French Dip Sandwich ~ Clandestine Family Traditions

If you are not reading Sister Madly’s stories, you are truly missing out. Please visit the original post to like and comment!

The Sixpence at Her Feet

It was during Sister Madly’s Utopian Days that Midori- a recent transplant from Japan*- explained how, just before moving to the States, her Grandmother sat her down and lovingly outlined the ritual for something she called ‘jagaimo.’

* A culture of wise and beautiful people who recognize that life is much too short to be eating bread crust on a daily basis.
Also, they have pet otters.

Now Sister Madly hadn’t heard of this ‘jagaimo,’ but if she were to speculate, it is the custom of cutting the crust off all things sandwich- seriously, the Western World needs to adopt this tradition immediately. Many a school luncheon was ruined by her Mother neglecting to remove the crusts from her peanut butter and banana sandwiches. But fret not: having since learned how to properly handle a knife, Sister Madly is now able to remove the crusts on her own like…

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Mr Knowles and Maria Lanyard

I read this twice, and hope you will visit Laurie’s blog and read it twice as well, and comment

lauriekeim

DSC01324Mr Knowles and Maria Lanyard

1.

Mr Knowles, Head of Policy and Division,

Can’t understand, why people refuse

To follow the format, in a document, to the end.

He watches Maria Lanyard leave the room.

He wishes every employee saw the real.

He doesn’t see Maria Lanyard, just the flesh.

Maria, if you looked carefully,

As she approaches the lift, is more than

One Maria, prismatic Marias ghost the room.

Eating her toasted sandwich in the park,

She wonders whether tired seagulls

Sleep on the wing, or cradle, nearby waves.

Maria is aware her name, Lanyard,

French for noose, a nautical origin,

Sailors used to tie knives and whistles

Round the neck. Maria can’t control

Her mind, the way a document suggests,

She sees more meaning in a typo; resists.

2.

From her bench among the seagulls, Maria

Sees a young man dressed in jeans;

He waits at the traffic…

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The Seaweed Lorry

Must read.
Please visit Paul’s blog for more, and to comment.

From Bath to Cork with baby Grace

The seaweed lorry

How long have I driven a seaweed lorry to Roundstone
past fuchsia and montbretia?
How long has the wife practised acupuncture,
the daughter dried dulse?
You’d wonder as you pitchfork the algae,
watch strips slip off, litter the lane.

They can take their time,
wait their turn to pass,
I have many more journeys in me,
many more days leading hearse and caravan.
They can all take their turn,
why should they pass?

I’ve driven this way too long now to be forced off it,
seen their urgent béasa,
refused to be edged off my bóthar.
There were houses full
– not enough rooms for the children –
before there weren’t children for the rooms.

I’ve seen them all off,
I’ve still gone back for more seaweed.

_________________________

Image by Jonathan Wilkins

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