You could take the stairs, but carrying a heavy portfolio, I always opted for the elevator. You just waited until it came to you. No buttons to push. If the inner doors were open you could watch the cab through the metal caging as it went by. The best thing was, if you were running…
Category: blogging
Little Andie. Konini street. Dinnerware Obsession
I suffer from this curious malady. It’s an obsession of sorts. I love dishes, plates, table settings, basically anything made to serve food and beverages, or that which goes onto a table to make it beautiful. I don’t know why this is. All I know is that when I got engaged, the chore of choosing…
Mahogany. The Rhode Island Red
She’s a quiet one and a joy to have around, always running to see what I bring to the flock. Her voice is lighter and sweeter as she sings her laying song which consists of a few sweet choruses before she settles down to her nest in the corner.
The Right Chicken Soup
Naively, I believed the chicken soup my mother made was the best in the world, and to me it was. It a was perfect balance of chicken, vegetables, and noodles. It was not a regular occurrence either. Whole fresh chickens were very rare and costly at the time. Usually, we had to butcher our own…
Little Andie. Konini street. Old Ollie
Old Ollie would wander around town, but she always seemed to be going somewhere. She wore a long skirt and a heavy cardigan, always colors of the ground, varied but earthy all the same. She wore a little hat. Not a fancy one or even recognizable as a style, more like a few flattened pancakes…
My Vision for Education
It does not need to be in a classroom:
Independent study can be solitary, but other subjects that need feedback from peers should be in a fluid warm environment, with not too many participants, so all can have their voice.
Apprenticeship will be highly valued, the teacher earning the utmost respect for teaching and guiding those under their care.
“Milkshake” the chicken
Sometimes we rode out on my tricycle, she didn’t mind it. She was getting used to me and would come running to me as soon as she saw me walking towards the coops.
Wheat, poppies, body, and soul.
I am slowing down so I can appreciate the food before me. The food that grows for me outside, and the food brought to me by the labors of many other souls. To feel the enormity of what actually is behind every ingredient I’m working with. The salt flats, the transport, the farmer and fisherman. The people in the factories. The support network for those people. All the centuries of people who learned and taught how to use herbs and spices.
Abraham’s book shop
So engrossed was he in the game, he didn’t acknowledge anyone who walked in. No “welcome to abraham’s” in a robotic stupid voice, however he knew when you were hovering close, to pay for something you found in the tight stacks, which grew from floor to ceiling in the rear of the shop. It was a shop not a store, because it was small, about the size of a double garage in the 1960’s. It smelled of dust, old paper and coffee. The fresh coffee was bitter, but the books absorbed the acrid hard edge of those odours, so now it was a mellow smell, like old cigars and sugar. It was the smell of timelessness.
Grief situations, my way
Today my beautiful dog passed away. She is still laying here next to me as I type. My Husband wanted to cover her, but I couldn’t stand that. I need to talk to her, and see her, and pretend she is only sleeping next to me. I know her soul has fled, I saw it go the moment it happened.
Chicks & Jam 