a couple of random things to share
Nov. 10th, 2009 11:53 pmThis was the poem for The Writer's Almanac today. I've been tasting it in the back of my mind all day.
by Margaret Atwood
It was my father taught my mother
how to dance.
I never knew that.
I thought it was the other way.
Ballroom was their style,
a graceful twirling,
curved arms and fancy footwork,
a green-eyed radio.
There is always more than you know.
There are always boxes
put away in the cellar,
worn shoes and cherished pictures,
notes you find later,
sheet music you can't play.
A woman came on Wednesdays
with tapes of waltzes.
She tried to make him shuffle
around the floor with her.
She said it would be good for him.
He didn't want to.
"Dancing" by Margaret Atwood, from Morning in the Burned House. Houghton Mifflin, 1995.
A recipe that I made tonight that was super yummy (which I'm cutting since the format is weird)
( Butternut Squash and Carrot Curry Soup )
Dancing
by Margaret Atwood
It was my father taught my mother
how to dance.
I never knew that.
I thought it was the other way.
Ballroom was their style,
a graceful twirling,
curved arms and fancy footwork,
a green-eyed radio.
There is always more than you know.
There are always boxes
put away in the cellar,
worn shoes and cherished pictures,
notes you find later,
sheet music you can't play.
A woman came on Wednesdays
with tapes of waltzes.
She tried to make him shuffle
around the floor with her.
She said it would be good for him.
He didn't want to.
"Dancing" by Margaret Atwood, from Morning in the Burned House. Houghton Mifflin, 1995.
A recipe that I made tonight that was super yummy (which I'm cutting since the format is weird)