Food . Middle Aged . Recipes . The General
Freeze Frame
On February 18, 2021 by Speranza
I think that I sometimes give the impression here of being very organized; but with certain things, I can procrastinate for an impressively long time.
Eventually though, enough is enough. Like when I opened the door of our basement freezer and forced myself to admit that only a very slim package of bacon could fit through the solid wall of ice. Even the interior lightbulb had been reduced to a faraway, dull yellow glow inside its icy globe.
Something had to be done.
Poetry
London Snow by Robert Bridges
On February 16, 2021 by SperanzaWhen men were all asleep the snow came flying,
In large white flakes falling on the city brown,
Stealthily and perpetually settling and loosely lying,
Hushing the latest traffic of the drowsy town;
Deadening, muffling, stifling its murmurs failing;
Lazily and incessantly floating down and down:
Silently sifting and veiling road, roof and railing;
Hiding difference, making unevenness even,
Into angles and crevices softly drifting and sailing.
All night it fell, and when full inches seven
It lay in the depth of its uncompacted lightness,
The clouds blew off from a high and frosty heaven;
And all woke earlier for the unaccustomed brightness
Of the winter dawning, the strange unheavenly glare:
The eye marvelled—marvelled at the dazzling whiteness;
The ear hearkened to the stillness of the solemn air;
No sound of wheel rumbling nor of foot falling,
And the busy morning cries came thin and spare.
Then boys I heard, as they went to school, calling,
They gathered up the crystal manna to freeze
Their tongues with tasting, their hands with snowballing;
Or rioted in a drift, plunging up to the knees;
Or peering up from under the white-mossed wonder,
‘O look at the trees!’ they cried, ‘O look at the trees!’
With lessened load a few carts creak and blunder,
Following along the white deserted way,
A country company long dispersed asunder:
When now already the sun, in pale display
Standing by Paul’s high dome, spread forth below
His sparkling beams, and awoke the stir of the day.
For now doors open, and war is waged with the snow;
And trains of sombre men, past tale of number,
Tread long brown paths, as toward their toil they go:
But even for them awhile no cares encumber
Their minds diverted; the daily word is unspoken,
The daily thoughts of labour and sorrow slumber
At the sight of the beauty that greets them, for the charm they have broken.
Books . Covid Times . Insomnia
What to Read when you can’t Sleep
On February 15, 2021 by Speranza
A well meaning but spectacularly uncool Auntie of mine once bought me The Friendship Book of Francis Gay, for Christmas when I was a teenager. (And by the way, this is the only way anyone ever referred to this book: the title, then the author, all at once – but always together). This little book promised an “inspiring thought” for each day of the year and provided iconic yet unlikely photos such as a benevolent postman peddling down a laneway or a jocular milkman enjoying a quiet joke outside a thatched cottage.
Frasier and Niles . Love . The General
Happy Valentine’s Day
On February 13, 2021 by Speranza
I remember telling both of my sons that while large breasts were a very nice attribute in a girlfriend, the more pressing question should be, as the relationship began to deepen: “Would this person make you soup when you are sick?”