove a Jetta identical to mine. We got to talking, because there I was, strawberries in hand, trying to enter her vehicle. I should have known better- her car was cleaner, but any way, that's how we got to talking.
And then it started raining and the tears of God softened my day. And once the rains subsided, I was back home, with flour dusted hands, kneading shortbread stacks into perfect four inch rounds, sandwiching tiny dots of butter between.
And now I'm tired. There are only crumbs scattered across this tablecloth where I now sit, where once the biscuits cooled, reminding me of the mess I made just hours ago. Dough covered bowls and batter soaked whisks fill the sink- and the dishes will have to wait for tomorrow. I just hope the ants don't vacation tonight.
We read from James earlier- about oaths, sickness, confession and faith. And it's by this faith I tread on- I do hold on. It's always been and will continue to be the unknown in which I live. I'm here, right now, at this crumb covered cloth and that is all I'm guaranteed. But in faith I've set my alarm clock and in faith I've dreamed a dream. And just like that hash brown loaf, wrapped tight in red and yellow, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
I met two people today. Didn't get any names, but at least struck up some friendly conversation with a few strangers. First was the barista at Starbucks. The one, and it seems they all do these days, that made my drink improperly. So we got to chatting, as he remade my drink, and he ended up rewarding me the errored one as well.
50 minutes later, after I sat and wrote, and watched the girl stuff the tater loaf in her pocket, I met a lady in the Produce Junction parking lot- who drove a Jetta identical to mine. We got to talking, because there I was, strawberries in hand, trying to enter her vehicle. I should have known better- her car was cleaner, but any way, that's how we got to talking.
And then it started raining and the tears of God softened my day. And once the rains subsided, I was back home, with flour dusted hands, kneading shortbread stacks into perfect four inch rounds, sandwiching tiny dots of butter between.
And now I'm tired. There are only crumbs scattered across this tablecloth where I now sit, where once the biscuits cooled, reminding me of the mess I made just hours ago. Dough covered bowls and batter soaked whisks fill the sink- and the dishes will have to wait for tomorrow. I just hope the ants don't vacation tonight.
We read from James earlier- about oaths, sickness, confession and faith. And it's by this faith I tread on- I do hold on. It's always been and will continue to be the unknown in which I live. I'm here, right now, at this crumb covered cloth and that is all I'm guaranteed. But in faith I've set my alarm clock and in faith I've dreamed a dream. And just like that hash brown loaf, wrapped tight in red and yellow, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
07 May 2008
save?
today i was closing out a word document that was titled luke. and as i went to close it, a little box appeared on my monitor that asked me "do you want to save the changes to luke?" and i clicked 'yes'.
and as i closed out of that document, in my head, i pondered 'i wonder if that's sometimes how God works'. he opens us up, does some work, deleting this and that, cutting here and pasting there, does a little spell check (maybe even references the thesaurus), and then, thank Him, he chooses to save the changes. or, then again, maybe sometimes he doesn't...and we get to be changed, and learnt, yet once more.
it was just an odd sensation closing out that document. i felt like i was some futuristic, robotic programmer of earthlings...that i, an innkeeper, had the power to save changes in a boy named luke... yes, really it was a document named luke, but it just got me thinking.
and as i closed out of that document, in my head, i pondered 'i wonder if that's sometimes how God works'. he opens us up, does some work, deleting this and that, cutting here and pasting there, does a little spell check (maybe even references the thesaurus), and then, thank Him, he chooses to save the changes. or, then again, maybe sometimes he doesn't...and we get to be changed, and learnt, yet once more.
it was just an odd sensation closing out that document. i felt like i was some futuristic, robotic programmer of earthlings...that i, an innkeeper, had the power to save changes in a boy named luke... yes, really it was a document named luke, but it just got me thinking.
02 May 2008
Mrs. Bradley
I have nine hundred fifty eight dollars and twenty nine cents in my checking account- nine hundred and fifty of which will be taken out later today when Joe deposits my rent check. This may be a record. I will have $8.29 to my name. Where has all my money gone? I guess I'll have to stop going to thrift stores- that's the only additional 'expense' I see that I have.
Rich's daughter is running around here at the Gryphon. She is very adorable- beautiful brown locks, a round full innocent face, and bright red rosy cheeks. I'm seated, cappuccino in hand, at a large vintage kitchen table-the first thing to greet you at the Gryphon cafe. The table is beside a glorious store front window- a window crafted with care to detail, and one can't help but be drawn to the sunlight dancing round as each passerby crosses its path outside.
I'm sharing the table with another lady. However, it looks like she's just now packing up. Appeared she was clipping coupons- but that just seems silly, so instead I'll say she was scribbling in her journal. Today, my sole day off, I've decided to get my drink for here. To stay a bit and enjoy the company of others - the jazz sounding in the distance, the delivery trucks whizzing by, the impatient motorists honking, and the whirling and swishing of that grand espresso machine.
I had the most bizarre dream last night. I dreamt there was this giant polar bear- a white one- prowling on my parents door stoop. The dream was mainly shot from two locations. Half the time I was seated at the kitchen table, peering out at the giant thing- near trembling (I think there was snow on the ground in the distance), and the other half of the time, I was crouched behind the front door, by the large glass penny jar, afraid for my life. The darn thing wanted to get in and eat me. I think this may have conjured in my head from a clip of footage I saw the other day on the television. There was an aerial shot of a polar bear swimming around in the giant blue ocean- next to chunks of bobbing ice, and as we watched the white bear swim to safety, the anchor man stated, "It hasn't yet been confirmed if polar bears will be added to the list of endangered species..." Any way, it wasn't the best of dreams.
Rich's pregnant wife and little daughter just skipped out, and now the wind has gone and blown in, replacing their absence. It's nice to think hundreds, maybe thousands, have sat at this old kitchen table. The cuts, scratches, dents and divots are too many to number and I'd like to imagine I've left a few here- over the years.
The woman I'm sharing this table with may be an interior designer. Instead of clipping coupons, it now looks like she's drawing out a floor plan of sorts on graph paper. She's sipping tea. Her hair is short, like a messy crew cut, and she wears small rimmed glasses that have a cord attached to each ear piece- securing them to her aged head. Which reminds me- Tara, one of the bakers I work with, wants to add visors to our uniform. VISORS. I couldn't help but audibly giggle when she suggested such. True, as she said, temperature wise, they would be the 'cooler' option, but the thing is, we're always FREEZING back there behind those industrial Hobart's, trying to scrape each ounce of batter with more and more fervor and umph just to try to break a sweat- or at least dismiss the goosebumps. In my opinion, the more of anything we can cover up, the better. So, I vote 'no' on the addition, or replacement rather, of visors for our French looking, China made, chef hats. I like looking like an Oompa Loompa, thank you very much.
Now where was I before that awful tangent? Yes, the lady with the Vera Bradley bag that I'm sharing table space with this morning is indeed an artist. She has whipped out the nice prisma color markers and a fancy, expensive ink pen too-which reminds me, I have a grocery list full of random odds and ends that I must pick up for the inn: Resolve, Febreeze, a duster (the stick thing with artificial feathers glued to it resembling a hairy rainbow on a wand), bath mats, and Fran mentioned something about a new swiffer stick. I must also remember, for myself, to get those little felt squares that go beneath chair feet- so as not to disturb the landlord below. Smile.
Children now pass by, with clipboards and backpacks, wonder filled eyes and a purposeful gate. Now that they've paraded past, grownups once more grace the path of that cold cement sidewalk. But it's a great day out. Full, pregnant, boasting with possibilities. There is the Yellow Springs art show in Chester Springs, Valley Forge with its ticks and deer, the Perkiomen trail with a river in its way that welcomes skipping stones or, of course, there is the responsible option of the day- catching up on laundry and doing some cleaning. But I think that must wait for a day not so lovely out- for a late night hour when the suns been set and the company's no more. Perhaps the one thing I'll allow myself to do indoors today is some baking. I finally picked up some heavy cream to make a double batch of Dee's famous scones, and after seeing what granola goes for in the supermarket these days, I think I'll make a hearty batch as well.
The lady I'm sharing this table with, is now filling her Vera Bradley bag- stuffing in her prisma markers, graph paper, and seeing glasses with safety cord- seems she's making room for all but the kitchen table. It's kind of like watching Mary Poppins pull out thing after thing from that magical duffel bag of sorts, but this lady's gone and done the opposite. And now, she and he, this man that's just joined her have had a Mary greeting Elizabeth moment- an embrace and exchange of warmth, love, anticipation and of hope, even.
I kind of feel awkward now- sitting at this table for five and I'm number three to a reunion just made. I'll just keep sitting here on the end, with my empty cappuccino mug, pen in hand and try to pretend I'm not overhearing their conversation. There is a violet pedal pike propped up with its kickstand to my left, just before the threshold of the doorway, and a ruby red ten speed leaning against a tree just outside the grand window.
The lady with the nice markers, who just met her man, has stepped away from this table to order another drink- but soon she will be back. Actually, shes taken her Vera Bradley bag too, and I'm clever enough to know what that means- she's not coming back. I now faintly hear them from behind. They, too, sensed the awkwardness and found a new table- for two. So now I'm one at a table for five with my empty cup and an old ink pen. But at least I've got the day, and unlike this cup, it's full of possibilities.
Rich's daughter is running around here at the Gryphon. She is very adorable- beautiful brown locks, a round full innocent face, and bright red rosy cheeks. I'm seated, cappuccino in hand, at a large vintage kitchen table-the first thing to greet you at the Gryphon cafe. The table is beside a glorious store front window- a window crafted with care to detail, and one can't help but be drawn to the sunlight dancing round as each passerby crosses its path outside.
I'm sharing the table with another lady. However, it looks like she's just now packing up. Appeared she was clipping coupons- but that just seems silly, so instead I'll say she was scribbling in her journal. Today, my sole day off, I've decided to get my drink for here. To stay a bit and enjoy the company of others - the jazz sounding in the distance, the delivery trucks whizzing by, the impatient motorists honking, and the whirling and swishing of that grand espresso machine.
I had the most bizarre dream last night. I dreamt there was this giant polar bear- a white one- prowling on my parents door stoop. The dream was mainly shot from two locations. Half the time I was seated at the kitchen table, peering out at the giant thing- near trembling (I think there was snow on the ground in the distance), and the other half of the time, I was crouched behind the front door, by the large glass penny jar, afraid for my life. The darn thing wanted to get in and eat me. I think this may have conjured in my head from a clip of footage I saw the other day on the television. There was an aerial shot of a polar bear swimming around in the giant blue ocean- next to chunks of bobbing ice, and as we watched the white bear swim to safety, the anchor man stated, "It hasn't yet been confirmed if polar bears will be added to the list of endangered species..." Any way, it wasn't the best of dreams.
Rich's pregnant wife and little daughter just skipped out, and now the wind has gone and blown in, replacing their absence. It's nice to think hundreds, maybe thousands, have sat at this old kitchen table. The cuts, scratches, dents and divots are too many to number and I'd like to imagine I've left a few here- over the years.
