Food for Thought

 

 

The books on my shelf

are not always true,

Some of them borrowed

some over due –

 

Like the food in my fridge

some of its old,

Some has gone fuzzy

all of its cold –

 

The clothes in my closet

hang wrinkled and pressed,

Some keep me warm

all keep me dressed –

 

The words on this page

like things that I’ve said,

All came from thoughts

that exist in my head –

 

Some of them wrinkled

fuzzy and old,

Some may be true

most stay untold -

 

The difference of course

and there isn’t a doubt,

When I close my eyes

the light don't go out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Not a Morning Person

     They sat at the breakfast table.  He crunched the loud cereal; the same cereal he always ate from that annoyingly cheerful box while she clutched with both hands her warm coffee mug.  It was almost too warm to grasp but she felt if she didn’t hold on tight she would fall away like someone in the movies - just falling and falling forever.

 

     Her eyes were closed as she tried desperately to focus on the distant train whistle instead of the crunch, crunch, crunch that seemed to be getting louder almost echoing in her head, as if the crunch had become the train and she was helplessly in front of it about to be flattened. 

 

     A large part of her wanted to let go – wanted to fall far away but instead she slowly brought the cup up to her lips and as she gently blew across its steam she opened her eyes and stared at him.

     He could sense her stare and stopped eating long enough to look up from his bowl.  He flicked his tail and began to purr.  She smiled, though only slightly, and took a sip.

     Maybe the day would get better.


 

 

 

 

Уродливые грибы

 

 

One ugly mushroom

 

 



Downtown

 

     The sidewalk is thick with overcoats attempting to make their way through the city.  Mine has made this trip long enough to collect and forever hold the smells of hotdog vendors, oriental spices and despair.  I have a face that goes unnoticed and is quickly forgotten by those who bother to focus.  It is an existence that I’ve learned to accept and it comes with the comfort in knowing that I am only followed by the memory of where I’ve just been and my own footprints.

 

     The brim of my hat blocks out the tallness of the buildings as well as signals the height of my ambition.  I look no farther ahead than the next obstacle - quickly calculating the path of least resistance.  I’ve become quite skilled at sidewalk travel – though I’d hardly recommend it.

   It is the tourist that will trip you up.  The squeak of a postcard rack and their ears perk up, they'll stop abruptly or suddenly turn.

 

     Nobody can prepare for something like that.

 

Trailer Park Recipe

     I see the trailer park as a kind of mixing bowl into which everything in the kitchen has been tossed.

    There are quite a few marshmallows, some hard boiled eggs and of course an assortment of nuts.  It is the blending of these things at various temperatures that result in occasional screams, the breaking of glass and once in a great while a gun shot - like an oven door slamming shut - causing various elements to quickly fall. 

     I write this not from first hand experience but from a lifetime of seeing Hollywood portray them as undesirable.  They occupy a place in life which is always the farthest point possible from glamorous, causing even the dogs assigned there to yap instead of bark.

     Had I Hemmingway’s pen I’d be hard- pressed not to place a scruffy motorcycle in front of 1165 Dusty Trails, or a smattering of old newspapers around the mail box just down the street, all containing dismal headlines.  Perhaps it is only my mental image of trailer parks that remains unkempt. 

     I may have to start flossing between thoughts just to scrape away the build-up of preconceived notions.

 

     I'll start by trying to picture them in color.

 

 

 

Finding Middle C

 

My sheet music has no notes

well – it does,

I just can’t read them.

 
 

 

I don’t like ice cream

actually – I do,

it just hurts my teeth.

 

Not all of my writing

leaves footprints –

especially the light verse

 

 

It isn’t that I know

what’s going to happen next –

but trust me,

tomorrow I’m wearing a hat.

 

 

 

Once translated into your language

you'll understand the reason for the hat.

It will keep you from scratching your head over things like this.

 

 

Badda Bing

 

 

The Art of Great Spaghetti Sauce

 

 

Stuff you’re going to need;

 

A couple of jumbo onions

Lots of fresh handpicked mushrooms

Maybe another onion

Some Fennel Seeds – Eleven (smashed)

Extra Virgin Olive Oil

Five pounds of ground sirloin

1 ½ pounds of sweet Italian sausage

More Oregano than you think you’re going to need

Fresh Basil (Again – don’t be stingy)

Fresh Parsley

Six large cans of Dei Fratelli tomato sauce

Four small cans of Contadina tomato paste

Butter

Sugar – maybe ½ cup or more

Salt and Onion salt

A nice bottle of vino

 

OK, I know what you’re thinking. “Where’s the garlic.”  I don’t use garlic.  Yes, I know… and it’s one of the things that kept me from becoming Italian.  I applied - I filled out the forms and paid the fee but failed miserably when it came to putting garlic in my spaghetti sauce.

 

Hardware:

 

A 6 gallon pot

2 large frying pans

A good size cutting board

A real sharp kitchen knife

A glass

Motar & pestle to mash the fennel seeds.

 

Now you’re ready.

 

First thing – clean the kitchen.  Before you start anything – everything should be spotless; and put some Italian music on.

 

 

Pour some of the vino into the glass and have some.

 

Now – open all the cans and gently pour them into the big pot.  Put in some sugar – stir and turn the flame on very low.  (Special note:  If you got electric – forgetabouteit.  You need to be cooking with gas)

 

Hey! Save one of the large empty cans.  You’re going to need it later.

 

On the cutting board chop up the Oregano and Parsley.  Add it to the sauce and stir it in.  Add in a little olive oil and stir that in as well.

 

In one of the large frying pans cook up the sirloin.  Never use a wooden spoon to stir meat. Salt it a little while it’s cooking. When done, drain the grease into the large empty can you set aside earlier.

 

Add the meat to the sauce and stir it in.

 

Then cook the Italian sausage.  Drain it and add the meat to the sauce.  YES! Stir it again.  What? I have to tell you each time?

 

This would be a good time to pour yourself some more wine.

 

Tear off some tin foil and make a lid over the can of grease.  Stretch a rubber band around the foil lid to hold it in place and then set it out in the trash.  You’re done with that.

 

Clean off the cutting board and kitchen knife.  Then chop up the onions and start them cooking in olive oil.

 

While the onions are cooking chop the mushrooms.  Put them is a separate pan from the onions.  Cook them in some butter and add a splash of  red wine after they have been cooking for a bit.

 

Pay attention.  Don’t burn the onions. Keep them stirred.

 

When the mushrooms and onions are done stir them into the sauce.  Add some onion salt and a little more sugar.

 

Put a lid on the pot, leave it on simmer and have a little more wine.  Before you start to clean up the kitchen go turn up the music.  Al Martino or Deano – you pick.

 

Every now and then, while you’re washing up the place go over and stir – give it a taste.  What’s it need?  Add it.

 

When it’s done; 3 ½ maybe 4 hours, shut off the flame and go into the other room and watch Moonstruck or My Big Fat Italian Wedding or something.

 

After the movie put the whole pot into the fridge.  It will fit – you just have to juggle stuff around.

 

 

The next day:

 

Heat up the sauce.  Put a large pot of water on for the noodles.  Twice the water you think you will need.  Get it boiling.  Add in some olive oil - it keeps the noodles from sticking together.

 

Invite the neighbors over.  You’ve got lots of spaghetti.

 

 

Sprinkle some Parmesan.

 

Light the candles.

 

Pour some wine.

 

 

 

Squisito