Haiku for today:
Oh, little red bike
wheel me to where I’m going.
In the cold, and on ice, the bike on the street is faster and feels safer than feet on the uncleared ice-caked sidewalks.
Photo from Capital Bikeshare website.
For another day:
From Fei-Fei, dubious about her dad’s cooking. At 3-1/2, she’s already a tough customer:
Did you burn the food?
Can you pull it together?
Is there lunch today?
7 January 2015 — Catching up on daily poems.
The sun is shining,
I found the studio keys.
I’ll probably live.
Yesterday I stuck the keys in a book and couldn’t go to the studio. I almost cried. Now I feel better.
6 January 2015
I shop for yogurt
Avoiding pectin, corn starch.
It’s not so easy.
Yogurt is supposed to me just milk and the little germs that transform it.
5 January 2015
no numbers, no cigarettes.
He’ll save a bundle.
He thinks quitting smoking and small-stakes gambling will keep a hundred dollars a week warm in his pocket.
I am married to a person who has decided (on his own, but after ten years of subtle, loving nagging) that he might lose a little of that extra girth around the equator by limiting himself to just one slice of cake per sitting. Although, because of an extremely generous nature probably picked up from his mother, he feels it is only right that he offer a serving to his invisible friend, who stops by frequently.
It has been a good birthday, and thanks to friends far and near, geographically and emotionally, for all your notes. It feels nice.
In the morning, my little niece, Frances, paid a surprise visit, bringing her “backup” birthday cake, the one not required for her own birthday yesterday. You know how I love salvage items, even a little roughed up in transit. While here, she helped water all the plants missed on our weekend away, and did her big-girl job in our bathroom facilities, the first time away from home, and proudly announced it, so it really is a special day.
Then I went to see the four-year-old I hang with on most Tuesdays, who, hearing it was my birthday, asked my age. A little fazed at first, he bounced back to tell me that “58 is not the last number.”
I hope not.
No need to bother the weary flight attendant to heat up William’s on-board snack. A warmish 98.6 degrees will be fine.
After a couple hours in the armpit…
…warm and tasty.
The model is wearing a t-shirt by John Beam of Chincoteague. The Japanese letters say, “Where the air begins.” You can buy one at Anopheles Blues on North Main St.
Posted in could be worse, family, food, hands, idea
Tagged Anopheles Blues, carbon footprint, Chincoteague, food, getting around, John Beam, William
After you cut up and disembowel a pomegranate, what you’ve got looks a little like a murder scene.
I find myself within this family that I have joined and the stuff that comes with it: tsk-tsking about a family member who, alas, has become Christian, and what would the atheist parents say about that!; the family matriarch, a retired Ivy-educated professional woman, whose every waking hour is dutifully prepping or cooking the next meal for her adult partner and other family members; my in-laws who after 30 years of marriage – the second for each of them – openly show affection; a “walk” in the woods that includes shears and shippers to make the trail as they go.
What the hell am I doing here?
Posted in family, feminism, food, friends, hiking, holiday, idea, in good news, love and/or money, religion
Tagged family, feelings, food, holiday, marriage, outside comfort zone