Musing, Dwellings

As she left the house, where parents eat separate dinners, watch separate shows, sleep in separate beds, dreaming separate dreams, she noticed that even the cars were turned away from each other, distant like strangers. And she realized that she had the choice to create her own place, a place filled with so much warmth and joy and love and laughter, that people would want to be a part of it and they would call it a "home."

Act IV, Scene 5

There's rosemary, that's for rememberence.
How did you do it last time?
Fog and a magic trick,
abracadabra...
Pray you, love, remember.
smile at work,
but it's raining into the dishwater.
And there is pansies...
Work a long shift,
gym twice a day,
once for yoga, once for spin.
Sit in your car,
surrounded by hair.
That's for thought.
How did that happen?
What was next?
Rue, or was it Columbines?
I would give you some violets, but they withered all... 
Come home late.
Drift amongst the Sunday flowers, rooted like a lily pad.
Exit, Ophelia.
And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?

Pickle Memories

The smell of oatmeal cookies, toffee, and buttered popcorn filled my car through the thoughtless vents as I drove by the old Miller factory last night. Let's play a game like Wheel of Fortune. Bitter Sweet Wort.

Deal or "No Deal!"

sometimes screaming "no deal" lands you with a bucket of tickets, half empty
and no one to tuck you in at night

Ticket Poems

Miss Smile, Missed Pill
Rose and Shook
the Reflection in the Lily Pool

CSA!

Many good meals from Farm Fresh To You! (Please check this co-op out! They are incredible. Excellent produce delivered to your door. And if you want to order from them, let me know. I have a discount code!)

I seriously love cooking good, fresh food. There is something satisfying about cooking and sitting down and enjoying food on a real plate.

Here was lunch (I should have snapped a photo):
Butter lettuce and radicchio salad with French dressing (dijon mustard, a dash of olive oil, white balsamic vinegar, salt, black pepper) and a cranberry stilton crumble (would have loved a few sliced almonds or walnuts...but no nuts in the pantry...)
Roasted golden beets with goat cheese
Bartlett pear
Hot green tea

Yeah. I feel pretty great and very fortunate right about now.
And almost ready to tackle that pile of clothes I've been telling myself to organize.
Back to cleaning...

Terrorfying

The tragedy of 9/11 had just passed; churches are full, a nation in mourning.

A charismatic man is the guest speaker for a youth group. An over-protective dad, like many over-protective dads, and he is trying to teach a group of high school students about the "religions of the world," namely about Mormonism and Islam.

He knows a lot and appears to know a lot, shiny and red with excitement. He talks about mountains and virgins in heaven and multiple wives. And then he says this, "You know, Muslims and Christians, we're not that different. And you know those radical extreme Muslims, they would do so much good if they were that radical for Christ. We should all be that radical for Christ."

A room full of high school students nods its collective head. How can we bring them to Christ to be radical Christians? 

And a girl on leadership who is taking notes stops. Did he really just say that? She wants a second opinion and glances around to catch some other confused stare. All she sees are nods. But something about that man's statement, the theory and urgency behind those statements, doesn't make sense. At least, she hopes it doesn't make sense. Because if it does, if that room nodded its collective nod of approval for that ideology, then that was the terror. It is the terror bred from terror. And as the room around her gears up for a spiritual war mis-waged, she knows that some will sign up to fight with guns in a war misunderstood. And so instead of nodding with the rest of that room, she bows her head to pray.