The woman I'm sharing this table with may be an interior designer. Instead of clipping coupons, it now looks like she's drawing out a floor plan of sorts on graph paper. She's sipping tea. Her hair is short, like a messy crew cut, and she wears small rimmed glasses that have a cord attached to each ear piece- securing them to her aged head. Which reminds me- Tara, one of the bakers I work with, wants to add visors to our uniform. VISORS. I couldn't help but audibly giggle when she suggested such. True, as she said, temperature wise, they would be the 'cooler' option, but the thing is, we're always FREEZING back there behind those industrial Hobart's, trying to scrape each ounce of batter with more and more fervor and umph just to try to break a sweat- or at least dismiss the goosebumps. In my opinion, the more of anything we can cover up, the better. So, I vote 'no' on the addition, or replacement rather, of visors for our French looking, China made, chef hats. I like looking like an Oompa Loompa, thank you very much.
Now where was I before that awful tangent? Yes, the lady with the Vera Bradley bag that I'm sharing table space with this morning is indeed an artist. She has whipped out the nice prisma color markers and a fancy, expensive ink pen too-which reminds me, I have a grocery list full of random odds and ends that I must pick up for the inn: Resolve, Febreeze, a duster (the stick thing with artificial feathers glued to it resembling a hairy rainbow on a wand), bath mats, and Fran mentioned something about a new swiffer stick. I must also remember, for myself, to get those little felt squares that go beneath chair feet- so as not to disturb the landlord below. Smile.
Children now pass by, with clipboards and backpacks, wonder filled eyes and a purposeful gate. Now that they've paraded past, grownups once more grace the path of that cold cement sidewalk. But it's a great day out. Full, pregnant, boasting with possibilities. There is the Yellow Springs art show in Chester Springs, Valley Forge with its ticks and deer, the Perkiomen trail with a river in its way that welcomes skipping stones or, of course, there is the responsible option of the day- catching up on laundry and doing some cleaning. But I think that must wait for a day not so lovely out- for a late night hour when the suns been set and the company's no more. Perhaps the one thing I'll allow myself to do indoors today is some baking. I finally picked up some heavy cream to make a double batch of Dee's famous scones, and after seeing what granola goes for in the supermarket these days, I think I'll make a hearty batch as well.
The lady I'm sharing this table with, is now filling her Vera Bradley bag- stuffing in her prisma markers, graph paper, and seeing glasses with safety cord- seems she's making room for all but the kitchen table. It's kind of like watching Mary Poppins pull out thing after thing from that magical duffel bag of sorts, but this lady's gone and done the opposite. And now, she and he, this man that's just joined her have had a Mary greeting Elizabeth moment- an embrace and exchange of warmth, love, anticipation and of hope, even.
I kind of feel awkward now- sitting at this table for five and I'm number three to a reunion just made. I'll just keep sitting here on the end, with my empty cappuccino mug, pen in hand and try to pretend I'm not overhearing their conversation. There is a violet pedal pike propped up with its kickstand to my left, just before the threshold of the doorway, and a ruby red ten speed leaning against a tree just outside the grand window.
The lady with the nice markers, who just met her man, has stepped away from this table to order another drink- but soon she will be back. Actually, shes taken her Vera Bradley bag too, and I'm clever enough to know what that means- she's not coming back. I now faintly hear them from behind. They, too, sensed the awkwardness and found a new table- for two. So now I'm one at a table for five with my empty cup and an old ink pen. But at least I've got the day, and unlike this cup, it's full of possibilities.
30 April 2008
make it a double
today i look a bit like a 50's housewife. except i'm not at home; i'm at work. and i'm typing on a computer- not a typewriter. my outfit consists of a blue and white polka dotted cotton shirt, with cloth covered buttons down the front, beaded pleats in the back, and stitched ripples on the sides (to accentuate my curves of course). on bottom, i'm sporting a just-below-the-knee denim skirt, with red ruby flats on tow (no pun).
over the navy blue dots is a bright, cobalt blue acrylic sweater (i know because i actually took time to iron it). maybe made in 1967. it has this funny little drawstring woven throughout, down by the waist, and today i tied it in a bow. i suppose the whole getup, to me, feels 1950's housewifish.
i helped jump start the cleaners car today. just before linda discovered that her car was dead, she told me that her daughter had been expelled from school for ten days. her daughter maddie had borrowed her son ben's ford explorer, and just her luck, that day they called a lock down at school, brought out the dogs, and the dogs just happened to sniff out something in that emerald green (not sure if that's the color but i like to think so) explorer.
and so, the dogs and their good noses, let the cops with their bad mouths, in that old beat up ford explorer, and they found not only a butterfly knife (with a four inch blade) but also a good size bundle of fireworks. now come on, i can see accidentally having a knife stashed in one of the vinyl backseat pockets of that explorer, that maybe ben uses to scale some fish when he's out fishin', but to lend your little, high school, sister your car with some firecrackers tossed around on the back seat and covering the floor...come on!
so yeah, maddie got ten days out. i actually was kinda mad that linda, the cleaner, was telling me all this stuff- and that her daughter, maddie, got ten days out. it didn't seem to phase linda, but it sure phased me. maybe that is where our society is heading. not a care with the whereabouts, whatabouts, or whoabouts of our children. but like i said, it sure phased me.
so, now my stomach is gurgling, like usual, and i am sitting here at my desk (in front of my computer i wish were a typewriter) and i'm waiting for this pretty lady, marlene, to join me. she was just hired by patrick, my boss, to do marketing for the inne and restaurant.
marlene has skin the color of almonds. shes got that golden glow that surely wasn't made the natural way. no sun to blame for those wrinkles. we're talking tanning beds, folks. or perhaps those new spray booths. her boobs looked re-done and her hair dyed, but like i said, she's a pretty woman. this reminds me of something i heard the other night. i was over at my friend justin's house and he shared a story about a funny incident that had been exchanged between he and two of his co-workers that day in the office.
across from his cubicle, he noticed that this one girl co-worker was behind the other girl co-worker (who was seated in front of her) helping her to tie up her hair in a pony tail. he made some funny comment about the whole sight, and the girl who was having her hair tied up, said something to justin like, "oh, well i had surgery, so i can't do it myself." justin, being a guy and all, probed further, made some assumptions, and stated, "oh, like rotators cuff surgery?" and the girl, after an awkward pause, replied, while glancing down at her breasts swaying her head back and forth, from the left one to the right, said "um...no...i had cosmetic surgery."
yeah, since when is that something that's shared and discussed with the general public? since when is that something that is talked about, like getting your wisdom teeth out. it just baffles me. i guess the girl is getting married in a few months and wants to look her breast, i mean best, for her new man. society.
okay, enough with my complaining. i am the one who is judging my sister and my brother...so raca. father, forgive me. I was reading this morning from a great book- The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis. for your pleasure, here is a small excerpt:
"There's no great hardship in doing without human comfort, so long as we have the comfort of God behind us; what is difficult- immensely so- is the ability to do without both, God's comfort and man's, the will to endure cheerfully having one's heart an outcast from happiness, to seek in nothing one's own profit and to have no regard for one's own merit. What is there to boast about if you feel happy and devout when grace touches you? Times like that are what everyone longs for. The man who is carried by the grace of God rides pleasantly along; no wonder he feels no weariness, seeing he is carried by the Almighty and led by the chief Leader of all.
We gladly hold on to anything that brings us comfort; it goes against the grain for a man to strip himself of his attachment to self. May you learn to give up, for the love of God, those who are closet to you, the dearest of friends. You must not take it too much to heart when a friend deserts you; one day, you know, we must all be parted from one another at last."
indeed we are but a breath. cheers.
over the navy blue dots is a bright, cobalt blue acrylic sweater (i know because i actually took time to iron it). maybe made in 1967. it has this funny little drawstring woven throughout, down by the waist, and today i tied it in a bow. i suppose the whole getup, to me, feels 1950's housewifish.
i helped jump start the cleaners car today. just before linda discovered that her car was dead, she told me that her daughter had been expelled from school for ten days. her daughter maddie had borrowed her son ben's ford explorer, and just her luck, that day they called a lock down at school, brought out the dogs, and the dogs just happened to sniff out something in that emerald green (not sure if that's the color but i like to think so) explorer.
and so, the dogs and their good noses, let the cops with their bad mouths, in that old beat up ford explorer, and they found not only a butterfly knife (with a four inch blade) but also a good size bundle of fireworks. now come on, i can see accidentally having a knife stashed in one of the vinyl backseat pockets of that explorer, that maybe ben uses to scale some fish when he's out fishin', but to lend your little, high school, sister your car with some firecrackers tossed around on the back seat and covering the floor...come on!
so yeah, maddie got ten days out. i actually was kinda mad that linda, the cleaner, was telling me all this stuff- and that her daughter, maddie, got ten days out. it didn't seem to phase linda, but it sure phased me. maybe that is where our society is heading. not a care with the whereabouts, whatabouts, or whoabouts of our children. but like i said, it sure phased me.
so, now my stomach is gurgling, like usual, and i am sitting here at my desk (in front of my computer i wish were a typewriter) and i'm waiting for this pretty lady, marlene, to join me. she was just hired by patrick, my boss, to do marketing for the inne and restaurant.
marlene has skin the color of almonds. shes got that golden glow that surely wasn't made the natural way. no sun to blame for those wrinkles. we're talking tanning beds, folks. or perhaps those new spray booths. her boobs looked re-done and her hair dyed, but like i said, she's a pretty woman. this reminds me of something i heard the other night. i was over at my friend justin's house and he shared a story about a funny incident that had been exchanged between he and two of his co-workers that day in the office.
across from his cubicle, he noticed that this one girl co-worker was behind the other girl co-worker (who was seated in front of her) helping her to tie up her hair in a pony tail. he made some funny comment about the whole sight, and the girl who was having her hair tied up, said something to justin like, "oh, well i had surgery, so i can't do it myself." justin, being a guy and all, probed further, made some assumptions, and stated, "oh, like rotators cuff surgery?" and the girl, after an awkward pause, replied, while glancing down at her breasts swaying her head back and forth, from the left one to the right, said "um...no...i had cosmetic surgery."
yeah, since when is that something that's shared and discussed with the general public? since when is that something that is talked about, like getting your wisdom teeth out. it just baffles me. i guess the girl is getting married in a few months and wants to look her breast, i mean best, for her new man. society.
okay, enough with my complaining. i am the one who is judging my sister and my brother...so raca. father, forgive me. I was reading this morning from a great book- The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis. for your pleasure, here is a small excerpt:
"There's no great hardship in doing without human comfort, so long as we have the comfort of God behind us; what is difficult- immensely so- is the ability to do without both, God's comfort and man's, the will to endure cheerfully having one's heart an outcast from happiness, to seek in nothing one's own profit and to have no regard for one's own merit. What is there to boast about if you feel happy and devout when grace touches you? Times like that are what everyone longs for. The man who is carried by the grace of God rides pleasantly along; no wonder he feels no weariness, seeing he is carried by the Almighty and led by the chief Leader of all.
We gladly hold on to anything that brings us comfort; it goes against the grain for a man to strip himself of his attachment to self. May you learn to give up, for the love of God, those who are closet to you, the dearest of friends. You must not take it too much to heart when a friend deserts you; one day, you know, we must all be parted from one another at last."
indeed we are but a breath. cheers.
