When I was another person

mad props to Russ Merit for use of this photo http://www.sxc.hu/profile/russmer


[dropcap]I start the fire[/dropcap]

in the morning, before the grape cherry koolaid in the sky makes its appearance before it announces what the day will bring. It’s still night though officially according to a bunch of Romans or Mayans or group of people who come well before me, decided that now it is morning.

It just doesn’t look like it.

I start the kettle.  I try lighting the fireplace.  I let the dog out.  I keep trying the fire. The matches take forever to light because they’re the cheap kind that take 11 tries and sometimes one will light up.  Meanwhile they wear down the strip on the side of the box. So that I have to try and find a patch that is still good to light up a cheap matchstick. I think of the Matchstick Girl selling matches for a pense. I think of Hans Christian Andersen who kind of has the same last name as I do except for the sen part. I think of it every morning when I have to light the fire. I get the fire going eventually, some days it is much easier and faster than other days and I can never tell why, I am reminded of Laura Ingalls Wilder and heating up the house for the first of the day.

Then I think I could never live that life because of asthma and how I’d die around horses and cows. But then I think well, yes, if I had indeed lived that life I would right now be dead.  Hardly anyone ever lives to be as old as someone born from 1860. I mean, before the things I love were around, or at least made available to me.  Things like Holland and its freesias, Japan and its … subarus…Africa and Belgium for its truly rich milk chocolate.

Before then, back when I was on the prairie, when I was another person, a good person, I had just my family and some farm animals.  And probably a better fire.

Monday Night Rules (of Engagement)

Rules of Engagement: what happens when a couple moves in together and one of them is terribly bossy

Do not put your shoes on anything other than the floor. Doing so shows a sign of pure disrespect. Plus it brings all kinds of bad luck. I don’t know what kind, just a lot of it. This means no shoes on the chairs, beds, car seats, loveseats, backs of toilets, tops of gas burning grills.  Got it?

When you cut the garlic, you need to make sure that you throw out the garlic papers and inner green roots while saying, “Pour les pauvres.”  Stop confusing pepper with the poor.

Pauvres is not poivres, ok?  We don’t know why we say this, but an aunt told us to do this when we were children, to think of the poor when disposing of garlic remains, and she’s very good with money. We don’t want to be poor.  Maybe the garlic papers sprout in the garbage and garbage is another way of, oh never mind.

Never eat pork. This is not so much Jewish as it is common sense. Pigs are, well, pigs!  I would never indulge in eating such a filthy animal.  Make sure when you make lentils?  That you take out the ham bone half an hour before serving.  For good luck.  Ham is decidedly and definitely not pork.  Trust me.

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