the lie that is the conformity of the supermarket is unearthed in my garden; the tomatoes here have names: lemon boy, early girl, cherokee purple, green zebra, roma, sun sweet – and shapes, and colors, and tastes – oh, the deliciousness that bursts with my bite as I stand in the dirt
When I got to work yesterday, Chef said he wanted me to work garde manger, which is the salad and dessert station, since I knew the fish station well. Over the next week or two, I will learn the remaining stations – grill, appetizer, and pizza – so I can move and
I'm on my way out the door to work and wanted to take a moment to say I haven't written because I'm adjusting to regular work shifts and trying to carve out writing time between work and the rest of life. I'll
Wednesday night was a good night for me at the restaurant. Three weeks into the job and the learning curve is beginning to flatten a bit: I’ve learned the fish station well and have begun to pick up on the appetizer and garde manger stations. ( Garde manger is the
Christine posted this wonderful picture a couple of days ago with an invitation to respond. Here's where the picture took me. empty chair Peace, Milton P. S. -- There's a new recipe.
On the same Saturday morning, while I was out running errands, I learned of two endings: the Weekly World News is ceasing publication and Annie Dillard is not going to write anymore. For those of you who may not frequent supermarkets, the Weekly World News is the tabloid of tabloids,
Every so often, when I sign my name, the person behind the counter says, “That’s quite a signature,” as though I’ve done nothing but scribble. “No one else can imitate it,” is always my answer, “that’s what makes it my signature.” My morning movements are as much
I'm not in the habit of posting more than once a day, but I can't keep today's poem from The Writer's Almanac to myself. The poet is Eleanor Lerman. She rocks. Starfish This is what life does. It lets you walk up
One of the things I love about the connections created by blooging is the chance to take part in, or at least listen in on, conversations I might otherwise miss. And, once again, it also means there is more to learn. One of the words I read a lot, in
There’s always something new to learn. As many times as I’ve either heard or read the parable of The Good Samaritan and the story of Jesus’ visit with Mary and Martha, I’d never thought about the two being connected until Ginger mentioned it in her sermon last
I've got more thoughts running through my head than I can get organized into anything coherent tonight and so I offer this wonderful poem I found today at The Writer's Almanac. The poet is Lynn Powell. Acceptance Speech primo uomo Peace, Milton
Back in the early nineties, the town of Waxahachie, Texas almost became famous for something other than the fact that my grandmother lives there. It was to have been the home of the Superconducting Super Collider, a fifty-four mile underground oval where super charged protons would be sent around in