25 April 2008
ganache
a sunny friday afternoon here at the inn. i went to bed pretty early last night due to the previous nights sleep consisting of only three hours. i do feel revived, though- in more ways than one. so as i was saying, i was in the sack around 10pm and finally crawled from bed around 7:23am this morning. because i crawled out later than i should have, no shower was taken. (i later took one at the inn). heave-hoed my red ruby bag, full of a change of clothes for the inn and then another for after the inn, and was down the flight of mossy green stairs, blueberry coffee in tow, and was settled into the drivers seat of my car in no time. (running 4 minutes late).
i nearly missed my turn to the bakery, but thankfully snapped out of my daydreaming and pulled into the lot just in time. (the last time i missed the turn, it cost me a good 17 minutes! the traffic traveling east bound on rt. 30 is just horrific in the mornings!) through the door, put on my lovely brown apron and pastry chef hat, and went on to take my first orders for the day. today i baked again in my sea foam green, three-quartered length, 80's sweatshirt. with that under my chocolate brown apron, i feel like a giant bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. it's quite a nice feeling.
heather informed me that first on the to-do was to make a double batch (with quadruple the carrots) of carrot cake muffins. or would it just be carrot muffins? any way, i made enough to fill two trays of mini's and eight regulars. next, i made a batter for the most delicious smelling, milk chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. man, i could have bathed in the stuff. seriously. it smelled even better than a human size reese's peanut butter cup would have smelled- had a reese's man come to the bakery this morning. the color of the batter alone was just gorgeous.
susan, the other baker this morning, was making a double dark chocolate batter behind me, and i had to seriously work at focusing on my batch, as opposed to hers. the beautiful dark cocoa she was mixing into her dark chocolate batter was just a sight to behold. the color of the batter, so dark and so thick, nearly resembling mud (from some exotic land) just couldn't be passed by without a submersion of the finger. but it's okay to taste the batter. indeed we must know what we are serving up to our customers. you know...quality control.
after scooping the chocolate peanut butter batter into their trays, i was onto the vanilla butter cream, cream cheese frosting. again, very tasty. it's a wonder i haven't already gained a good inch or two with all the, quite necessary, taste testing i've done over the course of the last two weeks.
and with the last whip of the butter cream frosting, it was 11:30am, time to hang my chocolate brown apron and head up the road to the inn. i took with me three cupcakes. (amazingly, i've only had one and a half). i feel it's partly my job to know all the different flavors we make, simply so i can know the product i am helping to sell. again, it's all about quality control, better serving the customer, etc...
and now it feels like i have been at the inn a good 24 hours, even though i only got here just over six hours ago. friday's tend to kick my butt a bit, and i've yet to figure out why- considering i have off on thursday's. it could be because i do tend to squeeze as much in as i can on my days off. the highlight of yesterdays day off? getting pricked in the arm thirteen times by my new italian doctor, dr. columbo.
so, i bathed when i arrived to work- actually it was more like a psychotic speed shower (being that i only had about eight minutes before it was time to officially 'clock-in' as innkeeper). thankfully i found the underwear and socks that i thought i had left at home, in my boot, and that started (or continued) my day on a swell note. and that has been about it. i did the usual fluffing of the pillows, straightening of the shams and triangling of the toilet paper, and now i sit...and i wait...for the last two stinky check in's to arrive. i pray that they get their booties here before dark. i am craving the outdoors...been in too, way too long today. spring i will dance with you soon!
i nearly missed my turn to the bakery, but thankfully snapped out of my daydreaming and pulled into the lot just in time. (the last time i missed the turn, it cost me a good 17 minutes! the traffic traveling east bound on rt. 30 is just horrific in the mornings!) through the door, put on my lovely brown apron and pastry chef hat, and went on to take my first orders for the day. today i baked again in my sea foam green, three-quartered length, 80's sweatshirt. with that under my chocolate brown apron, i feel like a giant bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream. it's quite a nice feeling.
heather informed me that first on the to-do was to make a double batch (with quadruple the carrots) of carrot cake muffins. or would it just be carrot muffins? any way, i made enough to fill two trays of mini's and eight regulars. next, i made a batter for the most delicious smelling, milk chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. man, i could have bathed in the stuff. seriously. it smelled even better than a human size reese's peanut butter cup would have smelled- had a reese's man come to the bakery this morning. the color of the batter alone was just gorgeous.
susan, the other baker this morning, was making a double dark chocolate batter behind me, and i had to seriously work at focusing on my batch, as opposed to hers. the beautiful dark cocoa she was mixing into her dark chocolate batter was just a sight to behold. the color of the batter, so dark and so thick, nearly resembling mud (from some exotic land) just couldn't be passed by without a submersion of the finger. but it's okay to taste the batter. indeed we must know what we are serving up to our customers. you know...quality control.
after scooping the chocolate peanut butter batter into their trays, i was onto the vanilla butter cream, cream cheese frosting. again, very tasty. it's a wonder i haven't already gained a good inch or two with all the, quite necessary, taste testing i've done over the course of the last two weeks.
and with the last whip of the butter cream frosting, it was 11:30am, time to hang my chocolate brown apron and head up the road to the inn. i took with me three cupcakes. (amazingly, i've only had one and a half). i feel it's partly my job to know all the different flavors we make, simply so i can know the product i am helping to sell. again, it's all about quality control, better serving the customer, etc...
and now it feels like i have been at the inn a good 24 hours, even though i only got here just over six hours ago. friday's tend to kick my butt a bit, and i've yet to figure out why- considering i have off on thursday's. it could be because i do tend to squeeze as much in as i can on my days off. the highlight of yesterdays day off? getting pricked in the arm thirteen times by my new italian doctor, dr. columbo.
so, i bathed when i arrived to work- actually it was more like a psychotic speed shower (being that i only had about eight minutes before it was time to officially 'clock-in' as innkeeper). thankfully i found the underwear and socks that i thought i had left at home, in my boot, and that started (or continued) my day on a swell note. and that has been about it. i did the usual fluffing of the pillows, straightening of the shams and triangling of the toilet paper, and now i sit...and i wait...for the last two stinky check in's to arrive. i pray that they get their booties here before dark. i am craving the outdoors...been in too, way too long today. spring i will dance with you soon!
18 April 2008
A Little Bit of Black
Yesterday I decided to go for a short walk. Over an hour and a half later, I was on my seventh mile. And to think, I got funny looks from the people I passed. Yes, I was running. Yes, in funny runners attire. Yes, in jeans, in knee high black leather boots, in fancy blouse, in faded blue sweater tied round my neck, (just like I was rich and famous). But I simply couldn't help myself. The sky, wind, sun, breeze, all that was in the air, declared, evoked, even demanded my attention. But I sure was at ease, trotting along that path, lined with moss the color of undercooked peas.
Perhaps I looked silly, perhaps a bit gay, but no holds were barred in echoing that Day. Twists and wide turns, weaves and bent wreathes, summoned and wooed, my walk to a breeze. My amble became a bit of a run, was done without plan, and thought of but one.
You know what I mean, the drawing of God, the whisper, the call, the altar from sod. That held up the tree, that tore down the curtain, that danced upon Mary, her visiting vision. Winged men I once saw, hovering way overhead, had come to bring solace, to His great, now dead. The choirs sang glory, ther'll be no more mourning, and the trees scattered round, retold his great story.
And where was I now in retelling my story, of a funny young girl, looking more like a bunny. So she answered the trees with their yet to be leaves, and danced right along in those jeans by the peas. Each stride and each draw, each glance and each stance, she soon became lost and drunken in chance. Strands whipping, cutting, the lows of her back, sun light breaking round, a nimbus of Might.
Whipping back, whipping forth, the people did stare, but what shall I profit? What shall I care? Black ones and white, yellow with brown, passing me by and panting aloud. Tangled down deep, the roots of despair, crowding the family and shrouding the hare. White as pure gold, with whiskers like sin, she should have just done as her Good Father did. Thy Good book will tell, a tale saved from hell, salvages beasts and summons the least.
Passing the trees, cocooning the plea's, the blood of the Lamb, slaughtered for peace. Doorposts above, priests down below, daughters of fishers, rigmarole. Like loosing your vision in blinding white sun, an old comfort inn, filled with poor souls and mine. "Hosanna, Hosanna!" The girls then did scream, in hovering presence, he answered their plea. The young ones, the old, the seasoned and stale, they transformed to beauty, with wind in their sail. "To glory, to glory!" with arms like great wings, they soared to his footstool, with mercy and ease.
And bowing to speak, or muster a peek, his greatness so gentle, drew even the weak. Like morning and daybreak, the dance after night, he's conquered with splendor and risen with might. And mile number seven, the horsemen and heaven, she'd finished her stint, revering her bout. Echoes within and screams without, he loved her, he loved her, this was no doubt.
Perhaps I looked silly, perhaps a bit gay, but no holds were barred in echoing that Day. Twists and wide turns, weaves and bent wreathes, summoned and wooed, my walk to a breeze. My amble became a bit of a run, was done without plan, and thought of but one.
You know what I mean, the drawing of God, the whisper, the call, the altar from sod. That held up the tree, that tore down the curtain, that danced upon Mary, her visiting vision. Winged men I once saw, hovering way overhead, had come to bring solace, to His great, now dead. The choirs sang glory, ther'll be no more mourning, and the trees scattered round, retold his great story.
And where was I now in retelling my story, of a funny young girl, looking more like a bunny. So she answered the trees with their yet to be leaves, and danced right along in those jeans by the peas. Each stride and each draw, each glance and each stance, she soon became lost and drunken in chance. Strands whipping, cutting, the lows of her back, sun light breaking round, a nimbus of Might.
Whipping back, whipping forth, the people did stare, but what shall I profit? What shall I care? Black ones and white, yellow with brown, passing me by and panting aloud. Tangled down deep, the roots of despair, crowding the family and shrouding the hare. White as pure gold, with whiskers like sin, she should have just done as her Good Father did. Thy Good book will tell, a tale saved from hell, salvages beasts and summons the least.
Passing the trees, cocooning the plea's, the blood of the Lamb, slaughtered for peace. Doorposts above, priests down below, daughters of fishers, rigmarole. Like loosing your vision in blinding white sun, an old comfort inn, filled with poor souls and mine. "Hosanna, Hosanna!" The girls then did scream, in hovering presence, he answered their plea. The young ones, the old, the seasoned and stale, they transformed to beauty, with wind in their sail. "To glory, to glory!" with arms like great wings, they soared to his footstool, with mercy and ease.
And bowing to speak, or muster a peek, his greatness so gentle, drew even the weak. Like morning and daybreak, the dance after night, he's conquered with splendor and risen with might. And mile number seven, the horsemen and heaven, she'd finished her stint, revering her bout. Echoes within and screams without, he loved her, he loved her, this was no doubt.
14 April 2008
Dianne
Today I met Dianne, security personnel, employed by the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Her generously sized bottom was hanging off the base of this giant marble sculpture, in the Early American Art wing, under a portico and next to a water fountain. I sure did learn a lot about her in those eight minutes we shared.
