dear cookbooks

My favorite cookbook right now is called Good Mood Food, by  Donal Skehan.

He is a lovely lad from a fishing village just outside of Dublin. Google him to see his adorableness.

I love his cookbook because it has what all cookbooks ought to:

PHOTOS!

For ALL his recipes!

Left side of the book is gorgeous photo.

Right side of the book is recipe. With not a butt-load of ingredients.

Apparently this is quite the strange concept, because so many cookbooks I see ARE ALL WORDS.

What the what people?

If I don't see glistening frosting or steaming stew or chilled and dewy glasses of name your favorite mixed drink, I am done, done, done. SO uninterested.

Our eyes enjoy food too. Sheesh.

 And when I get to see the end product of cooking lovely food that is lovingly made and it seems so accessible, then I am there doodles.

Now what's for din?

How about page 201, Mixed Vegetable Parmigiano. I've made this one. Scrumpsh.

He also says things like "bring to the boil" and calls food in cans, "tinned goods." So cute.

Now get with it cookbooks. Show me your stuff.

dear hope

It seems to me that you are the one thing we should strive to hold onto forever. And no wonder, for you are the expectation of a longing that can be fulfilled.

We hold hope in our hearts to keep at bay the bleak existence that may be reality.

For the war torn nations,
For the crops that failed,
Because of the eviction notice,
The grim news from the doctor,
For the elephants and all the animals on earth,
Because of apathetic, greedy business practices that serve no good,
For governments to collectively, everyone of them, come to their senses,
For the politically imprisoned and tortured,
For the health of our planet.

We hold hope in so many ways, probably not realizing her quiet strength within us.

By a kind gesture or polite manners,
A donation to a soup kitchen or an animal shelter or a library or a disaster relief fund,
By being of good cheer,
When riding out a storm of depression because people count on you to be alive,
Recycling your ass off,
Stewardship of our trees and rivers and wildflowers and air and water,
Clotheslines people! Clotheslines. There is much hope here.
Love of everyday life. This includes dishes, laundry and cleaning up the cat vom,
Feeling the breeze and listening to the birds.

These are all hopeful practices.

And just because you can't see and hear the leaves of Hope, so melodic in the wind, doesn't mean that her roots aren't still strong and intact, ever present and ever hopeful.

I love you Hope.

p.s.

Miss Dickinson was, of course, spot on accurate.

dear grey sweatpants,

Hoo boy. I truly can't think of a single nice thing to say about you. I'm so sorry.

For you are an article of clothing that not even Miss Halle Berry could make enticing.

You know what I mean, the ones with elastic on the waistband AND on the ankles.

So wrong.

The only saving grace would be to make you into snuggly homes for kittens.

Lots and lots of kittens.

Dear President Lincoln,

150 years ago today you delivered a most remarkable speech.

It has been largely noted and long remembered.

So much so that there exists a place where we can send a video of ourselves reciting your words.

I think you would enjoy viewing them.

The speech itself is beautifully crafted and artfully woven with the simplest of words.

We are met...

It is altogether fitting and proper...

We take increased devotion...

We here highly resolve...

Shall not perish from the earth...

Thank-you for this most perfect entwining of emotion and purpose and clarity.

dear teeth,

Oh my. I am so thankful for your continued presence. Since I adore food I am ever appreciative of my chompers and I'll tell you why.

When I was a kid I used to eat all manner of candy. Just junked out on it constantly. By comprising a list of as much candy as I can remember, I attempt to horror myself into vigilant dental care.

razzles
bagged cotton candy
reeses
snickers
grape bubble yum
grape now and laters
freshen up gum (green )
sugar daddys
grape sour gum balls (grape is SUCH an awesome flavor!)
those awful wax things that had that toxic liquid in it
pixie stix
sweet tarts
fuckin 2 foot long pixie stix!
krackle
black mints, oh man, would love to find those again
lifesavers
nestle crunch
hershey bars
cracker jacks, but not the peanuts
the occasional pez
eek. fake cigarettes
bubble gum cigars
cool mints
necklace candy
packets. PACKETS! of white sugar.
string licorice
jolly ranchers
watermelon anything
starburst
m&ms
jelly beans
oh god, even peeps. I ate peeps.

