But on each
week’s publication day (Thursday), I email the column to those not in the reading areas of Clark, Pike, and Montgomery counties, who’ve said
they’d like to see it—family and friends. And I DO garner responses from them.
After the email, I edit it, taking out all mention of the newspaper/editor May,
etc. and post it on my prose blog, “pittypatter-pittypatter.blogspot.com. then
share it to Facebook. I also receive short comments in that venue.
So, I
suppose I lied to Mr. White, though unwittingly.
Here
is one email response (edited) from poet-friend Dennis. The title: “Four and
twenty blackbirds.”
“ . . . I came home [from an
errand] . . . to the aroma of what I hoped was dinner. As I walked into the
living room, Frieda came around the corner of the kitchen and said I had scared
her. She was munching on something and as she gave me a quick kiss asked what
that kiss tasted like. I was near enough to the kitchen to give a quick glance
for a hint of what I should say and saw it sitting in the far corner near the
still-hot stove. A pear cake, make from windfall pears received as a gift the
week before and ripened in a bowl on the fireplace hearth, still cooled in the
corner of the counter. The fan over the still-hot stove couldn't suck the
cinnamon spice odor out of the kitchen.
“Instead of four and twenty
blackbirds it was four pears in the bundt-pan shape that I sliced, slathered
with butter, and ate while reading your pear cooking recipe and thought of how
the king must have enjoyed his pie of four and twenty blackbirds, and hoped it
was as good as this pear cake.”
I DO have creative reader friends. Thanks,
Dennis.
* * * *
BLTs
One day
recently, the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette published a piece by John Kass of the
Chicago Tribune with the benign headline, “Perfect time of year.” I thought I
remembered Kass wrote humor, so I read the lead. “Is there anything more
classically American than the perfect bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich?”
This
was five minutes after I cupped a fridge-cold half of a “double-decker BLT” in
my hand. Said sandwich was left over from a post-concert stop at I-HOP. I’d
brought it home in a Styrofoam box.
I’m
glad no one was around to see me eat the messy-but-still-luscious “breakfast.”
Soggy white bread, runny mayo, cold bacon, wilted lettuce/tomatoes--but all the
flavors were still there. (As Gayle Glass’s recent blog said, “Waste not; want
not.”)
With
a cloth napkin at the ready, I corralled the sandwich in my right hand, leaving
my left for plucking a left-over fried cheese stick and one onion ring that my
friends “couldn’t possibly eat” from their last-night’s appetizer sampler.
Suffice
it to say, afterward, my right hand was gooey with mayo. I wiped it
onto the napkin, which went into the washer, pronto.
Back
to John Kass. Oh, dear. It’ll have to wait till next week. Until then, while
the tomatoes are still ripening, build yourself a BLT. Take it to the porch (or yard) swing and add a
glass of iced tea.
Enjoy.
5 comments:
Dennis' comment was like his poetry, very nice. Also, I could see you eating that half sandwich. Bet it was good. Good writing!
Thanks, m'dear. Dennis is a hoot. He's looking for his "15 minutes of fame" with this column/post. His wife is on FB but he's not.
Love a good BLT. I could almost taste it:)
Good that you could almost taste it. But could you "see" it????
Yes I could see it. If you hadn't described it so well, I surely wouldn't have been able to taste it...
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