Her husband had a black father and a white mother. She had leftover meatloaf from the previous nights dinner for lunch that afternoon, and she gets a 30 minute lunch break each day (and uses every minute of it). She smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, and for a while she was pretty generous with her cigarettes, but then people started taking advantage of her and her cigarettes. So, she started saying no, to the people she didn't like (and she told them off too), and to the people she liked, she charged them a quarter.
She is bipolar. The previous Saturday she had to leave work (her 12 hour shift) early, because she started having an anxiety attack- thinking about her son that had just gotten locked up. She was in the emergency room two hours (and has the papers to prove it).
Her husband makes her dinner every night. Last night he made her fried chicken, and tonight he was making pork chops and rice, and she thought that was just alright. She said I was skinny and said she used to be skinny too. She weighed 110lbs- then she got the job at the art museum, just standing around all day (not sittin'- that's how she introduced herself, "...psst...don't tell my boss I'm sittin'") and ballooned to 210lbs. She said she's tried all kinds of diets. One diet she ate all healthy, went on walks after dinner, and after several long months, lost only two pounds. 2lbs! So she went back on the fried chicken, meatloaf and pork chops. Next, she told me, she wanted to try the cookie diet. "Have you heard of the cookie diet?" she asked me. I told her yes, but didn't know what it consisted of. She went on to tell me you eat only cookies- but not just any cookie, they were expensive, healthy type cookies.
She had light skin- looked half black, half Hispanic. She had beautiful, toffee almond colored freckles, all over her pale, fair skinned face. Her hair looked a bit frizzy (the type of frizzy you get when you brush out your curls and it's humid out) and was dyed a lighter shade of her natural brown color. The textured lines created by her brushed out curls had become thicker with the days rain and heat and seemed to want out from the elastic that kept them bound in ponytail.
On top she wore a light blue cotton uniformed shirt, which was tucked into her navy blue polyester trousers, letting just the tips of her black boots show. She was short in stature and round in form. Her left front tooth was a gold one and because it sparkled so much, I caught myself noticing it quite often as we spoke. The tooth wasn't solid gold- just the outline of the tooth, the rectangular perimeter, but you sure couldn't miss it. Like I said, she had a pale, fair skinned face, so that shiny tooth sure drew attention. She had a slight lisp and even a slight accent- not so much a regional accent but more a lazy one, slurring her words and letters. But it was nice and refreshing, even down to earth.
She said her feet were on fire (this is before I knew her name, that she was bipolar, that she had fried chicken last night or that she had her husband's meatloaf for lunch earlier). I was filling up my water bottle, just to the right of where she was doing the unimaginable for an art museum security guard- sitting, and that's where we first met. I guess I looked like the type of person who would tell on her, a tattletale type, because this is how she introduced herself; "Don't tell no one you saw me sittin'." Then that's when she told me her feet were on fire.
I liked meeting Dianne. I liked that she was so sociable, so honest. I could see myself having a good time with her at a barbecue. Sitting back at a picnic table, sippin' some sweet tea, listening to her talk about her son that was locked up. And I'd listen, just like I did for those eight minutes we shared under that portico and next to the well, just listen.
Her husband had a black father and a white mother. She had leftover meatloaf from the previous nights dinner for lunch that afternoon, and she gets a 30 minute lunch break each day (and uses every minute of it). She smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, and for a while she was pretty generous with her cigarettes, but then people started taking advantage of her and her cigarettes. So, she started saying no, to the people she didn't like (and she told them off too), and to the people she liked, she charged them a quarter.
She is bipolar. The previous Saturday she had to leave work (her 12 hour shift) early, because she started having an anxiety attack- thinking about her son that had just gotten locked up. She was in the emergency room two hours (and has the papers to prove it).
Her husband makes her dinner every night. Last night he made her fried chicken, and tonight he was making pork chops and rice, and she thought that was just alright. She said I was skinny and said she used to be skinny too. She weighed 110lbs- then she got the job at the art museum, just standing around all day (not sittin'- that's how she introduced herself, "...psst...don't tell my boss I'm sittin'") and ballooned to 210lbs. She said she's tried all kinds of diets. One diet she ate all healthy, went on walks after dinner, and after several long months, lost only two pounds. 2lbs! So she went back on the fried chicken, meatloaf and pork chops. Next, she told me, she wanted to try the cookie diet. "Have you heard of the cookie diet?" she asked me. I told her yes, but didn't know what it consisted of. She went on to tell me you eat only cookies- but not just any cookie, they were expensive, healthy type cookies.
She had light skin- looked half black, half Hispanic. She had beautiful, toffee almond colored freckles, all over her pale, fair skinned face. Her hair looked a bit frizzy (the type of frizzy you get when you brush out your curls and it's humid out) and was dyed a lighter shade of her natural brown color. The textured lines created by her brushed out curls had become thicker with the days rain and heat and seemed to want out from the elastic that kept them bound in ponytail.
On top she wore a light blue cotton uniformed shirt, which was tucked into her navy blue polyester trousers, letting just the tips of her black boots show. She was short in stature and round in form. Her left front tooth was a gold one and because it sparkled so much, I caught myself noticing it quite often as we spoke. The tooth wasn't solid gold- just the outline of the tooth, the rectangular perimeter, but you sure couldn't miss it. Like I said, she had a pale, fair skinned face, so that shiny tooth sure drew attention. She had a slight lisp and even a slight accent- not so much a regional accent but more a lazy one, slurring her words and letters. But it was nice and refreshing, even down to earth.
She said her feet were on fire (this is before I knew her name, that she was bipolar, that she had fried chicken last night or that she had her husband's meatloaf for lunch earlier). I was filling up my water bottle, just to the right of where she was doing the unimaginable for an art museum security guard- sitting, and that's where we first met. I guess I looked like the type of person who would tell on her, a tattletale type, because this is how she introduced herself; "Don't tell no one you saw me sittin'." Then that's when she told me her feet were on fire.
I liked meeting Dianne. I liked that she was so sociable, so honest. I could see myself having a good time with her at a barbecue. Sitting back at a picnic table, sippin' some sweet tea, listening to her talk about her son that was locked up. And I'd listen, just like I did for those eight minutes we shared under that portico and next to the well, just listen.
11 April 2008
bright as yellow
It all began with some salted nuts. I fastened my safety belt, stowed my tray and tucked my ruby pleather bag underneath the seat in front of me, just as I was instructed. The flight attendants took their places, strapped like dynamite to their jump seats on the reverse of the pilots cabin, and so we began our taxi, leaving behind the Columbus International Airport.
Sometimes I say hello to the people I find myself next to, but on this evenings' flight, my seat neighbor didn't seem too warm nor bubbly, not like the guy behind me on the flight out, who'd slurped down three Jack Daniels just before meeting his wife and kids. And since I didn't have my usual window seat, I tried to make best of the new scenery. Lots of legs, shoes and a carpet lined aisle. Not that exciting. Now I'm remembering why I like the window seats best, but the lady doing Sudoku beat me to it. At least, I tell myself, I'm not the guy in the middle. And he had long legs too.
I said my usual "dear Lord, please guide the pilots, keep us safe" prayer, realising this prayer could be my last, and by 'amen' the plane was bumping along, leaving behind the men with orange batons and Velcro vests, so that they resembled Lite-Brite pegs on a runway box.
Opening my eyes from grace, fixed on the long center aisle, suddenly I felt like I was at a carnival or playing Plinko on the Price is Right. It was amazing. We were now airborne, and as our height and incline increased, so did all the stuff that came gushing down the aisle. Being a regular to the egg shaped, plexi-coated, body smudged window seat, I'd never before had this grand avalanche view- or the opportunity to fish for free bees. That's what it seemed like to me, like bobbing for apples. If you reached down with an open hand (or mouth) at just the right time, you might walk away with, say, a penny, a stick of gum, or maybe even a pen filled with ink. It was like reverse Skee-Ball.
Well tonight the grand prize was a pack of shiny blue peanuts. And I failed to win. (I'm still remorse over it all). And so it unfolded that since the peanut pack was indeed shiny like a rocket, and came crashing past me with such ferocious speed, it called out to me like an itch needing scratched. It was food, and I was hungry. The sky waitresses only pass out two blue packs of peanuts per person, and there are but 12, maybe 13, peanuts per pack. So this flights dinner, consisting of 26 peanuts, was looking scamp, and I welcomed any extra rations.
And so the peanut pack came to a stop catercorner across the aisle from me, under the seat of a boy wearing a baseball cap. And there it sat, next to the sole of his shoe, like it was camped out for the night- ready to toast marshmallows and join in the kumbayas. Since the peanuts were now officially the boy's, (since they were touching his shoes), it seemed wrong to reach across the aisle (so that everyone behind me could see) and take the peanuts from the sole they'd just befriended. Sadly all I could do was glance in their direction, and convince myself that they were perhaps already eaten. It was surely an empty pack of peanuts that had answered gravities call.
But right when I thought the fun house was over, the games all played and prizes passed out, out of nowhere, this canary-yellow Mentos looking thing came cruising down the aisle at optimum speed- right in my direction. I saw it coming from about seat 7B and I was all the way back at 13C. The whole thing, mainly my imagination, was too much to handle, and at this point I let out an audible laugh. I suppose I imagined that the small yellow pod was indeed a miniature space craft, space rider inside, and had just tumbled in from a far away galaxy, and into our own, and for whatever reason this was real funny to me. (I think the guy in the middle was thinking I was rather odd at this point-that I was staring blankly to the aisle, giggling to myself). But I tried not to draw attention to the fun that was undoing itself in the aisle, and instead told myself that the other passengers would think I was just a funny gal with a funny laugh.
Perhaps what made the whole Mentos spaceship thing so hilarious, was that it seemed that no one else on the plane even noticed. Here, this small yellow mint had reached such velocity, such impeccable speed, (and even dodged carry-ons, stowed underneath) and tumbled all the way, light years away, to six-seats-from-home. And landed at the base of my booted right heel. But no one else was laughing, nor was a soul cheering, so this made me, the lone cheerer, audience of one, laugh even harder.
And like the shiny blue pack and the boy with the cap, the mint nestled to my sole, as if it waned to take a nap! But what fun is that? So, with a tilt of my heel, or a click like Dorothy, I set the pod free and it soared all the way to 33B. And there it sits, a cage bird freed, and I just can't stop laughing here at 13C.
Sometimes I say hello to the people I find myself next to, but on this evenings' flight, my seat neighbor didn't seem too warm nor bubbly, not like the guy behind me on the flight out, who'd slurped down three Jack Daniels just before meeting his wife and kids. And since I didn't have my usual window seat, I tried to make best of the new scenery. Lots of legs, shoes and a carpet lined aisle. Not that exciting. Now I'm remembering why I like the window seats best, but the lady doing Sudoku beat me to it. At least, I tell myself, I'm not the guy in the middle. And he had long legs too.
I said my usual "dear Lord, please guide the pilots, keep us safe" prayer, realising this prayer could be my last, and by 'amen' the plane was bumping along, leaving behind the men with orange batons and Velcro vests, so that they resembled Lite-Brite pegs on a runway box.
