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I always seem to have one foot in the past and one in the present (and a hand in the future.) Blogging, as usual, was out of the question when I was visiting my parents where paying attention takes up so much of my psychic energy that my free time can only be spent walking or reading.

On the flight home I wrote a bit. This came out of my last full day there. Easy to guess what I was doing.

Rise early
much to do.
Chop brusquely
carrots, celery, onions
fall roughly into the pot
rumble with the bones.
The chicken stews,
gentle now we’ll peel
flesh from bone,
toss the grizzled
carcass back,
extract whatever juice might be left.
Condense essential
flavor to the spoon.

Chop again
neater, bite sized
turnips, rutabagas.
Add to the temptation
of simmer.

Then, start, the stew
mushrooms melting
in buttered haze, onions
and finally meat
together to knit.

The morning’s youth
is not done.
The sizzle hits the pan
bacon, pancakes.
The chopping stills
for coffee.

knife takes squash
kale falls beneath
the blade.
Boil chickpeas.
Then, well strained broth
will tame to tender.

Be frenzied, whirlwind.
To take the bits and bobs,
the fractured pieces
to bring together flavors.

I cannot undo the chaos
of the universe or
of the fraying mind.
Yet in the kitchen,
a kind of reordering
may turn soup into balm.
I’m celebrating Judith’s Hat Attack with a new (thrifted) hat and my first day of school (teaching grad students) outfit. The pink blouse I just got from my sister on this trip, the black tunic from my other sister on another trip. Thrifted suede skirt. Boots were new a long time ago!



A different view at the front door.

A different view at the front door.

The adventure of fall has begun.