Strawberry
We gathered round the big blue ceramic salad bowl on the floor, full to the brim with strawberries. Washed and wet, each plump red fruit glistened softly in the afternoon sun streaming in from the window. The little green leaf tops sprang out in different directions like punk hair-dos, and made for perfect little handles as we all reached into the bowl in turn. This was our second or third batch of fresh berries from the Farmer’s Markets, and each bite reminded us why we had sped through the first two baskets. Adding to the ecstasy was the tall blue can of organic whipping cream that we shook and passed around, topping the berry in our hand with a swirl of sweet white cloud. The airy cream dissolved quickly on the tongue, softening and enhancing the slightly acidic juices that sprang out of the perfectly ripened flesh of the fruit. Not that California strawberries bought in California needed that extra kick of sweet, but we were indulging in a truly girl moment. Bindis adorning our 3rd eye, new flowy goddess clothes, a tiny fairy cottage nestled in the orchards overlooking a valley in wine country…
Showing posts with label Object Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Object Writing. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Object Writing - Dining Room
Uh, 3 out of 5 ain't bad? It's been a rough week.
Dining Room
The room was warm from the heat of the oven that had been cranking all day, and added to that was the body heat of so many extra people packing in. Crammed across the built in buffet were dishes of every shape and size and depth. A tall ceramic salad bowl with serving spoons poking out like rabbit ears was spilling over with piles of lettuce and jewels of red pepper and carrot coins. Steam was quietly leaking up from the long glass rectangular pan of lasagna, hints of deep green spinach peeking through the layers of red and cream. Lifting the green plaid napkin on the wicker basket revealed a bigger cloud of steam of the pillowy hot dinner rolls nestled close to each other. The crockpot full of lentil stew sputtered quietly, the earthy scent of the lentils mingling with sweet onion when the lid was lifted. Tiny silver finger dishes filled with almonds, sunflower seeds and peanuts were scattered between the bigger dishes. On the far left a stack of napkins and silverware sat in anticipation, on the far right a pitcher of hibiscus red tea was surrounded with bottles of sparkling cider in a variety of flavors, apple, pear, cranberry, grape
Dining Room
The room was warm from the heat of the oven that had been cranking all day, and added to that was the body heat of so many extra people packing in. Crammed across the built in buffet were dishes of every shape and size and depth. A tall ceramic salad bowl with serving spoons poking out like rabbit ears was spilling over with piles of lettuce and jewels of red pepper and carrot coins. Steam was quietly leaking up from the long glass rectangular pan of lasagna, hints of deep green spinach peeking through the layers of red and cream. Lifting the green plaid napkin on the wicker basket revealed a bigger cloud of steam of the pillowy hot dinner rolls nestled close to each other. The crockpot full of lentil stew sputtered quietly, the earthy scent of the lentils mingling with sweet onion when the lid was lifted. Tiny silver finger dishes filled with almonds, sunflower seeds and peanuts were scattered between the bigger dishes. On the far left a stack of napkins and silverware sat in anticipation, on the far right a pitcher of hibiscus red tea was surrounded with bottles of sparkling cider in a variety of flavors, apple, pear, cranberry, grape
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Scissors Object Writing
OK so I missed yesterday because I had my radio show. I still got up before 9 though. Maybe I'll do one on Saturday to make up for Tuesday.
Scissors
There is something SO satisfying about that shhhhick sound that a pair of heavy metal scissors makes when cutting through hair. The dozens of tiny points of resistance succumbing in succession to the sharp blade edge. I’d almost want to become a hair dresser just to feel that sensation over and over every day. But probably all my clients would end up with pixie cuts since I wouldn’t be able to stop with the scissors. Plus the tiny prickling cut hairs end up everywhere, itching inside your shirt collar, tickling in your waistband. I guess it’s worse for the person who is getting the hair cut, but I imagine being around it all day you’re bound to get some weird runaway hairs stuck to you somewhere. Then again there’s the yummy shampoo smells, and all the other fancy hair products. I always love having my hair washed at the salon. Relaxing back into the chair, the mini head massage and the squelching of wet hair in the sink. Then feeling a portion of stress washing away down the drain with the suds.
Scissors
There is something SO satisfying about that shhhhick sound that a pair of heavy metal scissors makes when cutting through hair. The dozens of tiny points of resistance succumbing in succession to the sharp blade edge. I’d almost want to become a hair dresser just to feel that sensation over and over every day. But probably all my clients would end up with pixie cuts since I wouldn’t be able to stop with the scissors. Plus the tiny prickling cut hairs end up everywhere, itching inside your shirt collar, tickling in your waistband. I guess it’s worse for the person who is getting the hair cut, but I imagine being around it all day you’re bound to get some weird runaway hairs stuck to you somewhere. Then again there’s the yummy shampoo smells, and all the other fancy hair products. I always love having my hair washed at the salon. Relaxing back into the chair, the mini head massage and the squelching of wet hair in the sink. Then feeling a portion of stress washing away down the drain with the suds.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Object Writing
My goal for this week is to get up no later than 9 am and do Object Writing for 10 minutes, Monday - Friday. The idea is to pick an object and write about it, staying as sensebound as possible, for 10 minutes and 10 minutes only. Set a timer and STOP no matter what when it goes off. Since I seem to hold myself accountable to blog goals, I thought I'd post them here.
Chopstick
I slid the blonde wooden sticks out of the paper sleeve and cracked them apart. The sweet smell of ginger and coconut wafted up to my nose from the steaming bowl of noodles and my mouth started to water. I firmly held one chopstick under my thumb and the other like a pencil, like the little line drawings on the wrapper illustrated. According to the directions I should now be able to “pick up anything”. I dove into the bowl, attempting to spear a head of broccoli drenched in curry sauce. I lifted my hand but the triumph was short-lived as the tiny tree tumbled back onto the mountain of noodles. My waiting mouth remained open in surprise, how could the hand be so cruel? Undeterred, I aimed for a slice of zucchini, thinking maybe the flat shape would be easier grasp between the two tiny sticks. As I pinched them tighter, the green and white disc slid out and landed next to the broccoli. My mouth screwed shut in impatient frustration.
Chopstick
I slid the blonde wooden sticks out of the paper sleeve and cracked them apart. The sweet smell of ginger and coconut wafted up to my nose from the steaming bowl of noodles and my mouth started to water. I firmly held one chopstick under my thumb and the other like a pencil, like the little line drawings on the wrapper illustrated. According to the directions I should now be able to “pick up anything”. I dove into the bowl, attempting to spear a head of broccoli drenched in curry sauce. I lifted my hand but the triumph was short-lived as the tiny tree tumbled back onto the mountain of noodles. My waiting mouth remained open in surprise, how could the hand be so cruel? Undeterred, I aimed for a slice of zucchini, thinking maybe the flat shape would be easier grasp between the two tiny sticks. As I pinched them tighter, the green and white disc slid out and landed next to the broccoli. My mouth screwed shut in impatient frustration.
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