Rye bread

Picture this: four yakky old gals having dessert and coffee after a movie at the local bakery/restaurant. About 10 PM we start to leave and there by the baked goods stands a handsome fellow in a white chef’s shirt. He offers us a free loaf of the day’s bread, which will otherwise become unusable day-old bread to the business.

I pick a loaf of rye. Others grab the cinnamon raisen and the sourdough. I made the best choice. I stick my nose in the open top of the bread sack and inhale the wonderful aroma of rye. Delightful. Then . . .

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Reconsider

Marianne never expected to reconsider her life. She thought she had her life figured out. When Ted took off with his 20-something secretary, her life as she knew it meant nothing.

The daunting part was that every option was open again. Every choice was possible. But from all that freedom and choice, she felt no sense of direction. She was lost and didn’t know where to go next or even how to think about what to do next.

Her friends . . .

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Talkin’ Trash

My peaceful summer afternoon with a good book was interrupted by the sound of loud male voices out in the street, talkin’ trash.

I peered out to see what was happening. Two teenaged boys were preening along, walkin’ the walk–you know the walk–strutting for the two starry-eyed and giggly girls who followed along behind.

I turned away to return to my reading and heard a scream. . .

Talking with Music

Last night at a touring show of the Monterrey Jazz Festival Terrance Blanchard and the band played two movements from his suite about Katrina. They played “Levee” and “Funeral Dirge.” I didn’t manage to catch every HBO segment of “When the Levee Broke,” where this music was originally performed, but I may rent the whole series just to hear the sound track.

It was the most powerful and moving music I’ve ever heard. I don’t know if I’ve ever read or heard words that spoke as effectively as this combination of drums, piano, bass, and trumpet talked with music. It was . . .

Cereal

Ted looked at Kayla, slouched over her Cheerios, hair disheveled as if she’d tossed and turned all night.  He hadn’t slept either. He bent down and hugged her small 8 year-old shoulders from behind. Just touching her made tears spring to his eyes.

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, “but you’ve got to try to eat your cereal.”

He heard the shower start. “Grandma will be out here soon and we need to be ready to go when the limo comes.” The limo from the funeral home, he didn’t say. He didn’t know how to protect Kayla from . . .

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When I’m sick, I

A cold, the flu, stuff I know will pass.  Yeah. No fun but you know it will go away in a few days. When I’m sick, I lay about and watch TV I don’t like because there isn’t enough energy to do otherwise. I eat chicken soup and wear my pjs all day.

When I’m starting to feel better, I want a greasy hamburger. Probably my body’s way of attempting to correct the imbalance caused by three days of jello and soup. Sometimes . . .

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The Memory of Running

Just read The Memory of Running by Ron McLarty. I enjoyed every word. The protagonist is inarticulate and out of touch with his own feelings, his own body, his own joy. Every word is true to that point of view, a perfection of language that reminds me of the feat of language I so admire about The Color Purple.

The running  is metaphorical–running away from yourself or maybe back to yourself.  The plot involves a fat drunk who rides a bike across the country without actually planning to do it. He’s . . .

I dreamed

I dreamed something pleasant last night. I don’t remember exactly what it was, I just remember waking up with a feeling of well being and happiness coming from my subconsious mind.  Normally I have dark and nightmarish dreams. Normally I wake with my heart pounding and can’t wait to clear my head of my sleeping thoughts. I want more of these illusive good thoughts.

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Remix

Sometimes a remix is a good thing. Think Natalie and Nat King Cole singing together. Sometimes it isn’t so great. Think Billie Holiday made to sound like a tinny computer with a psychedelic background.

I’d like to hear Dianne Reeves and Sarah Vaughan together on a remix, especially since I think a fan of both voices could depend on it to be authentic and not some sort of trendy mix of DJ sounds.

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Cheese and Crackers

Ten year old Judy stood hidden behind the big lilac bush in her front yard. Paula was cruising by on her red bike, and Judy didn’t want to face her. She was such a snot and always said mean things, so Judy worked hard at staying away from her.

Paula stopped and called out, “I see you, Judy.” She sat primly on her bike, waiting.

“Cheese and crackers got all muddy,” Judy muttered. She wasn’t allowed to curse, and this was a close as she could come without actually cursing. She stepped out from behind . . .

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