“Sleepless in Seattle” would be on my chalkboard at 1:18A.M. on Wednesday, the 14th, and what an enjoyable way to infuse the hour. Thanks, Dr. Heying. I am reminded of a time when I worked with a woman 20 years my senior, and I called her, appropriately, by her surname. We became friends, and she asked me to please call her Stephanie. I recall considering it, and said thank you, but no, I just can’t. It felt wrong in my mouth, awkward.
I love the photo. I wonder how much has changed -and what hasn't- in the time since then.
I was hoping you would find the thief and your stolen things as I continued reading but I suppose that was silly of me. :(
Cloves... what is it for me about cloves? I have a love of cloves. They remind me of Christmas, of course. I even had cloth coasters decorated for the holiday with "Believe" and " Noel" et al and inside were cloves and pine needles and bits of cinnamon logs and after a few years I opened them up and refreshed the contents. And cloves, perhaps strangely but actually no, rightly, remind me of Easter too. My mom -or dad- would prepare the ham and would push the many many cloves into the meat creating a delicious and beautiful looking thing. I was enchanted as a child at this ham masterpiece. Now it's just a ham, but then it seemed exotic.
But it was somewhat recently that I realized what my thing is about cloves. My siblings and their spouses were on a long texting thread sharing our parents' recipes and I realized that my dad's favorites had cloves in them. Cloves smell wonderful, they add a lovely taste to things, and they remind me of my father. :)
He also loved roasting chestnuts and the smell of them always wakes an image of my dad preparing chestnuts. It's one of the smells of Manhattan in the fall and winter that can most affect me when we travel in to the city at that time of year.
I'm sorry for the dogs. I understand and yet it seems to me at times that Life is just wasteful with life. I suppose I can't explain that. Maybe my relationship with death has warped me in some way that can't be conveyed with words. Anyway: I'm sorry for the dogs.
“Sleepless in Seattle” would be on my chalkboard at 1:18A.M. on Wednesday, the 14th, and what an enjoyable way to infuse the hour. Thanks, Dr. Heying. I am reminded of a time when I worked with a woman 20 years my senior, and I called her, appropriately, by her surname. We became friends, and she asked me to please call her Stephanie. I recall considering it, and said thank you, but no, I just can’t. It felt wrong in my mouth, awkward.
I love the photo. I wonder how much has changed -and what hasn't- in the time since then.
I was hoping you would find the thief and your stolen things as I continued reading but I suppose that was silly of me. :(
Cloves... what is it for me about cloves? I have a love of cloves. They remind me of Christmas, of course. I even had cloth coasters decorated for the holiday with "Believe" and " Noel" et al and inside were cloves and pine needles and bits of cinnamon logs and after a few years I opened them up and refreshed the contents. And cloves, perhaps strangely but actually no, rightly, remind me of Easter too. My mom -or dad- would prepare the ham and would push the many many cloves into the meat creating a delicious and beautiful looking thing. I was enchanted as a child at this ham masterpiece. Now it's just a ham, but then it seemed exotic.
But it was somewhat recently that I realized what my thing is about cloves. My siblings and their spouses were on a long texting thread sharing our parents' recipes and I realized that my dad's favorites had cloves in them. Cloves smell wonderful, they add a lovely taste to things, and they remind me of my father. :)
He also loved roasting chestnuts and the smell of them always wakes an image of my dad preparing chestnuts. It's one of the smells of Manhattan in the fall and winter that can most affect me when we travel in to the city at that time of year.
I'm sorry for the dogs. I understand and yet it seems to me at times that Life is just wasteful with life. I suppose I can't explain that. Maybe my relationship with death has warped me in some way that can't be conveyed with words. Anyway: I'm sorry for the dogs.
Thank you again for a most enjoyable read.