I always fall in love with my neighbors’ dogs. Which is perhaps the similar wrong to coveting a donkey. So here I am mostly unrequited and feeling guilty. Mahina who is incarcerated in the front plot cannot get loose. But ORION in the back lot adjacent, while very old and grey, is magnificent and huge, blasting thru the fence to come. I explain his ardor to his master. That ORION loves MEESHOO. That they are star crossed lovers, but the truth is ORION is in love with me.
in LA LA
I used to turn on
and wait for it
my morning kick
of prozac and coffee
there was something very wrong
with that slit and nobody else but me
We talk about equality. Concede women might not have the musculature of men, but science tell us women are less susceptible to fatigue than men are. Women have superior stamina, muscle stamina they call it. A higher threshold for pain glaringly evident when we grow and conceive pushing out entire screaming humans. Yet TENNIS doesn’t allow women to play the best of five sets in a Grand Slam tournament?
for grass fed beef bones, I recognize those very next up cows grazing in a pasture huddling together under an Acacia tree. A conclave of slave labor they were already in a dug out next in line. Last night I found this spider. A Mediterranean Recluse. I’m wondering about his cousins. But my attention is interrupted and I had to think quick and avoid a black and white kitten laid out in the middle of the road. I decided to drive over straddling around it with my tires. I checked the rearview and it wasn’t ghastly no intestines or squish. I’ve seen disembodied heads turned around, looking alive, eyes fixed down the road. I made a U-ie blocking traffic and took the floor matts from the carwash. I said I’m sorry little guy I thought I might help, regretting a friendship that would never be. I toy with the idea of going back to get him.
The sporting life demands warfare. Especially for the sophomore pure skill will never be enough to sustain the hard grind and practice of winning. The most difficult opponent is a weak one. The wounded or inferior target will present the greatest challenge with a preordained walkover. For that boredom, of court life, the well coached neophyte will find hatred the most bio available fuel for focus and inspiration. Allowance for the agile mind to suspend time and repetition in games where points come in flurries of just seconds of doubt. The monologue controlled with silent oaths and storytelling must be so detailed of tooth ~ to dupe the listener.
I was told at a young age that I would be a leader. President even. A naturally born idea person. Or so I was told. If you read and I read. Even a cursory investigation into astrology and particularly those born under the sign ~ ARIES. Know very well what I’m describing. These assignments we are given are a curiosity ONLY. To the principal’s office. A daughter of divorce. That is what I am? This is why they call it SHRINKERY this over simplification of our schtick. Now that I know how I feel there is nothing except paying for the therapist to fall asleep on me again. Today my deep thoughts are running toward circumnavigating a roof that keeps this house too hot. This pitch has proved problematic. No more heavy eyelids I’m not buying it.
The planet is burning and I’m buying too many olives. One CAN alone of the Sicilian’s could feed a restaurant. I’m learning to cook and I have to start with beginning recipes. My first dish is to be a MIXED OLIVE FIESTA. The complex part will be infusing the oil. Amassing all the seasoning, the twist of lemon, the orange rind, a bay leaf, pepper flakes and the coup de gratis the fennel seeds. Really I’ve heard, it all comes down to flavoring the fat. But, since I won’t be able to eat all of it and John won’t be back until Christmas I’ve hesitated on moving forward. So much waste. I’ve tried to calculate exactly how many olives I’ll have to eat each day but the back ordered olives keep coming from Amazon. Its like cheese you can buy a huge hunk but when it comes to the nitty gritty can you really suck down an entire wheel and if you can’t then what? This trash I make I don’t know how to stop it.
With her annual offerings of holiday ambrosia or kugel you might speculate that my mother was a deft homemaker. Her ethos was positively Betty Crockerian. Frozen or canned the end justified the means. A dollop of preserved apricots topped her famous egg noodles. Del Monte tropical fruit cocktail, the rusted & expired cans first, stirred into Cool Whip and marshmallows. Mother’s cooking was a sensation and compliments encouraged encores. When CeCe’s mother had a blind date I saw this special event as my coming out to cater. Mother had stocked up on OLD FEDCAL liquor and I would use that, make a special aperitif and offer up hors d’oeuvres. Using locally sourced ingredients from my mother’s kitchen like FEDCO spices that she kept decades past their best used by date. Mother didn’t believe in trash or land fills or pampered palates. I might have been testing her philosophy when I concocted these finger foods, very grand using a silver etched antique platter, lace doilies. I piled high on the Ritz. According to CeCe’s mother, I was a worthwhile person. Although she would never choose a treat from my passing tray, she understood my work. We were just that close, if not a second mother, a spiritual mentor. She knew what I had to offer, and what I put into everything, and she was always so proud to host me. Even when CeCe was mad, Bonnie was always standing by laughing and crying.