Crumble
It would be simple to file it under the food category, but I think that's too simplistic. It's ancient ruins. When we visited Mycenae, we actually walked on pottery. It took out weight but it crumbled a little. The crumble was all around us. It was just more visible in Greece. Greece is it's poster child. We are the very definition of crumble. When something has crumbled, you can't fixed it. Crumble is a slow degradation with microscopic pieces, or worse, just dust. There is no gluing it back on to your life. You can't even fixed a crumbled cookie. You might have a chance if it's broken. Just broken might be only two pieces to deal with. But crumble is ancient Greece, Egypt, ancient texts, beliefs. Crumble is so much more effective than "break" because crumble happens so slowly, quietly, you don't know it.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
"Instance"- 3 Minute Writing Exercise
Instance is a clinical term for time. When there is an instance of an event, it is a disease on the clock.
"There are more instances of cancer where apple orchards used to be."
Instant is such an adorable word so closely related, and so much more loved. Everything that can be done in an instant is generally good. Cooking is done in an instant. Instant rice, grits, pancakes and such. An instant is as long as any of us can wait anymore.
The word dismiss in a close cousin to those words also. All three words taste like a yellow moon pie. Dismiss tastes the best of all. I have never thought about it in a miltary sense. It is a word that has always meant "official" freedom. Bells ringing. Going. Changing wheather you want to or not. No clinging. It's being where you have to be then walking through the doorway. Halfway through the doorway, you taste that fresh moon pie. So strong, its fragrance goes up your nose. All these words are time keepers.
"There are more instances of cancer where apple orchards used to be."
Instant is such an adorable word so closely related, and so much more loved. Everything that can be done in an instant is generally good. Cooking is done in an instant. Instant rice, grits, pancakes and such. An instant is as long as any of us can wait anymore.
The word dismiss in a close cousin to those words also. All three words taste like a yellow moon pie. Dismiss tastes the best of all. I have never thought about it in a miltary sense. It is a word that has always meant "official" freedom. Bells ringing. Going. Changing wheather you want to or not. No clinging. It's being where you have to be then walking through the doorway. Halfway through the doorway, you taste that fresh moon pie. So strong, its fragrance goes up your nose. All these words are time keepers.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
America At Denny's - Warrenton, Virginia
On any weekday morning you can find America at Denny's in Warrenton, VA. Most of the clientele are over 60. They sit at different tables but still talk to each other loudly about politics, churches, health, and family. They hobble from table to table visiting friends. I have even witnessed one of these old people go up to a complete stranger and engage them in some conversation about politics. And the recipients of the conversation are more than polite: they are happy to be included, to be part of the scene. Everyone is invited to this party at Denny's. There is a feeling of comradery. Community. It is safe.
The men are much more vocal than the women. Come to think of it, there are many more men than women that turn out for breakfast. This morning an old man wearing a camouflage rain hat walked from table to table checking in on everyone he knew. One table talked to him about a hysterectomy and an absent friend who couldn't eat because he was getting a blood test. The man in the hat stood over them, nodding in genuine concern. Another man, a little younger than the average age, sat at a table with three other men discussing Osama Bin Laden's death. He wore a blue St. Louis Rams shirt and playfully sent his muffin back to the kitchen because it was "drowned in butter."
When I got up to leave, the old man who had been sitting behind me with his friends said smilingly to me, "I'm sorry young lady that you had to sit with old men and put up with our jokes." Everyone laughed including two men my age sitting nearby that were not part of the old man's crew. One of the younger men smiled and winked at me when the old man spoke. It was an acknowledgement that we are all here together. We are all in this together. I feel more American in that Denny's than I do at any Fourth of July parade, or watching fireworks, or hearing the "Star Spangled Banner." The place makes me feel human.
The men are much more vocal than the women. Come to think of it, there are many more men than women that turn out for breakfast. This morning an old man wearing a camouflage rain hat walked from table to table checking in on everyone he knew. One table talked to him about a hysterectomy and an absent friend who couldn't eat because he was getting a blood test. The man in the hat stood over them, nodding in genuine concern. Another man, a little younger than the average age, sat at a table with three other men discussing Osama Bin Laden's death. He wore a blue St. Louis Rams shirt and playfully sent his muffin back to the kitchen because it was "drowned in butter."
When I got up to leave, the old man who had been sitting behind me with his friends said smilingly to me, "I'm sorry young lady that you had to sit with old men and put up with our jokes." Everyone laughed including two men my age sitting nearby that were not part of the old man's crew. One of the younger men smiled and winked at me when the old man spoke. It was an acknowledgement that we are all here together. We are all in this together. I feel more American in that Denny's than I do at any Fourth of July parade, or watching fireworks, or hearing the "Star Spangled Banner." The place makes me feel human.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Osama Bin Laden - Burial At Sea
It's completely appropriate that the U.S. dumped Osama Bin Laden's body in the ocean. The last thing anyone needs is an Osama Bin Laden grave where people would sell t-shirts and hatch more horrible plots. And I'm sure people would try to dig him up and take him god knows where. But what I find odd about the whole "burial at sea" is the use of the word "burial." How can you be "buried" in the water? Shouldn't it be called "dump in the sea" or "plop in the sea"?
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