Misused Words

I misuse words
As those of you who know me
Would no doubt concur
That I sometimes do

Words spill forth
Often uncommon
Or usage not heard of
Before.

It's typically nouns
Closely related
Which makes my language
Sometimes unique and
Rather confusing.

I know what I mean.
Why don't others?

I had a good one this week though,
Which still makes me laugh.

When my husband was
Answering all sorts of questions
About cows or nature or
Something like that,

My reply after pondering was
"I am so glad you have questions
For all of my answers."

And while not what I meant
Perhaps it was true too.

Retrospect

Why is it
That retrospect
Carries so much
Wisdom
Carries so much
Clarity.

Is it real
Or an illusion
That if I had changed it
That it would have come
out my way?

Chicken Soup

For all of the wonderful
Meals I've eaten,
San Francisco, London,
Madrid, New York and Paris

I'm not sure that anything can satisfy
Like the pot of soup
That I've just made
From last night's leftovers
Roasted chicken, freshly made stock,
Carrots, onion, celery, peas and spinach
Plenty of leftover rice pilaf
Sweet basil, thyme, oregano and garlic
And plenty of salt and pepper
Thickened up richly
And heated steaming hot.
To go with it warm cream biscuits
With lots of butter
And perhaps some fruit on the side.

For warmth on a cold day,
Comfort in my home
And to fill a hungry stomach
Homemade chicken soup
Might be my favorite call.

Intentions

I think that many
Believe their intentions
Are an end in themselves.
That if we want to do it
It's as good as if
It were done.
And if our intentions
Were meant to benefit people
That, indeed it will
And even if it doesn't
It lets us off the hook.

Certainly, we want our
Intentions to be good
But it is so much more
Than that

The best explanation
That I have received,was
"It is because we judge
Others on their actions
And ourselves
On our intentions"

It's something that I think about
Perhaps oddly a lot.


Quote is from Gary Friedman, Founder of Center for Understanding Conflict, in a conversation during lunch.

Sweet Somethings in My Ear

On our wedding day,
Eight months ago,
After my father
Walked me down the path,
I came to my betrothed
And he whispered
A sweet something
In my ear.

A friend
Caught the moment
On camera
And each time I look at it
Or think of it
I wonder what the words were
For all I remember is that
They made me smile,
Made me know
That all was right.

They are lost,
But the thought of them
The romance of the day
The love that I have
I do know.

So it is okay,
But still,
I wish I remembered.

Hallelujah

Yesterday, hovering over Hallelujah Junction was a lovely rainbow.  I liked that.

They Say

I made a woman cry once

And I am not proud of it.

I would say I am sorry if I could

But it was long ago and I

Don’t even remember her name.

She sat at our table and made

All sorts of statements.

Big ones, about her beliefs.

And my point,

While perhaps valid,

Was not very smooth.

Why do you believe this?

What do you mean?

And those things that she held

So strong and so hard

She really had no idea

About them.

Perhaps she had heard it once

Or twice, but clearly had never

Thought through it.

And I’m sure that there are

Times when I make a statement

With no backup beyond that

Frightful "they say".

It’s not how I want it, however.

I’d rather talk and hear

Of thoughts and ideas not

Declarations of this or of that.

And when I feel strongly or have

An opinion, I want to know why I

Believe it that way

And listen.

So I’m sorry dear lady

Of my actions that day

And I hope that you will forgive me

But I have learned both of others

And of myself,

A lesson learned a hard way.

Bad Weasel

 We think a weasel

Got to the chickens

And they are gone.

No one heard a rustle.

No one heard a squawk.

I feel bad for the chickens (mostly)

And for Steve (a lot)

And for us (a little).

We may start a joint venture

With six little chicks

This spring.

We’ll see.

Perfect Day Pancakes

I have thought about my perfect days and have come to the conclusion that they most often start with pancakes.  I really never was someone who ate these soft little discs too often, but when we went camping for the first time, I became addicted.  The first word out of my mouth in the morning – “Pancakes” and then the day could begin.  I think though, although I do like them, as with so much of life, that it is the process that I adore the most.

First, it has to be a somewhat lazy morning.  Pancakes cannot be hurried and that usually means the day is wide open for possibilities, rather than scheduled and worked, a treat indeed.

Next, it is something that Tom and I do together.  We start off with Tom making a latte for both of us and a mutual decision, which happens most weekends that this, indeed, is a pancake sort of day.

I start the batter.  It’s a special day when we go for blueberry lemon, sugared pecan or mini-chocolate chip.  Mostly we like plain pancakes.  I have probably tried ten recipes and have come strongly to the conclusion that the recipe from Bette’s Diner in Berkeley is the best.  Tom starts bacon or sausage, making a pot of coffee, gets maple syrup and butter out and sets the table.  

Two years ago my parents got Tom a griddle and it never left my house.  I think that was the plan, but it was our first “shared” gift and makes me smile.  Pancakes are much more consistent made at the new house with the gas burners and I know now just how to get them golden brown (not an easy task for awhile).  The oven is turned on and the plates as well as the pile of pancakes go in to warm up.

Then the eating begins.  Tom is a stacker of three to four with butter in between.  I like three pancakes spread out on a plate each one buttered separately.  We sit down and enjoy our meal and talk of the day and our life and our thoughts. 

Pancakes take just the right of time for some togetherness in the morning, starting our day with a full stomach and time with each other in a leisurely way.  By the way, we love to share our pancake mornings (and sometimes evenings) with others, too.