Opening my eyes from grace, fixed on the long center aisle, suddenly I felt like I was at a carnival or playing Plinko on the Price is Right. It was amazing. We were now airborne, and as our height and incline increased, so did all the stuff that came gushing down the aisle. Being a regular to the egg shaped, plexi-coated, body smudged window seat, I'd never before had this grand avalanche view- or the opportunity to fish for free bees. That's what it seemed like to me, like bobbing for apples. If you reached down with an open hand (or mouth) at just the right time, you might walk away with, say, a penny, a stick of gum, or maybe even a pen filled with ink. It was like reverse Skee-Ball.
Well tonight the grand prize was a pack of shiny blue peanuts. And I failed to win. (I'm still remorse over it all). And so it unfolded that since the peanut pack was indeed shiny like a rocket, and came crashing past me with such ferocious speed, it called out to me like an itch needing scratched. It was food, and I was hungry. The sky waitresses only pass out two blue packs of peanuts per person, and there are but 12, maybe 13, peanuts per pack. So this flights dinner, consisting of 26 peanuts, was looking scamp, and I welcomed any extra rations.
And so the peanut pack came to a stop catercorner across the aisle from me, under the seat of a boy wearing a baseball cap. And there it sat, next to the sole of his shoe, like it was camped out for the night- ready to toast marshmallows and join in the kumbayas. Since the peanuts were now officially the boy's, (since they were touching his shoes), it seemed wrong to reach across the aisle (so that everyone behind me could see) and take the peanuts from the sole they'd just befriended. Sadly all I could do was glance in their direction, and convince myself that they were perhaps already eaten. It was surely an empty pack of peanuts that had answered gravities call.
But right when I thought the fun house was over, the games all played and prizes passed out, out of nowhere, this canary-yellow Mentos looking thing came cruising down the aisle at optimum speed- right in my direction. I saw it coming from about seat 7B and I was all the way back at 13C. The whole thing, mainly my imagination, was too much to handle, and at this point I let out an audible laugh. I suppose I imagined that the small yellow pod was indeed a miniature space craft, space rider inside, and had just tumbled in from a far away galaxy, and into our own, and for whatever reason this was real funny to me. (I think the guy in the middle was thinking I was rather odd at this point-that I was staring blankly to the aisle, giggling to myself). But I tried not to draw attention to the fun that was undoing itself in the aisle, and instead told myself that the other passengers would think I was just a funny gal with a funny laugh.
Perhaps what made the whole Mentos spaceship thing so hilarious, was that it seemed that no one else on the plane even noticed. Here, this small yellow mint had reached such velocity, such impeccable speed, (and even dodged carry-ons, stowed underneath) and tumbled all the way, light years away, to six-seats-from-home. And landed at the base of my booted right heel. But no one else was laughing, nor was a soul cheering, so this made me, the lone cheerer, audience of one, laugh even harder.
And like the shiny blue pack and the boy with the cap, the mint nestled to my sole, as if it waned to take a nap! But what fun is that? So, with a tilt of my heel, or a click like Dorothy, I set the pod free and it soared all the way to 33B. And there it sits, a cage bird freed, and I just can't stop laughing here at 13C.
09 April 2008
Betty
At Dino's in Yellow Springs. It's a lovely spring day out and hopefully the caffeine in this breve will boost my spirits all the more. A glorious breeze just came in from the outside. Every time a great gust covers me I am brought back to Turrialba, Costa Rica, on that rickety old beat up bus. Sitting next to my friend, Betty, who said when the wind blew, God was present. Of course I believed her. I thought so too...
We all stood atop that cypress hill and overlooked the city of San Jose. The cars beneath us resembled a swarm of fireflies and lighted the night sky like the fourth of July. Crooning one another to praise, we stood in a circle, like a family reunion on holiday. God came and whistled through our hair and whipped across our skin while slowly we made peace with the drunken drivers below.
In unison, we too drank our fill, and nestled deep into one another like a lifeboat saving us from hell. The melodies ceased and the air became crisp. Soon, the time would come to file on that old rickety bus. And next to Betty, we'd talk about God and his presence among the fireflies that night.
Coming down off that mountain, I saw the stars fall. Green, red, blue and silver too. They dropped from above with a whirling speed and looked like a farmer was planting his seed. And the moon overhead, a giant thumb clipping, told I'd find love, as the boy kept fishing. And I turned to Betty, who'd nodded to sleep, her hands were still clasped just sitting there wishing.
And back to the camp we made our way home. Into our bunk we settled forlorn. Sleeping it off, and rising next morn, we climbed the green mountain, and sounded the horn. The fog still was dancing, sunlight all around, into the forest and onto the ground. The lilies and ladies the creatures of night had roused from their sleeping to welcome our plight. And joining in song we echoed out loud, with joy and elation, forsaking our shroud.
The chalice passed round and the bread cleaved in two, his body was broken for me and for you. Dripping in goodness and glazed in his care, we tilted our heads and our chins to the air. And down from the mountain a glorious breeze, a gust of forgiveness and a wind of his ease. Settled upon us his powerful peace, we all felt his presence, his whispering plea.
And God was then near, his wind and his breath, had covered us over 'twoud hold us till death.
We all stood atop that cypress hill and overlooked the city of San Jose. The cars beneath us resembled a swarm of fireflies and lighted the night sky like the fourth of July. Crooning one another to praise, we stood in a circle, like a family reunion on holiday. God came and whistled through our hair and whipped across our skin while slowly we made peace with the drunken drivers below.
In unison, we too drank our fill, and nestled deep into one another like a lifeboat saving us from hell. The melodies ceased and the air became crisp. Soon, the time would come to file on that old rickety bus. And next to Betty, we'd talk about God and his presence among the fireflies that night.
Coming down off that mountain, I saw the stars fall. Green, red, blue and silver too. They dropped from above with a whirling speed and looked like a farmer was planting his seed. And the moon overhead, a giant thumb clipping, told I'd find love, as the boy kept fishing. And I turned to Betty, who'd nodded to sleep, her hands were still clasped just sitting there wishing.
And back to the camp we made our way home. Into our bunk we settled forlorn. Sleeping it off, and rising next morn, we climbed the green mountain, and sounded the horn. The fog still was dancing, sunlight all around, into the forest and onto the ground. The lilies and ladies the creatures of night had roused from their sleeping to welcome our plight. And joining in song we echoed out loud, with joy and elation, forsaking our shroud.
The chalice passed round and the bread cleaved in two, his body was broken for me and for you. Dripping in goodness and glazed in his care, we tilted our heads and our chins to the air. And down from the mountain a glorious breeze, a gust of forgiveness and a wind of his ease. Settled upon us his powerful peace, we all felt his presence, his whispering plea.
And God was then near, his wind and his breath, had covered us over 'twoud hold us till death.
07 April 2008
Faded Blue
Feels good just to sit here with a double tall cappuccino and ease into this Sabbath. My eyes are still heavy from last nights sleep and my body is worn from a week of running errands. The guy at the table across from me is wearing his Obama '08 pin, as usual, and the other bachelor, at his regular table, has no lady friend today. And guy number three, who gave a friendly "hello" as he sat to join me, is on his laptop- enough said. There's a pair of young girls to my right, but they might be older than I think, because they seem to be carrying a mature conversation. Which reminds me, my company and I had a great conversation last night. Very candidly, one of my guests shared about the first time he saw a naked woman. A mere recollection of the memory, and his eyes became wide, while a sheepish grin and rosy cheeks dressed his face beneath. He went on with his story...
He and his parents were over at a friends' house from church (something like a Sunday afternoon brunch), and he, being the lone kid, was quite ready to excuse himself from the awfully boring and mediocre conversation that had accompanied the roasted pork and applesauce. Besides, he assured himself, the lemonade he slurped down just minutes before, was calling for release. Dismissing himself from the table, he rounded the corner, leaving the dining room, and followed the faded blue carpet down the hall and into the guest bathroom. Flicked on the light switch, dropped his pants and made himself comfortable on the padded pink toiled seat. It wasn't long before he discovered the stack of periodicals and dated magazines on a dusty old shelf above the wastebasket in front of him. Stretching forward, and leaning down at the same time, he slowly pulled one out, from the very bottom of the stack.
Wow.
Perhaps an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sweetie, you okay?" asked the boy's mother. CRAP! How much time had passed? Was everyone waiting on him to go home? Had someone been waiting to use the bathroom? Tossing the magazine to the floor, he quick stood up, tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. Jamming the magazine back onto the shelf, between all the Good Housekeeping’s and National Geographic’s, he reached for the sink counter to steady his stance. Remembering that his Mother was outside the bathroom door, waiting for a reply, he managed to get out “I’m okay, Mom. Be out in a sec’.” His mind, though still in a fog, was racing, and his body couldn’t seem to make any sense either, of what had just happened in that powdered blue and pink bathroom. He glanced at the overflowing shelf of magazines, checked himself in the vanity mirror and turned the doorknob. Flicking off the light, he rounded the corner, leaving the bathroom and strode down that faded blue carpet. Life was good. Immensely good.
He and his parents were over at a friends' house from church (something like a Sunday afternoon brunch), and he, being the lone kid, was quite ready to excuse himself from the awfully boring and mediocre conversation that had accompanied the roasted pork and applesauce. Besides, he assured himself, the lemonade he slurped down just minutes before, was calling for release. Dismissing himself from the table, he rounded the corner, leaving the dining room, and followed the faded blue carpet down the hall and into the guest bathroom. Flicked on the light switch, dropped his pants and made himself comfortable on the padded pink toiled seat. It wasn't long before he discovered the stack of periodicals and dated magazines on a dusty old shelf above the wastebasket in front of him. Stretching forward, and leaning down at the same time, he slowly pulled one out, from the very bottom of the stack.
Wow.
Perhaps an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door. "Sweetie, you okay?" asked the boy's mother. CRAP! How much time had passed? Was everyone waiting on him to go home? Had someone been waiting to use the bathroom? Tossing the magazine to the floor, he quick stood up, tucked in his shirt and fastened his pants. Jamming the magazine back onto the shelf, between all the Good Housekeeping’s and National Geographic’s, he reached for the sink counter to steady his stance. Remembering that his Mother was outside the bathroom door, waiting for a reply, he managed to get out “I’m okay, Mom. Be out in a sec’.” His mind, though still in a fog, was racing, and his body couldn’t seem to make any sense either, of what had just happened in that powdered blue and pink bathroom. He glanced at the overflowing shelf of magazines, checked himself in the vanity mirror and turned the doorknob. Flicking off the light, he rounded the corner, leaving the bathroom and strode down that faded blue carpet. Life was good. Immensely good.
02 April 2008
20,000 and crooning
between the sheets, warmth sustained. she hoped, she prayed, almost lame. possessed he called, the pigs did flee. rocks cried out as did the trees. and traipsing down the bloodied trail, joy emerged, she did set sail. on the waters, calling out. there'd be no more, this sinful bout. sopping wet, naked, proud. she rose up on that earthen plow. stacks of harvest, golden rod. blinding sun, caused all to bow. piercing cries, a sobbing child. all in white, meek and mild. she rose out from the holy lake, gasping, flailing, he'd made her quake. the heavens shone and with a sigh, sang, "lullaby, my lullaby."
