Again? (so many Mondays)

Is this Monday again? I wasn’t looking. I wasn’t paying attention. I walked right into it, writing while walking, sulking while my feet were still moving and she was above me, in thin air

I ordered roses for her from the florist. They sent her lilies. How did they know? Were they looking through my window when my face pinched in pain? Did they read my letters and follow my halting steps

I wish this wasn’t a true story. I wish it was a horror that people read, dog-earing the pages to the ghastly parts they want to show their partners later. I wish it was fiction in the purest sense

At what point did I realize that there was hope? What was elusive, dodging me, mocking me, is at arm’s length. That is a good deal closer than in my youth, giving up the dreams for thralldom.

Pleasure is fleeting. But it returns, I know it, somewhere around Thursday of the month, a refreshing gust in the middle of swelter

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

Monday Random: Quotes

  • In the end, only kindness matters. — Jewel
  • I’m so ugly, that’s okay cause so are you — Kurt Cobain
  • A mistake made by many people with great convictions is that they will let nothing stand in the way of their views, not even kindness. — Bryant McGill
  • Poetry destroyed? Genius banished? No! Mediocrity, no: do not let envy prompt you to the thought. No; they not only live, but reign, and redeem: and without their divine influence spread everywhere, you would be in hell–the hell of your own meanness. – Charlotte Brontë
  • All you  need is love. — Lennon/McCartney

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Monday

sunrise June.jpg

Monday could be a drudge
a gray, murky day, where
I play catch-up
the gallons of coffee
reminding me I have work piled to the ceiling
with no time to think of your eyes
or how you touched my hand
once-
Monday could be dull-
or
I could look out at this fresh day
the breeze ruffling my blouse
slipping through the weave
caressing my skin
and I could be reminded of this gift-
that I woke
and stepped out
and saw the moment
that the sun kissed the lake
Monday
could be mine

 

Monday Random: The war on junk food or How I learned to stop worrying and love kale

  • The trick in healing your liver with vegetables seems to be one of two things: Either hide the vegetables under and within other foods you like, or  b. find more veg that you like and embrace those, and leave off the rest.
  • After all it’s not a prison sentence, the idea is to feel good
  • Door b. is best for me because I like almost all veg, but it gets more complicated with Mr. Street. Still, we have found an accord. He has informed me of the following: He doesn’t eat (ever) eggplant or kale, and b. if I am going to hide kale in something, don’t tell him about it
  • Ignorance is bliss?
  • His shirts from last summer fit better. Next day he said, ‘you could probably put more kale in my smoothies’
  • He loves beets, which I can’t even handle a bite of, so we are a perfect match if you go with the opposites attract theory

But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I wanna talk about kale-

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do nightmares chase us into day

sunrise plus seagul

the sky changes
from black to blue
layers of cobalt and cerulean
over flames afar off
my horizon burning off a nightmare
that chased us through the night

running for home
over sooty streets
we were not overcome by the dark
aquamarine dancing with apricot
thoughts of the new day
hopes that the sun will ignite us

for we have become
day sleepers over time
all of our late-80’s hopes
riding on blue and grey clouds
whilst melon and tea rose
slice the sky

Monday random: refrigerator soup

  • I am cleaning out my refrigerator and making soup. I find it cathartic to get a shiny clean fridge at the end and a pot of fresh, comforting soup
  • First I braise a chicken. My mother taught me how to use all of the chicken, no waste. Herbs, salt, pepper, garlic cloves, a carrot and a stalk of celery, plus water to not quite cover.
  • Once it’s in the oven I can get back to the fridge and gather up the aging, flaccid vegetables that won’t get eaten otherwise,  but will look and taste brilliant in the soup
  • I wash and trim them, and it’s kind of how I feel about my life the last few weeks. I’ve been lost in thought and meditation, trying to take thoughts of death in the spring, and clean them up into something more healthy and fresh, that still has life in it.
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Monday is the color of the dishes in my sink

When Monday comes you’ll be doing what you do
what you always do. A productive day
even if you daydream on the way
during drive-through coffee
or heart murmur’d traffic, a world
I left behind, responsible and hectic

Yet, you meet me where I am
in a sink full of dishes that does not end
looking out the window at a world
that is not always a friend
reading books that show me
a thousand worlds

I am not sad – so don’t you feel bad
only keep on covering me
in that sweet veneer
in times like this friendship is dear
when I’m waiting on rain and it just won’t come
brushing my hair with silence instead of a comb

When Monday arrives smelling good in your suit
I’ll be cleaning up from Sunday
and tucking away loot
a dollar in an envelope a fiver in the drawer
under my panties, in my socks
what am I keeping it there for

I’ve got this inclination
call it a whim call it a dream
I’ll check out of here someday
a momentary gleam – of fantasy
and thoughts of luck
and saving every solitary buck

So when I get enough of them
I’ll find contentment
looking like a friend

monday supper

stewing a chicken is not about
individual ingredients-
on tasting the finished product
no one says,
‘oh, that is delicious rosemary’

nor is humble celery spoken of
at dinner table
dipping delectable dinner rolls
into the gravy
though without it
chicken would be the less

carrot and onion marry and dance
but are never seen on the plate-
does the garlic moan
lurking unseen in the essence
of the graceful flavour

even the hen
the crown jewel of the pot
ripped to shreds
its bones boiled dry
every drop of flavour
extracted
for the succulent sauce

and the people sit and partake
of fulfilling food and conversation
storytelling with smiles
as condiment
rich gravy of friendship
over all