appropriate?
Thank you, Jess, for this morning's coffee, books and conversation. I wrote a poem today for the first time in nearly a year! Sad, but true.
Dinner was moussaka, a new recipe. It wasn't as flavorful as my usual, but took 1.5 hours rather than three. I'll adjust it next time. For the side dish I made a nectarine and blueberry salad with ground cardamom and honey-- different and tasty. Someday I will actually set up the foodblog complete with my recipes modded to avoid wheat and dairy. Someday! And at that time I will actually measure ingredients and pay attention to what I am doing... mostly I just throw a pinch of this and a dash of that into the mix and hope for the best. I'm lucky that my boys eat nearly everything in the world-- how many kids eat their brussels sprouts first and then ask for seconds?
Tomorrow the boys' school is celebrating Peace Day with a parade, songs, and some pledges. I'll be going to take photos and am thrilled that their school is making it something big for the kids, especially now. These are strange times, to say the very least.
For Jess, because it seemed appropriate:
Now the time has come to speak
I was not able
And water through a rusted pipe
Could make the sense that I do
Gurgle, mutter
Hiss, stutter
Moan the words like water
Rush and foam and choke
Having waited
This long of a winter
I fear I only
Croak and sigh
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
Now the time has come to move
I was not able
Water through a rusted pipe
Could make the moves that I do
Stagger, stumble
Trip, fumble
I fear I only
Slip and slide
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
--Rusted Pipe, by Suzanne Vega
Why does the creativity ebb and flow like it does? That has never made sense to me. I just want it to always be there. When it hits, it hits hard and I can't find enough time to build/write/create everything it craves. When it's gone, it's like there's not enough air to breathe, much less fill the sails.
My pillow misses me. G'night.
Dinner was moussaka, a new recipe. It wasn't as flavorful as my usual, but took 1.5 hours rather than three. I'll adjust it next time. For the side dish I made a nectarine and blueberry salad with ground cardamom and honey-- different and tasty. Someday I will actually set up the foodblog complete with my recipes modded to avoid wheat and dairy. Someday! And at that time I will actually measure ingredients and pay attention to what I am doing... mostly I just throw a pinch of this and a dash of that into the mix and hope for the best. I'm lucky that my boys eat nearly everything in the world-- how many kids eat their brussels sprouts first and then ask for seconds?
Tomorrow the boys' school is celebrating Peace Day with a parade, songs, and some pledges. I'll be going to take photos and am thrilled that their school is making it something big for the kids, especially now. These are strange times, to say the very least.
For Jess, because it seemed appropriate:
Now the time has come to speak
I was not able
And water through a rusted pipe
Could make the sense that I do
Gurgle, mutter
Hiss, stutter
Moan the words like water
Rush and foam and choke
Having waited
This long of a winter
I fear I only
Croak and sigh
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
Now the time has come to move
I was not able
Water through a rusted pipe
Could make the moves that I do
Stagger, stumble
Trip, fumble
I fear I only
Slip and slide
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
Somewhere deep within
Hear the creak
That lets the tale begin
--Rusted Pipe, by Suzanne Vega
Why does the creativity ebb and flow like it does? That has never made sense to me. I just want it to always be there. When it hits, it hits hard and I can't find enough time to build/write/create everything it craves. When it's gone, it's like there's not enough air to breathe, much less fill the sails.
My pillow misses me. G'night.