01 April 2008
Leftovers
Friday morning I went to the farmers market in Strafford, as Kirk corrected me, and I'm so glad I did. What a great find. I got tons of beautifully fresh fruits and veggies all for $18.50. From the harvest I made a delicious stew- with portabellas, artichokes, snapped green beans, stewed tomatoes, red potatoes, onions, fresh basil and thyme. Next time I will add many more artichokes and portabellas. They cooked so wonderfully. May also try beets. I really enjoy root vegetables. Sweet potatoes would have been a nice addition, but I didn't add them because JK doesn't like them. The focaccia was tasty too. It truly makes a difference when you use fresh herbs in the dough. Delish.
After the farmers market I went to Kitchen Kapers for an instant read thermometer. Once home, I unloaded everything into the fridge, then got ready for work. Long day at work. I think mostly because I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to get everything done by Saturday, 4pm. Stopped by the liquor store after work and settled on a tasty white wine for the risotto, instead of a dry one, and got two bottles of a cheap, but good, red I'd had before.
Got home around 8:30pm and began all the cooking. It took about an hour to make the crepe batter and pastry cream. Then I started on all the veggies. It was almost 11pm by the time I was washing the last of the dishes. I headed back to work for my sleepover shift and collapsed up in the Paoli Suite just after midnight.
Did breakfast Saturday morning, said the usual 'hello' to Jim and his masseuse lady, and had a relatively easy shift. Rick, the valet, was there with his family, celebrating his in laws 50th wedding anniversary. They were German and very cute. Once Jacque came to relieve me, I was off to buy a blowtorch. Got the torch and was back in my apartment undertaking the crepes. Made all 20 and folded the whipped cream into the thick, very thick, pastry cream. (I actually made the 20 layer crepe cake and everyone raved about it. I served it with fresh, deep red strawberries from the farmers market and a creamy hazelnut sauce). Made the focaccia next, then the parmesan risotto, and finished up with slicing the strawberries.
Justin, Emily and Olivia came around 5:00 and Olga, Chris, JK and Damka shortly after 5:30. The apartment smelled sweet and savory, but best of all was simply having company. We chatted a bit- I finished up in the kitchen, Justin assembled the blowtorch, and after pulling the table out and setting it for six, we all sat down to a warm, comforting meal. We said a prayer together, broke bread and drank in the wine. How wonderful to share a meal in the presence of those you love. It was a good night. A great night. It was nearly 2am by the time the sleepiness was like drunkenness, and it came time to say goodbye. Of course, I wished they all would stay- that my company would not part, but life goes on and tomorrow's another day. At least I'll have the leftovers.
After the farmers market I went to Kitchen Kapers for an instant read thermometer. Once home, I unloaded everything into the fridge, then got ready for work. Long day at work. I think mostly because I was trying to figure out how in the world I was going to get everything done by Saturday, 4pm. Stopped by the liquor store after work and settled on a tasty white wine for the risotto, instead of a dry one, and got two bottles of a cheap, but good, red I'd had before.
Got home around 8:30pm and began all the cooking. It took about an hour to make the crepe batter and pastry cream. Then I started on all the veggies. It was almost 11pm by the time I was washing the last of the dishes. I headed back to work for my sleepover shift and collapsed up in the Paoli Suite just after midnight.
Did breakfast Saturday morning, said the usual 'hello' to Jim and his masseuse lady, and had a relatively easy shift. Rick, the valet, was there with his family, celebrating his in laws 50th wedding anniversary. They were German and very cute. Once Jacque came to relieve me, I was off to buy a blowtorch. Got the torch and was back in my apartment undertaking the crepes. Made all 20 and folded the whipped cream into the thick, very thick, pastry cream. (I actually made the 20 layer crepe cake and everyone raved about it. I served it with fresh, deep red strawberries from the farmers market and a creamy hazelnut sauce). Made the focaccia next, then the parmesan risotto, and finished up with slicing the strawberries.
Justin, Emily and Olivia came around 5:00 and Olga, Chris, JK and Damka shortly after 5:30. The apartment smelled sweet and savory, but best of all was simply having company. We chatted a bit- I finished up in the kitchen, Justin assembled the blowtorch, and after pulling the table out and setting it for six, we all sat down to a warm, comforting meal. We said a prayer together, broke bread and drank in the wine. How wonderful to share a meal in the presence of those you love. It was a good night. A great night. It was nearly 2am by the time the sleepiness was like drunkenness, and it came time to say goodbye. Of course, I wished they all would stay- that my company would not part, but life goes on and tomorrow's another day. At least I'll have the leftovers.
21 March 2008
gym socks
So it's Good Friday. My eating spree if over, thank God, and I'm ready to begin the ascent to normalcy once more. Why can't I ever remember how awful I feel when I decide to eat a scone, an apple fritter, and an oatmeal cookie, all within an hour- not to mention a big cup of coffee to wash it all down.
I think I'll make up some post it notes with little gentle reminders, saying things like "HORRIBLY, SMELLY & OFFENSIVE GAS", "THE BLOATING WILL MAKE YOU LOOK TWO MONTHS PREGNANT", "YOU'LL FEEL LIKE CRAP" and "DON'T DO IT!!!" Then, when I'm in the mood to 'graze', I'll whip out the post its, and place them in strategic locations: the cupboard door, the freezer door, or maybe I'll just hold them in my hands- in place of the snacks. That's it, I'll hold onto little snips of neon paper telling me how awful I'll feel if I replace the paper with snacks. Yeah, that'll work.
Any way, enough rambling...
It's quiet here at work today. We are closed for lunch because of Good Friday. One might think "horray for the chefs, they get a shift off," but no such luck. They're down in the kitchen now. Scrubbing, until everything shines like the top of the Chrysler building.
This morning I woke up around 8am. Got out of bed, took about six paces, then slumped onto another horizontal surface- the couch in my living room. Then, for about two hours I stared at my furniture. I even got mad at it. I have this thing, where I can only go about 2.5 weeks before I feel a need to rearrange the furniture.
Well, the need to rearrange happen to hit around 11pm last night. Ever so quietly, I put little gym socks under the feet of all my furniture, and did ice capades all over my living room floor. The last time I moved all the furniture around, my landlord appeared at my apartment door. His hair was disheveled and his face was all wrinkled and awry. "I was trying to take a nap," he said. "Next time, just put something under the furniture so it doesn't scratch the wood." Hence, the little gym socks.
Unfortunately, I didn't make much progress. My place looks like it's been ransacked. Stacks of books everywhere and the carpet, folded in four, sits like a giant hill in the middle of my living room. I'm too discouraged to know where to begin replacing things. And, the sad thing is, I think the furniture arrangement was actually best before I moved a thing. Oh well. at least I was able to burn off about 23 calories of the fritter in the dance of it all.
Sunday is Easter and I'm looking forward to the sunrise service that I'll be attending along the Schuylkill. A brunch will follow. Lets just hope I can once again live and practice some self control. Oh dear Father, not another cookie.
I think I'll make up some post it notes with little gentle reminders, saying things like "HORRIBLY, SMELLY & OFFENSIVE GAS", "THE BLOATING WILL MAKE YOU LOOK TWO MONTHS PREGNANT", "YOU'LL FEEL LIKE CRAP" and "DON'T DO IT!!!" Then, when I'm in the mood to 'graze', I'll whip out the post its, and place them in strategic locations: the cupboard door, the freezer door, or maybe I'll just hold them in my hands- in place of the snacks. That's it, I'll hold onto little snips of neon paper telling me how awful I'll feel if I replace the paper with snacks. Yeah, that'll work.
Any way, enough rambling...
It's quiet here at work today. We are closed for lunch because of Good Friday. One might think "horray for the chefs, they get a shift off," but no such luck. They're down in the kitchen now. Scrubbing, until everything shines like the top of the Chrysler building.
This morning I woke up around 8am. Got out of bed, took about six paces, then slumped onto another horizontal surface- the couch in my living room. Then, for about two hours I stared at my furniture. I even got mad at it. I have this thing, where I can only go about 2.5 weeks before I feel a need to rearrange the furniture.
Well, the need to rearrange happen to hit around 11pm last night. Ever so quietly, I put little gym socks under the feet of all my furniture, and did ice capades all over my living room floor. The last time I moved all the furniture around, my landlord appeared at my apartment door. His hair was disheveled and his face was all wrinkled and awry. "I was trying to take a nap," he said. "Next time, just put something under the furniture so it doesn't scratch the wood." Hence, the little gym socks.
Unfortunately, I didn't make much progress. My place looks like it's been ransacked. Stacks of books everywhere and the carpet, folded in four, sits like a giant hill in the middle of my living room. I'm too discouraged to know where to begin replacing things. And, the sad thing is, I think the furniture arrangement was actually best before I moved a thing. Oh well. at least I was able to burn off about 23 calories of the fritter in the dance of it all.
Sunday is Easter and I'm looking forward to the sunrise service that I'll be attending along the Schuylkill. A brunch will follow. Lets just hope I can once again live and practice some self control. Oh dear Father, not another cookie.
19 March 2008
Unbuttoned
I could go for a cookie now. The cheap kind. Like a box of generic animal crackers from the grocery store. But it's getting kind of late now, and to put on my boots really seems like a chore. So, I'll put off the decision and listen to my belly growl in the meanwhile. Sometimes I eat just telling myself that it will quiet my noisy stomach. It usually doesn't work, but I like eating, nonetheless, so I do it a lot. Sometimes, in the morning, when I get my coffee, if I don't have a stirrer, I'll use my chubby finger. Then I lick my chubby finger so I don't get milk all over my shirt or pants. (Or sometimes I'll wipe my finger on the car seat -if I'm driving). If only I had some animal crackers now. I'd eat them till their sweetness stung the insides of my teeth. I might even have to unbutton my pants and undo the zipper. But, hey, if it quiets my stomach, it's certainly worth it. It's really not that late. Now, where did I leave my boots?
Fat
Have you ever felt yourself getting fat? You know, you feel lazy, you snack more and your stomach feels big and heavy. You're probably getting fat if you feel like that. I feel fat tonight. I ate five cookies and a slice of pizza. I also had a beer and twice I've rolled over on my elbow to let out some gas. Now that's getting fat.
Blues play on the radio, my steady companion, and the lines of this paper remind me of the monotony of life. We wait, wait, wait. Hot water, ecstasy, a warm oven, and a pay stub. Labor, wait. Labor, wait.
I could go for a cookie now. The cheap kind. Like a box of generic animal crackers from the grocery store. But it's getting kind of late now, and to put on my boots really seems like a chore. So, I'll put off the decision and listen to my belly growl in the meanwhile. Sometimes I eat just telling myself that it will quiet my noisy stomach. It usually doesn't work, but I like eating, nonetheless, so I do it a lot. Sometimes, in the morning, when I get my coffee, if I don't have a stirrer, I'll use my chubby finger. Then I lick my chubby finger so I don't get milk all over my shirt or pants. (Or sometimes I'll wipe my finger on the car seat -if I'm driving). If only I had some animal crackers now. I'd eat them till their sweetness stung the insides of my teeth. I might even have to unbutton my pants and undo the zipper. But, hey, if it quiets my stomach, it's certainly worth it. It's really not that late. Now, where did I leave my boots?
