Monday Random: cleaning out the refrigerator

  • Buying healthy for two instead of four is challenging. I hate throwing food away, and did, often in the first months. But now I’m savvy
  • It’s less hot and low humidity today so that means it’s time to make Italian red gravy and chicken vegetable soup for the month
  • It was really scary opening the veg drawers in the fridge, and I did throw out half a cabbage and some potatoes that were beyond thought of food
  • Celery–not too many stalks went in the bin, the rest chopped fine. Some for the soup, a little for the red sauce, the rest in the freezer in a container I keep for lean days and busy days
  • Carrots–same as above–when I learned recently to make Bolognese sauce and put diced carrot in it–which I forgot to hide from hubby–I was astounded. Delicious addition my mother would not have approved of. It helped also with the acidity so I didn’t have to add sugar
  • Green pepper–pepper and egg sandwiches for breakfast and the rest in the freezer for when I make chicken cacciatore
  • So far–on one cup of coffee– the sauce is bubbling with meatballs in it, and the sink is full of sudsy water to wash dishes as I go.
  • It should be noted here that when we were first married, my husband said, ‘if you just cook like this all the time, I will the dishes’
  • Let’s not re-open that wound and put lemon juice in it
  • Seriously, I should not be able to count on two hands how many times he did dishes in 27 years. That should be at least 27 Mother’s Days
  • Okay, okay, we’ll skip to something positive, haha
  • I wanted to show you this rose:

hope rose

  • I don’t know what type it is, but it was supposed to be a large yellow bloom. We planted the bush in remembrance of my mother-in-law and the other deep pink one for my own mother, may they rest in peace.
  • If anyone knows what variety this is, do tell. Now that we have it, we love it. So delicate
  • You may recall my neighbor mowed over these struggling bushes when the landlord let the grass get too high. One, this one, had a few mangled leaves left and the other was completely gone. Just a broken twig was all I saw left in the dirt
  • My mother’s now has fresh growth on it and this one, well as you see, there is still life in the old girl
  • The metaphor did not escape me for something that felt dead and was mangled and beat up, like my life was for awhile, and finding that there is still a spark inside
  • If it weren’t for God I wouldn’t be making it. I was barely breathing. So grateful–

I can’t help but feel much hope that I have yet another Monday to work and grow and write and share.  I bid you a good day and wish for you a great, productive, creative week–

–Rose

are we allegory
are we poem
are we become
the monster we despised
when we were kids
under the bed
dogging us
saying, ‘hey man–
when you gonna’

my brother says
I over-analyze
the situation
that people are simpler
than all that
blood and ache
and resistance
but I say the birds
still sing to one another

we are merely
listening in

A matter of life and death

She said that ever since
he had been gone
she felt like
a half pair of scissors
since they took him away
and put him in the ground

For two months she was
scared he could not breathe
knowing not to say this
to anyone, because
it sounded crazy even to her

Six months out she learned
how to mow the lawn, and hired
a man to dig up the garden
where neither of them
planted anything

In the winter he cleared the snow
and salted the stoop and the walk
up to the door of her car, then
they would have coffee together

By the second spring
she watched him
spreading grass seed
and noticed the way his hair lay
against the nape of his neck

That autumn
they planted tulips together

graduation speech




there was something they never told us
the way things feel in the night when it rains
and every kind of emotion drawn out
by school and girl scouts and travelogues-
don’t be afraid, you will get through it
but no one promises you won’t be scarred
each mark you are proud of today, tomorrow
you will sue the city for, bound and determined
to be something other than them, someone else
that does not fail to be all that you can be
the cliché of the moment, and in forty years,that
all-encompassing deliberation of 12 angry men
to decide your guilt knowing
you probably are not innocent, not
really, but no one will ever ever know about
that time in the fitting room so as far as the
neighbors are concerned, you could be Eleanor
Roosevelt, after all, you did pay for that
annual firemans calendar and you didn’t come by
that burn mark on your thigh playing pinochle

you do the math

dancing tall in my living room
to George and Elton
(does it really happen
if no-one sees it
like that tree in the forest)
he says sometimes I never go out
(could tell him stories about 1985
when I lived ten years in 12 months)
and I dance and dance

my head full of 1990
(wonderwall,hammer,hit me baby)
one more time-let’s dance as one
I’ll lead this time, you follow
if you still have that notion
that 1+1=1
and 2+1=no end of joy

perhaps we find
a new kind of happy-
ness, wrapped in understanding
and lessons learned
(old flames, new rites of passage)
let’s not forget, and dance to now
(rhianna, poison, blended with
the Beatles, Eagles, and 21 pilots
shaken and stirred)

once I thought it was most crucial
to fly without a net
but I believe
the trick
is
to not let go

***
***

A playlist just for kicks- must say it’s hard to find original Beatles music online, just covers. Also- it feels strange to be this close to 64, oh so much closer than when we first sang it to one another, it felt so far off.

My list is my own list

 

 

My body is revolting. It is telling me things about the life I have lived and the myriad of ways I have abused it. I am 54. I could easily live 30 more years or more based on my health as I saw it 30 years ago. But now, I get warning signs. I lose friends. Friends younger than I are dying suddenly. I am surrounded by cancer.

Why have I written all these very not-cheerful words? Because we all have a time when we face ourselves. For some it is at 40. For others, 70. For me it was 50, but I ignored it until this past year. I became overly sentimental and mawkish about the smallest details. Everything meant something. A cough, a twinge, a sudden chill.

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Caught

The screen door is open and I walk in. Jeremy likes it open so I don’t nag anymore. I smell spaghetti. He cooked? I hear his voice and call out to him. He walks out of the den as if he has not heard me, his hand resting at the small of the back of a blonde who looks familiar. Is she Jack’s teacher? I duck around the corner. I want to catch him in the act. I am furious when I see my favourite red pumps dangling from her fingers, as they walk through the kitchen and out the door. He closes and locks it and I run out the side way to watch from around the garage. They take off in -presumably-<em> her</em> burgundy BMW and I grab my bike and hop on, hurrying to keep abreast of where they are headed. They don’t go far, turning off the side entrance of the old arboretum where we used to walk. I am crushed. Why would Jeremy cheat on me?

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Ticking

 

Every day I open another door
watching an old one close
turning my head for that moment
hearing the click of the lock
my soul in chains and it is He
who unlocks them-one by one
reminding me I am here
for a greater purpose
everyone hurting – everyone needing
and I have something still to give away

Getting to know my own heart
hiding it even from myself
I get surprised – appalled – scared-
by what oozes out of this organ
the hate and bitterness
the color of death
leaving me now
and I do not look away
at the horror of the decay to my heart
once pulsing and new

So many doors – I get
so easily twisted ’round –
a face from the past
darkening a threshold
confounding me –
what do I really want-
which to choose
and which to board up-
pain when the cells reweave themselves
new life where once was merely debris

It is safe to come out now
as the thunder is less
and the ticking is behind me –
the further I travel down this path
the more I have to learn yet
and I find myself astonished
as I become reacquainted with myself-
loins girded – helmet fastened tight
that others should know me better now
yet you know me less

The fog came across
the hamburger joints and parking lots
and covered our path-
Kicking at clouds
we talked about what we wanted
in 1989. As we walked I said
how I feel no confidence
some days, and he said
‘time will give you confidence,’
But what if my time is short