Four Dogs

Dogs

Here they come, I warn,

Make sure you’re sitting down.

Because Teddy is kind of flaily

And he’ll bark at you while wagging

His Shepherdy tail

But then he’ll turn his head and show off

His Rottweiler  profile

And you’ll think he’s mean

When he’s just shy.

 

Hush, don’t talk!

Piper will have meltdowns

And try to phase through the floor

Or forget how the doors work

And don’t let her kiss your face

(She eats poop)

But if she comes to you

She’ll let you pet her soft, soft fur

And she’ll lean against you

Sharing the warmth of her solid form.

 

Watch your step – Perry’s coming.

Skitterbug, I tease him,

Because he runs all akimbo and askew

On an angle.

He’s a pint-sized powerhouse

The main dog in charge.

(Just ask him.)

If you pick him up you may never move again

Because Chihuahuas control gravity

Everyone knows this.

 

Old man Max comes lumbering out last.

He had to check the others’ crates

In case they had better toys

Than he does.

His hips are creaky

And his blackest bits are salt-and-pepper now

But he chases flies like a puppy

And more than the others

He is Mama’s dog.

My companion, and defender.

 

Okay now, ignore them…

They’re eating their dinner, and then they’ll go Outside.

Wait…

Outside.

Are they being quiet?

This is never good.

Note: inspired by the work and writing style of Naomi Shihab Nye, for Covid’s Metamorphosis prompt 8 which is to emulate a favorite poet’s style.

One Perfect Sentence?

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Write one perfect sentence, they ask, and I think: who determines what perfection is?

The nautilus, with its saltwater-born concentric spirals that echo the golden ratio may be a perfect crustacean… but that doesn’t mean this sentence is perfect.

Personally, I think a perfect sentence would be: Cheesecake has no calories.

But then I’d have to ask myself: does that fact that such a sentence expresses an untruth render it imperfect by default?

One perfect sentence…

Maybe it should have seventeen syllables, all stretched  out in a line like Hemingway wrote for warm-ups. “American sentences,” he called them. But while his work was wonderful, he himself was a horrible person, so maybe that makes him incapable of perfection? Or even of inspiring it?

Rain dancing across the deck sent small creatures scurrying for shelter.

I think that’s more charming than perfect, myself.

Or even cute.

It is a fact that as humanity has colonized other worlds, and formed communities on worlds with existing populations, their favorite food has spread into space with them, to the point that every world with a significant human population has at least one decent Chinese restaurant.

There. That’s perfection. At least to me.

Notes: For day 7 of The Literal Challenge‘s “Covid’s Metamorphosis” project. I’m woefully behind.

Photo by Nick Morrison on Unsplash

Recipe for an Easter Eve

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Most of my Easters have been for just two people. As a child, the other was my mother, and we colored eggs, which I would find hidden around the house the next morning… often one was stuck in a slipper.

(As an adult, my Easters have been spent with my husband. Quiet mornings. Sometimes at church, sometimes worshipping each other, instead.)

Tulips were ever present. Tulips. Irises. Calla Lilies. All standing on their green stalks and bowing their heads as if the turning of the years, the arrival of spring, the hope of new growth and better days is instilling them with reverence, not necessarily to God, but to Nature and her Work.

But maybe God and Nature are one and the same, and we simply carve up the naming of things into chunks made for human understanding.

Always, on Easter Eve, with the kitchen smelling like vinegar, and our fingers stained blue, green, purple, we would make aglio e olio, which in our New Jersey, Neapolitan dialect becomes something  more akin to “ahlya awlya.”

It’s the simplest of Neapolitan dishes. Four ingredients (six, if you count the salted water): Spaghetti, fresh garlic, olive oil, and crushed red pepper flakes. If you want to be fancy you can add Italian parsley for color, or sprinkle it with parmesan at the end,  but it’s not really necessary.

Most Italian dishes are improvisational. You add some of this, a little of that, and when it smells right, looks right, tastes right – you know it’s ready. And my family are big with kitchen improv (except for my husband, the engineer) so we never make anything exactly the same way twice. Cooking is an art, after all. (Baking is a science, but that’s another story.)

But, here’s a reasonable attempt at a recipe for other people. People who don’t experiment.

Ingredients:

One box dry spaghetti or linguini. Spaghetti is traditional, but linguini works just fine. My favorite American brand is DiCecco but use whatever you like.

Olive oil. This is the main ingredient in this dish, so use the best extra-virgin olive oil you can find.

4-12 garlic cloves, peeled and minced. I like my aglio e olio super-garlicky, so I tend to use 10-12 cloves. If you’re less of a garlic fan, use less. Obviously, the size of the clove makes a difference.

Crushed red pepper flakes. This is a to-taste ingredient. If you want just a touch of heat, ¼ teaspoon is enough. If you want more heat add more. It’s better to go easy and add incrementally.

Instructions:

1) Cook the spaghetti according to package directions in salted boiling water. NEVER PUT OIL IN PASTA WATER, only salt, but cook for one minute less than the listed time for al dente pasta. Do not drain it.

2) Mince the garlic while the water is boiling. Everything goes really quickly once you start cooking, so you’ll want this prepared.

3) About three minutes after the pasta goes into the water,  heat olive oil in a deep frying pan or skillet. I often use a stovetop wok pan. You want something large enough to hold the pasta. Amount is up to you, but I typically use a couple tablespoons. You’re going to need enough to coat the pasta.

4) Add the garlic and red pepper flakes. You’ll want to sauté it for 3-5 minutes, but don’t let the garlic burn.

5) When the pasta is done, use tongs to transfer it to the pan with the garlic, pepper flakes and oil. Add ½ cup of the starchy water and toss it all to coat.

6) Taste it, and if you want to add a pinch of salt or more pepper, do so.

7) Add any garnishes like grated parmesan or minced parsley These are completely optional.

8) Serve hot in plates or bowls.

Photo by Youjeen Cho on Unsplash

Fireflies

Note: The excerpt is the poem used in the play, Fireflies, by Robert Frost. The challenge was to write a play that could be produced in isolation. The full script is linked to preserve formatting.

Excerpt:

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,

And here on earth come emulating flies,

That though they never equal stars in size,

(And they were never really stars at heart)

Achieve at times a very star-like start.

Only, of course, they can’t sustain the part.

To read the whole play, click here: 05 – Fireflies

Photo by Andrew Bui on Unsplash