The niece, Edie, brushing her emo-esque bangs from her eyes. She doesn’t appreciate the help of a good barrette just yet. ♦
You may remember my niece, Edie! She kept me company all day today.
A story from weeks back… She doesn’t always watch BabyTV, but when she does, she starts off with great joy. Flipped on the channel and a smile lit across her face like flame to an octogenarian’s birthday cake. Then, a commercial dared come on. She flung herself backwards onto a pillow and plopped the bink in her mouth, where I found these eyes with the mostest looking up at me. Thanks, SlimFast commercial! ♦
The well stocked pepper bin at the grocery store burnt my eyes!* Had to cool them off with a little mint brownie pie, a St. Patrick’s Day promo on its way out with the end of March. ♦
* must stop eating things with eyes
Hot diggity. A shot at nearly every angle of a recentish decadent sandwich. My eyes are often hungry, too! As shared in times past, I do love this particular combo, though more often than not, nestled betwixt two halves of a bagel. Even so, it’s a rare indulgence, averaging no more than once a year as of late.
I once helped supervise a bagel shop years and years ago as a second job, and when asked of my favorite bagel concoction in the interview to secure said job, I waxed on about the joys of crisp bacon paired with crunchy peanut butter atop a toasty buttered cinnamon-raisin bagel. They went on to hire me anyway, despite my unorthodox choice, though when first meeting the rabbi who made weekly visits to check that everything met kosher standards, I had egg on more than just my morning bagel. ♦
• • • • • • •
Though life never includes the word “drunk” in relation to me and alcohol, drunk on existence, on another person, on the future to be? Oh my, yes!
Most often, when writing, it’s late night/early morning, I’m half out of my mind, built up in a frenzy- overthought and overwrought- in trying to bring some assemblance to the abundance of thought and feeling plaguing my mind and filling my heart. A rambling mess then tumbles out on to the paper before me, giving me a little peace and a much needed release in purging it all from my soul.
Come morning, I look back to what I’ve written, have recorded tangibly, and am a bit sheepish, almost embarrassed, that I’ve created such nonsense.
I then edit.
Hopefully, to bring it all a little dignity.
Make it presentable to post for the public.
All the while, knowing full well that had I not written “drunk”, I’d not have done my experience, my world, justice.
Wow. New eyes. How I do love them!
Seeing something ring true in another for the first time.
And acting on it.
The Corn Poppy by Kees Van Dongen