Fat
Have you ever felt yourself getting fat? You know, you feel lazy, you snack more and your stomach feels big and heavy. You're probably getting fat if you feel like that. I feel fat tonight. I ate five cookies and a slice of pizza. I also had a beer and twice I've rolled over on my elbow to let out some gas. Now that's getting fat.
Blues play on the radio, my steady companion, and the lines of this paper remind me of the monotony of life. We wait, wait, wait. Hot water, ecstasy, a warm oven, and a pay stub. Labor, wait. Labor, wait.
Adam had strength and Eve round breasts. Together they fell and now we wait.
11 March 2008
silver moon
it sure was something being in that delivery room when caleb was born. my sister moaned and groaned, sounds that were beautiful and only could accompany a woman trying to bring forth her son into this fallen world.
part of me wanted to rush to her side. in this pain she deeply felt. but, there was nothing i nor her husband could do to alleviate such the pangs of birth.
she was so cool. so calm. back and forth she swayed her head as her knees and pregnant belly were submerged in the whirls of the jacuzzi. alternating, ryan and i, slowly poured warm water across the lows of her back. elbows on the edge of the tub, my sister, with two braids, back and forth, rocking her head.
every 45 seconds a contraction would come. for about 30 seconds, the pain was bearable, then the last 10 seconds or so, usually the last 3, she would let out a deep gallowing, full yelp of sorts. an utterance that only a woman in birth could echo out. it was indeed a bit fearsome. like i said earlier, i wanted to help, to leave, to escape that horrific scream...but, it's part of bringing forth a child. in this fallen world.
so she made it for one last contraction, submerged in the tub, before we saw fit to quickly and immediately wheel closer the surgical tools and ready the bed.
slowly, she rose out of the water. one knee at a time bends and she is dripping wet, finding her way to a large plastic blown up ball covered in a birthing cloth. she straddles it and has one last amazon contraction. the nurses called her amazon woman. two braids down her back, blood on the floor, a child soon to be born. she screams "he's here."
it was all we could do to somehow try to maneuver her to the bed. the child's head was ready to come out, but no one was present to do proper delivery. panic almost set in. and i, of all people, was sent to find barb. barb was the midwife who had left her phone in some other patients room, and wasn't anywhere to be found to deliver this coming child.
i rushed to the door, to exit and yell for barb, when just then, barb appeared. she didn't even have time to get gloves on. kara was spread out on the bed, in pain, her son ready to be born.
at first sight, my sisters son didn't even appear to be a child. he was a gray sliver of moon, cresting, crowning, coming forth from a pool of deep red. with another push, his head took form and soon the remainder of his body slipped out. a sweet, subtle cry followed.
still attached to my sister, the doctors weren't able to set him on my sister's breast. he had to stay down by her belly. the frantic midwife was still trying to get gloves on, when finally, she did and then allowed my sister's husband to cut the cord.
free from the womb, her son was finally placed on her breasts. crying, sucking, shivering and covered with all sorts of body fluid. out of his previous world and into the fallen one. he's arrived. he's here. and he cried to tell us so. so beautiful. so tiny.
when, at first, my sisters son was placed on the low of her belly, because he had a short cord, my sister wept. she cried out "i just want to see his face." she grieved over him, over not seeing his face, over the past five months of wondering what her son, with a cleft lip and palate, would look like. and now, at this crucial moment, his cord was keeping her from finally embracing her son.
her shoulders shook with each cry she let out. i cried too. i wept right along with her. i looked to her husband, he too had been crying. i rubbed her shoulders. i assured her he was beautiful. i told her he was precious. but she just wanted to see his face.
it was a conflicting moment. we all were emotional. a mother, just given birth, supposed to be full of joy and happiness. yet my sister was sad. she wept. this made me sad and like i said, i wept.
finally barb managed to get her dry gloves over her wet fingers and give my sister's husband a pair of metal sheers. finally, caleb was placed up on my sisters bloated breasts and finally she held him tight. she wrapped her long arms over and across the small of his tiny, seven pound, 10 ounce body- but still wanted to see his face. she finally picked up the tiny bundle of blankets and held him out, then everything was okay. she had seen him and she loved him. she just held him then. everything was alright.
one of the nurses, soon after, scooped the little baby away. she had to do some tests so she placed him on a little bed and put him under a spotlight of sorts. at least there was a heater overhead, to keep the small baby from shivering.
it was at this point that the nurse, who whisked him away, ran her gloved finger along the inside of the baby's palate and discovered that it was there, closed, and fully formed.
i think i saw this first. i saw the nurse swishing her gloved finger back and forth, back and forth. "it's there," cried the nurse. "it's there!" i continued to rub my sisters shoulders that were no longer shaking.
hearing these words from the nurse caused my sister to weep again. this time, there was no trace of grief. no moaning to her tears. they finished with the tests on the little bed under the spotlight and gave the baby back to my sister. she brought her breast to his mouth and he fed. he sucked. he did everything that everyone had told her he wouldn't be able to do. and she wept. he sucked, and she wept.
her shivering and cold little son, drinking in her warm and soothing milk. and we all just stood around that hospital bed, looking at my sister and her newborn son, and stood in the presence of an almighty God.
part of me wanted to rush to her side. in this pain she deeply felt. but, there was nothing i nor her husband could do to alleviate such the pangs of birth.
she was so cool. so calm. back and forth she swayed her head as her knees and pregnant belly were submerged in the whirls of the jacuzzi. alternating, ryan and i, slowly poured warm water across the lows of her back. elbows on the edge of the tub, my sister, with two braids, back and forth, rocking her head.
every 45 seconds a contraction would come. for about 30 seconds, the pain was bearable, then the last 10 seconds or so, usually the last 3, she would let out a deep gallowing, full yelp of sorts. an utterance that only a woman in birth could echo out. it was indeed a bit fearsome. like i said earlier, i wanted to help, to leave, to escape that horrific scream...but, it's part of bringing forth a child. in this fallen world.
so she made it for one last contraction, submerged in the tub, before we saw fit to quickly and immediately wheel closer the surgical tools and ready the bed.
slowly, she rose out of the water. one knee at a time bends and she is dripping wet, finding her way to a large plastic blown up ball covered in a birthing cloth. she straddles it and has one last amazon contraction. the nurses called her amazon woman. two braids down her back, blood on the floor, a child soon to be born. she screams "he's here."
it was all we could do to somehow try to maneuver her to the bed. the child's head was ready to come out, but no one was present to do proper delivery. panic almost set in. and i, of all people, was sent to find barb. barb was the midwife who had left her phone in some other patients room, and wasn't anywhere to be found to deliver this coming child.
i rushed to the door, to exit and yell for barb, when just then, barb appeared. she didn't even have time to get gloves on. kara was spread out on the bed, in pain, her son ready to be born.
at first sight, my sisters son didn't even appear to be a child. he was a gray sliver of moon, cresting, crowning, coming forth from a pool of deep red. with another push, his head took form and soon the remainder of his body slipped out. a sweet, subtle cry followed.
still attached to my sister, the doctors weren't able to set him on my sister's breast. he had to stay down by her belly. the frantic midwife was still trying to get gloves on, when finally, she did and then allowed my sister's husband to cut the cord.
free from the womb, her son was finally placed on her breasts. crying, sucking, shivering and covered with all sorts of body fluid. out of his previous world and into the fallen one. he's arrived. he's here. and he cried to tell us so. so beautiful. so tiny.
when, at first, my sisters son was placed on the low of her belly, because he had a short cord, my sister wept. she cried out "i just want to see his face." she grieved over him, over not seeing his face, over the past five months of wondering what her son, with a cleft lip and palate, would look like. and now, at this crucial moment, his cord was keeping her from finally embracing her son.
her shoulders shook with each cry she let out. i cried too. i wept right along with her. i looked to her husband, he too had been crying. i rubbed her shoulders. i assured her he was beautiful. i told her he was precious. but she just wanted to see his face.
it was a conflicting moment. we all were emotional. a mother, just given birth, supposed to be full of joy and happiness. yet my sister was sad. she wept. this made me sad and like i said, i wept.
finally barb managed to get her dry gloves over her wet fingers and give my sister's husband a pair of metal sheers. finally, caleb was placed up on my sisters bloated breasts and finally she held him tight. she wrapped her long arms over and across the small of his tiny, seven pound, 10 ounce body- but still wanted to see his face. she finally picked up the tiny bundle of blankets and held him out, then everything was okay. she had seen him and she loved him. she just held him then. everything was alright.
one of the nurses, soon after, scooped the little baby away. she had to do some tests so she placed him on a little bed and put him under a spotlight of sorts. at least there was a heater overhead, to keep the small baby from shivering.
it was at this point that the nurse, who whisked him away, ran her gloved finger along the inside of the baby's palate and discovered that it was there, closed, and fully formed.
i think i saw this first. i saw the nurse swishing her gloved finger back and forth, back and forth. "it's there," cried the nurse. "it's there!" i continued to rub my sisters shoulders that were no longer shaking.
hearing these words from the nurse caused my sister to weep again. this time, there was no trace of grief. no moaning to her tears. they finished with the tests on the little bed under the spotlight and gave the baby back to my sister. she brought her breast to his mouth and he fed. he sucked. he did everything that everyone had told her he wouldn't be able to do. and she wept. he sucked, and she wept.
her shivering and cold little son, drinking in her warm and soothing milk. and we all just stood around that hospital bed, looking at my sister and her newborn son, and stood in the presence of an almighty God.
10 March 2008
valley forge
just out of sight, a woman, possibly a man, labors. just to simply walk. sun rays gloriously pierce the full, pregnant clouds. an eggshell white against its muted lilac backdrop. i'm overwhelmed with beauty. a flock of deer grazes before me in the monochromatic field of dry and withered grass. the color of peanut butter. a fawn skips along from patch to patch, while the older, more sophisticated deer, move at a slower pace. the treetops, like burnt charcoal fingers, extend in every direction. yet, each still reaches towards the fullness of the heavens. tall and slender. a dark, walnut brown. so beautiful. lined next to one another, perfectly, as if only God could have planted them. they stand just like a book of matches. a hiker now passes by in the woods, between the matchbook trees. overhead, the jet engine of a plane is faintly heard. here, in my car, i just sit and window watch.
15 February 2008
still remains
oh loved one, by my side
beauty crowned with oceans' tide.
deluged deep, in drunken fate
how to find a valiant wait.
echo out, dripping dew
answer not fading blue.
fragrant billows, heavy air
naked beauty once was fair.
seeking now the favored eye
drawing in, and calling nigh.
summon high among the plain
wax and wane, his touch, her pain.
beauty crowned with oceans' tide.
deluged deep, in drunken fate
how to find a valiant wait.
echo out, dripping dew
answer not fading blue.
fragrant billows, heavy air
naked beauty once was fair.
seeking now the favored eye
drawing in, and calling nigh.
summon high among the plain
wax and wane, his touch, her pain.
