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.

Cherry

Funny world,this place called poetry. Your words move and inspire. I may never know the classical music you speak of or the poetry of Browning, Shelley or Keats. But, I know your cherry thoughts and how they lead me to carnival rides and kissing red wax lips. Cherry takes me to Sherry or Sherry Berry from culinary school. Cherry takes me to my cherry red '73 bug and early morning drives. Cherry takes me to angel food cake topped with cream cheese and powdered sugar drizzled with cherry pie filling. Cherry finds my favorite popsicle flavor. Cherry takes me to my sister's hand painted coffee table. Cherry takes me to your poetry and to New Jersey pasta makers. Cherry leads to many places where I dream of open spaces and a long Sunday drive in a beat up bug.

Sunny-Side Up

Now rise and shine, my sleepy head,
Let's have some fun breakfast in bed.
I'll serve you up cafe au Lait,
Infused with smiles to start your day.

Just woken up, your sleepy eyes,
That sparkle bright at my surprise-
You see this dish and lick your lips,
Served right on time with swaying hips.

Perhaps a toast from your French maid,
Who plotted as your dreams were laid?
Melons are ripe this time of year,
And plentiful, how 'bout it dear?

One omelet whipped
made fresh for you,
With ham and cheese,
red peppers too!

One yellow rose adorns your plate,
Tomorrow, Love?...
You have a date!

*Author's Note*
Pondered while catering the US Open