“Oh, sweetie! You should have seen the darling little eight year old girl who wanted to dance with me at the meeting. She had long curly blond hair, and a big beautiful smile. I know her parents. She came up to me, jumped in my lap and asked me to dance with her. She was a really good dancer, too.” Mark could hardly contain himself when telling Jenny of the story of the little girl who fell in love with him.
He quickly switched gears and said, “Jenny, honey, we’re getting ready to go. Shouldn’t you find socks that match? Let’s go look in your dresser drawer to see if we can find two socks that match.”
“Daddy, you told me to hurry, so I just grabbed the first two socks I saw. I’m wearing boots, Daddy. No one will see that my socks don’t match.”
“Isn’t that funny that you wear mismatched socks. Did you brush your hair today?”
“Yes, Daddy, I just brushed it.” Continue reading →
My grandma called it goulache (goo-lah-key). She didn’t use paprika like they do in a genuine Hungarian Goulash. My version is more of a whatever’s-in-the-kitchen-pantry variety. It’s a take on spaghetti sauce only the vegies are chunkier and the sauce is wetter. I always make a big batch so as to have some to put in the freezer. It’s great to have extra on hand for ski days or those days when I’m not wanting to go to the store, which happens to be just about every day.
I walk by this chair multiple times a day. I’ve swept the dust bunnies of cat hair away from the rolled paper legs. I’ve straightened the legs after one of us has cut the corner too tight and clipped the edge of the chair on our way to the kitchen. Each time I walk by, I wonder what it might be like to be light enough to sit down on this delicate chair.
“Mom, will you help me make a bunch of paper airplanes? I’m making an Army of Love.” Jenny showed me how to fold the paper, told me the color order and where the gas tank went, and we made 13 paper jets. As we were folding and coloring and giggling and talking of paper cuts, I asked her how she came up with the idea. “I dunno,” she said. “It’s a good idea. I think they should fly over the world dropping candy hearts, like little love bombs.”
I want to smell the rosemary. I want to remove the stopper from the ornate bottle and smell the
I can’t deliver a swift ass-kicking to Mubarak, save all those children and spread a blanket of calm and peace over Egypt.