28 January 2008
Nina...
is alive! thanks for the comment. i simply say you're alive because it has been quite some time since you posted. good to have you over on friday night!
becca, i wish i could venture to your place this weekend...but of all weekends, this is one that i actually have to work the ENTIRE thing! friday-all day, saturday-breakfast, day shift and sleep over shift, then sunday-breakfast and check-ins too!
so, pooh, i won't be there with you three (girls + dave). have fun!
some day, when i get off a stretch of two days over the course of a weekend, i'd love to come out.
of course i'm at work...stinky two check-ins that were supposed to be here at 6pm (give or take) have yet to arrive...
it's now 7:25. looks like lynette and i will not be hanging out tonight...glad we were at least able to talk last night, though!
one of my favorite 'regulars' has checked in...mr. michael mueller. german born, but now living in atlanta. he's so cheeky... a very smiley man. like his mannerisms a lot.
this is a very ADD post... i realize this. lets see...this wednesday and thursday i hope to head to philly to see olga (and damka) again. she came to see me last week, so now it is my turn to go to her.
speaking of, i think i'll ring her now to see if she is around.
tata for now.
becca, i wish i could venture to your place this weekend...but of all weekends, this is one that i actually have to work the ENTIRE thing! friday-all day, saturday-breakfast, day shift and sleep over shift, then sunday-breakfast and check-ins too!
so, pooh, i won't be there with you three (girls + dave). have fun!
some day, when i get off a stretch of two days over the course of a weekend, i'd love to come out.
of course i'm at work...stinky two check-ins that were supposed to be here at 6pm (give or take) have yet to arrive...
it's now 7:25. looks like lynette and i will not be hanging out tonight...glad we were at least able to talk last night, though!
one of my favorite 'regulars' has checked in...mr. michael mueller. german born, but now living in atlanta. he's so cheeky... a very smiley man. like his mannerisms a lot.
this is a very ADD post... i realize this. lets see...this wednesday and thursday i hope to head to philly to see olga (and damka) again. she came to see me last week, so now it is my turn to go to her.
speaking of, i think i'll ring her now to see if she is around.
tata for now.
23 January 2008
new life...
is sprouting in the lovely belly of my sister. the new photo is one i took of her about 2 weeks ago. she is due in about 7 weeks.
so amazing.
...at work as usual. it has been a busy week here... from checking in guests, giving little tours, yes, yes, making little triangles out of toilet paper ends, fluffing shams and straightening bed skirts...to, drawing. yes, that's right. i'm doing a drawing for Patrick (my boss and the proprietor of the inne).
it's actually pretty cool, because this new logo that i come up with will be plastered all over all of our literature here at the restaurant/inne. i put some finishing touches on it today, and Patrick is scanning it over to the guy that will make the final calls as to what still needs to be done/changed about the rendering.
it has been fun! sad, but i actually need 'assignments' to get doing art again. if i don't have a deadline, things just won't get done. but, finally (Lynette and Nina) my apartment is now conducive to creating art! i have my vintage dentist chest all filled and my drafting table is a blank slate.
the best part of working on this drawing for the past week or so, is that my kitchen table is COVERED with all different sorts of drawing materials. so, yesterday morning as i was sitting down to sip my frothed beverage, i just started drawing...just for the heck of it. and, i came up with a couple nice portraits. it's exciting to be creating once more.
today, if all goes as planned, my dear friend Olga will be visiting from philly. i hope that she sticks to her plans and gets her and damka's booty in a car and out to see me. (damka is 'pretty lady' in russian...and it's her beloved spaniel).
tomorrow i'm off...which is lovely. i like having off thursdays. it's a nice little break for me to split the week up.
well, i suppose this will be it for now. tootles.
so amazing.
...at work as usual. it has been a busy week here... from checking in guests, giving little tours, yes, yes, making little triangles out of toilet paper ends, fluffing shams and straightening bed skirts...to, drawing. yes, that's right. i'm doing a drawing for Patrick (my boss and the proprietor of the inne).
it's actually pretty cool, because this new logo that i come up with will be plastered all over all of our literature here at the restaurant/inne. i put some finishing touches on it today, and Patrick is scanning it over to the guy that will make the final calls as to what still needs to be done/changed about the rendering.
it has been fun! sad, but i actually need 'assignments' to get doing art again. if i don't have a deadline, things just won't get done. but, finally (Lynette and Nina) my apartment is now conducive to creating art! i have my vintage dentist chest all filled and my drafting table is a blank slate.
the best part of working on this drawing for the past week or so, is that my kitchen table is COVERED with all different sorts of drawing materials. so, yesterday morning as i was sitting down to sip my frothed beverage, i just started drawing...just for the heck of it. and, i came up with a couple nice portraits. it's exciting to be creating once more.
today, if all goes as planned, my dear friend Olga will be visiting from philly. i hope that she sticks to her plans and gets her and damka's booty in a car and out to see me. (damka is 'pretty lady' in russian...and it's her beloved spaniel).
tomorrow i'm off...which is lovely. i like having off thursdays. it's a nice little break for me to split the week up.
well, i suppose this will be it for now. tootles.
15 January 2008
finally...
i post. becca, to answer your question, unfortunately, i can't answer you at the time! no worries, though, i'll tell you sooner or later... hehehhe.
so, its been quite some time since i posted. i'm at work, as usual. i love it here. i near pinch myself every day... continuing to convince myself that i am employed here... i am an innkeeper... i do have my dream job! (or at least one of them, any way!)
today, myself and jacque (the other day innkeeper) met early (before i was to report at noon to start my 'official' work day). we met to go shopping for new quilts and sheets for the suites. it was fun and we got a lot of good deals. we ended up getting quite a few sheet sets that were 1000 thread count! i didn't know the count went so high!
so, my day consisted of switching out old comforters for new, lovely ones, switching a few pictures from room to room, rearranging some night tables to better fit certain spaces in certain rooms, taking a few reservations, and tidying up a bit in my 'office'...
it's been a fun day. tomorrow i will iron the new cover lay we got for our king sleigh bed in the presidential suite (nina and lynette, this is the room we stayed in...lynette, we got rid of the bedspread that had the stain!! no worries all, it was a coffee stain).
any who, it snowed out today and that was lovely.
first thing when i woke up this morning, i had to grab my camera for a great shot. the sun light was just peeking in through the long window in my kitchen. the shade was pulled down, so it was just along the edges of the rectangular outline, that the warm, soft, amber hues of the sun were showing themselves...so pretty.
hmmm...just ate a caesar salad. ever wonder the history of the caesar salad? i just googled it to find out...seems there is no concrete history, but most likely it was invented in 1924... read for yourself...
"Most historians believe that Caesar salad honors restaurateur Caesar Cardini (1896-1956), who invented it in Tijuana, Mexico in 1924 on the Fourth of July weekend. It is said that on this busy weekend, Cardini was running low on food and he put together a salad for his guests from what was left over in the kitchen. His original recipe included romaine, garlic, croutons, and Parmesan cheese, boiled eggs, olive oil and Worcestershire sauce. The original salad was prepared at tableside. When the salad dressing was ready, the romaine leaves were coated with the dressing and placed stem side out, in a circle and served on a flat dinner plate, so that the salad could be eaten with the fingers."
interesting, eh? lately, i've been fascinated with finding out the history and origins of every day life things- food, words, places, babies...etc.
nina and i saw 'atonement' the other night at the theater. i thought it was good... nina REALLY liked it. it is up for all these awards- oscars, golden globes, etc... i can see why. very artistically put together...especially the score and how it aligns with each scene precisely...very cool.
a typewriter, of all things, was actually interwoven beautifully as a musical instrument, of sorts, throughout the entire film. neato...
any way, i liked the film, very much, but i don't think it blew me away... i've thought about the film here and there...but it hasn't absorbed my thoughts as much as other films have in the past... and they say that if a film causes you to think and think and think...then it was a great work.
any way...enough of that. i would have to say that 'dumb and dumber' must take the cake for that type of a film, in my life, that has caused me to think, ponder, dream...wonder....again and again. oh, life.
well, i have lots of more little tidy-uping things to do here before i head home...so, tata.
so, its been quite some time since i posted. i'm at work, as usual. i love it here. i near pinch myself every day... continuing to convince myself that i am employed here... i am an innkeeper... i do have my dream job! (or at least one of them, any way!)
today, myself and jacque (the other day innkeeper) met early (before i was to report at noon to start my 'official' work day). we met to go shopping for new quilts and sheets for the suites. it was fun and we got a lot of good deals. we ended up getting quite a few sheet sets that were 1000 thread count! i didn't know the count went so high!
so, my day consisted of switching out old comforters for new, lovely ones, switching a few pictures from room to room, rearranging some night tables to better fit certain spaces in certain rooms, taking a few reservations, and tidying up a bit in my 'office'...
it's been a fun day. tomorrow i will iron the new cover lay we got for our king sleigh bed in the presidential suite (nina and lynette, this is the room we stayed in...lynette, we got rid of the bedspread that had the stain!! no worries all, it was a coffee stain).
any who, it snowed out today and that was lovely.
first thing when i woke up this morning, i had to grab my camera for a great shot. the sun light was just peeking in through the long window in my kitchen. the shade was pulled down, so it was just along the edges of the rectangular outline, that the warm, soft, amber hues of the sun were showing themselves...so pretty.
hmmm...just ate a caesar salad. ever wonder the history of the caesar salad? i just googled it to find out...seems there is no concrete history, but most likely it was invented in 1924... read for yourself...
"Most historians believe that Caesar salad honors restaurateur Caesar Cardini (1896-1956), who invented it in Tijuana, Mexico in 1924 on the Fourth of July weekend. It is said that on this busy weekend, Cardini was running low on food and he put together a salad for his guests from what was left over in the kitchen. His original recipe included romaine, garlic, croutons, and Parmesan cheese, boiled eggs, olive oil and Worcestershire sauce. The original salad was prepared at tableside. When the salad dressing was ready, the romaine leaves were coated with the dressing and placed stem side out, in a circle and served on a flat dinner plate, so that the salad could be eaten with the fingers."
interesting, eh? lately, i've been fascinated with finding out the history and origins of every day life things- food, words, places, babies...etc.
nina and i saw 'atonement' the other night at the theater. i thought it was good... nina REALLY liked it. it is up for all these awards- oscars, golden globes, etc... i can see why. very artistically put together...especially the score and how it aligns with each scene precisely...very cool.
a typewriter, of all things, was actually interwoven beautifully as a musical instrument, of sorts, throughout the entire film. neato...
any way, i liked the film, very much, but i don't think it blew me away... i've thought about the film here and there...but it hasn't absorbed my thoughts as much as other films have in the past... and they say that if a film causes you to think and think and think...then it was a great work.
any way...enough of that. i would have to say that 'dumb and dumber' must take the cake for that type of a film, in my life, that has caused me to think, ponder, dream...wonder....again and again. oh, life.
well, i have lots of more little tidy-uping things to do here before i head home...so, tata.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
