Poetry . The General . Travel . Writers
Journal of a Solitude
On July 31, 2016 by Speranza
I have no real sense of direction.
Those who love me and know me well accept this and are not surprised by it anymore; but when we set out for Old Orchard on our car trip this year, I hesitantly pored over the map and asked gingerly (in case I was ludicrously off the mark) to inquire if we might go via Nelson, New Hampshire so that I could visit the grave of poet, author and journal-writer May Sarton. The General assessed the map quickly, drawing a finger along the route, turning it a few times, finally pronouncing the idea “not even a problem” and went on to suggest that we pop along to Robert Frost’s graveside as well since it was on the way.
(Can I tell you that I absolutely love not having to justify what most people would consider a totally insane waste of time and my heart just swelled).
He added: “Graveyards on the way down! We really are a fun couple aren’t we?”
Anxiety . Darkness . Writers
Stop the World I Missed my Stop
On July 12, 2016 by Speranza
I’ve been stalling posting anything this week because I simply cannot write about anything vacuous without commenting on what a terrible few weeks this has been news wise; I’ve watched extensive news coverage on all the tragedy (and then follow-up tragedy) in Dallas, being vigilant to not watch any of the streaming or videos because I am someone’s mother and just cannot if I intend to function for the rest of the day.
This is not even considering the assorted terrorist atrocities.
I feel troubled, sick and totally helpless in equal parts.
Eating Out . Food
Lettuce Take Care
On July 4, 2016 by Speranza
We were talking at work the other day about the universal frustration of receiving a restaurant or deli salad only to discover that the leaves have scarcely been torn in half and worse still, the stump end of the lettuce (affectionately known as the “romaine bum” by my brother) has somehow been incorporated as well, unwanted and unattractive, a pale brown corona gleaming beneath the creamy dressing.
It’s as though this is perfectly acceptable. It’s all lettuce, yes?
Who’s doing this?!