I am truly so nauseous right now I feel the need to lay down.

So teeth, I lovingly thank-you.
Any want a jordan almond? Just kid, I hated those.
 

To 2 dogs

dear north maple street,

In my mind I have already told you I won't exceed the speed limits posted. There was a time I, ( like a shitload of other drivers ) have driven too swiftly, particularly on that one corner. The one with the concrete barriers.

I realized then that I was driving too fast. Not 70 in a 30. Just too fast for that corner. So I drove with more awareness.

That is not the reason for my pledge to you dear north maple street. The reason is the bodies of 2 dogs that I have come upon.

The first was a cold dark January morning. I could see a person in the road ahead and slowed as I approached.  It wasn't hard to sense that this was bad and I started to feel the anxiousness and impending tears.

That was when I saw the pieces of the dog in the road. I don't know the circumstances and they don't feel important, but it seemed like perhaps the dog was chasing something when it was struck. Maybe I had to come up with a scenario that implied a very quick end for that dog.

I spoke to the person in the road saying I was so, so, so so sorry and could I stay to offer support but she said she had someone with her so I drove away.

That whole day all I could think about was the dog's owners, the person in the road and the dog. And try not to be consumed by the pain of all involved. It wasn't easy. I think I must have just blessed and sent prayers of comfort and cried.

That has never left me. I don't suppose it ever will.

The other dog was a sweet little white pup that had already been hit as well, but was left on the road. I pulled over and she was dead. When I went to move her to the side of the road, I saw her eye was bulged out and thought about her owners and their upcoming grief.

What bothers me to this day is that I did not try to find her owners. This was another dark morning and I was so upset and sobbing that I was afraid if I found her owners, they would think I had killed her.

I let fear guide my actions. And now shame beleaguers me.

And that is why I made a promise to a street.

dear knock-knock jokes,

Knock knock!

Who's there?

Haint.

Haint who?

Haint you glad I'm not a ghost?

BAHAHAHA.

Funny for so many reasons:

I made it up.

Haints are ghosts.

I love the funny. It's one of my top tier super uber faves about being a human.

Puns and poor taste in humor.

Sign. Me. Up.

dear jack in the box,

I don't get you. I find you creepy and anxiety provoking.

 That horrible little tune and the shuddering anticipation of a clown, a CLOWN! jumping out at the end of that so disturbing song is just nightmare inducing.

Please go away.

d.s.l.

dear shrimp lasagna,

No.

Never.

bird

dear bird that just hit the window,

Of course I knew the sound. That strangely soft and gentle thud.

I ran to the window to see you, ( only stunned I hoped) in the grass, quietly panting. I opened the window and said " it's okay sweetie" about a hundred million times.

I approached you to place you in a box to keep you warm. Your colors astounded me. The grey was too beautiful to be called merely grey. It should be magnificent grey to better communicate the splendor of you little bird. Or ocean grey to convey your beauty and grace. The markings so intricately woven together as if a painter had seen them in a dream.

I held you and spoke to you and bore witness to your death. And it was an horrific honor. And I cried.

I'm so sorry dear bird but I'm thankful to have been present so that you were not alone.

d.r.

dear ramona,

We're trying something new toots.

This will be a quaint spot for me to muse and query and dispense oodles of appreciation for all manner of life's gifts and twists. And just plain old my opinion on a vast variety of subjects. Anything goes here.

So thanks, dear ramona, you're still my alter ego. Quick to justified huffiness, (y'know in my opinion) ready to pounce on the ill-mannered wankers of the world and pointer outer of the wonders and joys and strange-ness of we the humans.

It's all fodder.