It’s getting colder now…frosty mornings! So that calls for soup. Yesterday I roasted (until they were well-charred of course) one butternut squash, one yellow pepper, one red pepper, one half of a yellow onion. Lots of olive oil S&P.
Then added one small granny smith apple and a carton of vegetable broth.
When all were softer, I immersion blended them into oblivion and called it soup. Of course seasonings had to be added. And I must say that as we age, seasoning is an issue. We know it needs something…just not sure what, so tend to put bits of whatever in the mix. This turned out okay. But after the following picture was taken, I added some half and half to make it look less harsh. I have to say here that when we get older we can be more concerned about the look of something being “harsh” than the flavor.
Anyway this soup is enough for six meals…four more to go!
I also took time to get back to the concertina book. Here is what I have so far for the next illustration. A young girl is watching her father step off the top of a tree and onto the moon. Did anyone ever try that? It seems like a dumb idea. But when fitting drawings into an already somewhat printed page, anything should be possible. This afternoon I am going to finish the drawings for the page and begin to write the accompanying poem.
The moon here looks like he had no small part in encouraging the old fellow to just step on over. I like how the texture of the paper decides on its own where and when to grab onto the graphite. It is a lovely built-in excuse for poor drawing skills. The Mont Marte tin of graphite pencils was bought at a News Agency store in Australia. I love the crocodile on the lid. And every time I use them, I am transported back there. Such an easy way to travel when you are older.
Did I tell you that a couple of weeks ago I was telling a friend over lunch that there are days that you are not sure you should be buying toothpaste in big tubes any longer. She told me she went home that day and checked to see how much paste was left in her tube so she could start making those difficult decisions. Personally I ended up succumbing to the old habit of going for what was on sale later that week when my usual brand was priced two for one in the large size.
I went off to the Shut Up and Write session at the library in a small town not twenty minutes away. Again this week, I was the only one there. For one hour I just write what comes to mind. Here is one of the two poems I wrote. I read it to the poetry group two days later. One of the copies handed out for critique came back to me saying that I was perhaps offending those poets who write about Nature. So I will add that poem here.
What to Write S. Webster
I don’t want to write about an old memory.
I don’t want to tell someone else’s story.
I don’t want to write about Nature.
Hasn’t that already been done by
Mary Oliver, Wendell Berry, almost everyone!
I don’t want to write about God.
We don’t know each other that well.
So what does that leave?
Oh yes!
The old man seated across from me this morning,
with white hair neatly parted just off center.
Both hands gripping a plastic mug of coffee.
A smile softening his face as he remembers
a joke he forgot to tell me.
If I could remember it, I’d write it here.
Then the laughs we had could be passed on.
But his joke was gone by the time I said,
“See you tomorrow.”
It was a great way to start the morning,
listening to the words that follow,
“Did I tell you this one.”
Can you imagine as a writer having to be concerned about whether your words are going to offend someone? So I will remind them again how Carl Sandburg defined poetry. “Poetry is the opening and closing of a door, leaving those who look through to guess about what is seen during a moment.” Simple.
Can’t think about anything else…those tinned pencils are calling and maybe another owl is in the air….
Til later…