morsels & sauces

My birthday was two weeks ago, and, as is expected around one's birthday, a lot is on my mind about this little life of mine.  I am trying to devote attention to slowing down.  I have had starts and fits and successes and setbacks as I think about this concept.  Oddly, the recent head cold has been both conducive to (I have had to spend a lot of time in bed this past week) and counter to (I find that the work piles up when you spend most of your evenings asleep on the couch) this idea of slowness. Further, such slowness often goes against what I think I want to do in the moment, but such slowness seems to be what I discover I really wanted upon those sweet, slow moments of reflection. How to slow down?  How to breathe more?  How to be not attached to an outcome?  Such good questions. The answer?  Ice cream. Okay, that was a little facile.  However, I do mean it (wait for it--I will make the connection). The husband gave me a new cookbook for my birthday.  Thi

P.S. This poem from Poetry Daily by Anne Babson delights me.  It marries bull riding to Greek mythology.  Can it be better? Ariadne Explains Why She's Mixed Up with a Boy like Theseus Some say it weren't nothin' but a ranch hand in A wrestling mask, but I know better. Daddy made Me sweep up its patties, and I'll tell you what: that Weren't no wrestler. He sure was a monster bull.  I ain't told no one this before, it's nasty, but I'd take my knittin' down there some days just to watch It flex and gore the college boys they sent us up From Athens. Any country fool knows college boys   Caint bull ride, but some promoter sent them to die, And it was, well, I caint say what it was and be A lady, but I'll just say this much—I liked it. The sweet peachy-golden on their frat boy arms,   The quiver of their pouty little lips until The horn sounded and the gate broke open, the jeans, Tight jeans, stuffed with muscle and the untou

 It is officially fall.  Somewhere out there, the leaves are turning, the temperatures are dropping, pumpkins are plumping, and it feels like fall.  For me, on the other hand, I have been laid up in bed for two days--and I foresee another two--with a cold I spent all of last week avoiding.  What is it with my once-a-trimester cold?  It's as if my student germs lay in wait and then ambush me after long vacations.  I can almost guarantee I will get a cold just after winter break and another after spring break. However, having a cold means countless hours wrapped in a comforter dragged from the bed.  It means lounging on the couch with a box of Kleenex nestled beside you while you watch Sex and the City, House Hunters International , and Chopped .  It means finally feeling well enough to read, so you read Animal Farm , something you haven't read since seventh grade in Mrs. Foley's Literature class.  It means napping at least three times a