The Saga Continues into Fall

Since last post I have been studying. I aced summer school yippee!) and cannonballed into fall semester with five classes. It took about three weeks (and a 66 on an ethics quiz) to determine that five classes and full-time employment are like olive oil and water, they just don't mix. I dropped my linguistics class and all is well again.

Next semester I will take the linguistics class, literature, an introduction to fiction writing advanced poetry writing with Dorianne Laux. Since August I've been fortunate enough to study with Dorianne. if you don't know her, I would suggest a Google search. What I have learned from Dorianne is that you can throw a brick and hit a poet (seems everyone is looking to connect with their inner self), to write fearlessly, you can use the "f" word and get away with it, that writers simply must write and rewrite. I've learned that the poetry of Matthew Dickman rocks and that it is within my reach.

Adult Education 101

I managed to get through summer school with flying colors. I took two poetry classes. One was poetry as literature and the other was a beginning poetry writing workshop. Both classes were taught by Christopher Salerno. I pretty much enjoy all types of poetry but I spent a good part of my summer studying the romantics and came to the understanding that I need to be reading more modern poets. My favorite new poet is Matthew Dickman and his first book "All American Poem" arrived yesterday from Barnes & Noble.

This summer I also took a Shakespeare class during the second summer session. We studied seven of the tragedies and comedies in five weeks. You should be impressed as Hamlet has four thousand lines. I thought I might go insane by the end of it all. Tomorrow my family and I are going to see my Shakespeare instructor in "The Merchant of Venice."

Morning

Five more minutes,
chapter 10,
lost without my syllabus.
Pushing forward, reading back,
four weeks until
Shakespeare class.
I'm looking in nooks,
cubbies and dog-eared books for poems.
Brush, brush, brush-
the hair looks good painted
brown sugar.
My Secret,violets and sweet peas;
a dab of Eternitybetween the breasts.
I roll down the band,
sliding into his khaki shorts.
Five more minutes
before racing towards
the next big thing.

Honestly

I am a very bad blogger. This has been an interesting year for me to say the least. I have taken a leave from catering since Christmas after having a knee injury in January. Thankfully, I am on the mend and in good spirits.

Hubby and I are eternally renovating the house and I still have a few overdue library books. Not much has changed except that I'm a little older. I almost forgot to mention that I have returned to school to finish my creative writing degree. I'm enrolled in two poetry classes right now and will begin a survey of Shakespeare in two weeks followed by five classes in the fall. Busy life, busy me.

BABBO

I know I promised to limit myself to a maximum of five library books. But today I found myself standing in the library (again) with about ten books to donate (after the ten or so I donated yesterday.) I am proud to announce that my MIA poetry books "Late Wife" and "Southern Selves" resurfaced after a good search and after a bit of my Irish luck drew them out of their excellent hiding places. Now don't get me wrong, I love the public library and my husband and debit card breathe a sigh of relief every time I forgo my pilgrimage to Barnes & Noble or Borders.

Today, I found books on appetizers, a collection of recipes for the modern "cook", a lovely book on the recipes of Monet (I can't wait to dive head first into that one) and a book on Italian cookery called BABBO by executive chef Mario Batali owner of a restaurant that shares the same name. You may recall Mario from the Food Network and his show "Molto Mario."

Interestingly enough, along with exquisite food photography, Mario fills the book with recipes on antipasti, pasta (I adore the name Pumpkin lune with butter and sage, for full moon shaped pasta), Mare (from the sea), as well as recipes for duck, veal, pork and venison. Mario caps these with delicious recipes for cake, compote, ice cream, fruit, and finishes with the cookie platter served with affogato- a tiny cup of chilled espresso with a scoop of gelato and whipped cream.

I imagine osso bucco with toasted pine nut gremolata or a perfectly grilled guinea hen with pomegranate vinaigrette followed by a dessert of olive oil and rosemary cake. But tonight I cater bacon wrapped scallops, thai steak skewers, mixed field greens with hearts of palm, lemon chicken and orzo. I will cook nothing especially Italian and my customer will provide her own dessert. It would be lovely to plate a cool meyer lemon semifreddo with huckleberry sauce but tonight I will do as I must. As I work beside my excellent staff, I will dream of home and a hot cup of camomile tea while sitting on my vintage black and brown sofa with my feet propped up studying Monet.

Firefly's Fist Fight

My name is Mary Margaret McGee but my daddy calls me Firefly partly because of my unruly red curly hair but mostly because Mary Margaret McGee is a true tongue twister and too tough for my daddy to get out when I am in trouble (which is most of the time.)

My parents own a little cafe in Sister's Oregon on the corner of 3rd and Main called the Cooking Connection. Daddy makes the savories and Momma bakes cakes. I'm learning to do both along with my eleven year old brother Jimmy.

Tuesday before last our chalkboard sign read "Special, Monte Cristo sandwich, fries and tea $6.95" A bargain it seems as the cafe was packed with people and the phone kept ringing. "Cooking Connection, Mary Margaret speaking..." "Yes, sorry but we don't take reservations and lunch is almost over..." "Sure, two Monte Cristo specials to go."

Just then my nemesis Ricky Polley and his gang walked in. Impatiently, he said "Hey, Mary Margaret, what about me? I'm tired of waiting and we want a seat." "It'll be a few minutes" I said. Ricky shook his head and turned to walk out the door but stopped short and said "No way, we're not gonna wait for a seat in this run down cafe." Getting madder by the minute, I followed him outside. Doubling my stride, I caught up with Ricky and his gang and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned with a sharp reply "What do you want?" I answered him alright with my good aim. I drew back and hit him center in his left eye and said "You should have ordered dessert. My momma makes a wicked chocolate fudge pie."

Changes

“There are no mistakes” my Lorilynn states. “Take your journal and write or doodle.” I can’t draw but my new friend Martha can and I am learning to write but my grammar stinks. I’m learning to be married (again) and I’m learning to compromise and how to breathe when he does something not so right. I’m learning to be a mom to the most incredible sixteen year old but I am in a continual struggle with his independence and the need to nurture the brown haired boy holding a colored ball outside his Aunt Kristie’s house on Thanksgiving day. I’m learning that my parents are getting old and how I’m scared as hell to let go. I’m learning that friendship is more than a word and how mine can be misinterpreted. I’m learning that saying goodbye can hurt and how memories center in my heart which aches. I’m learning to garden and to knit. I’m learning to limit checked out library books to five and that it is OK to remember my sister when I look into her son’s blue eyes.