October 06, 2016

Surprised but not entirely surprised.

I notice things. It's my nature to try to see, and writing, drawing and playing are all disciplines requiring attention, listening, noticing. Lately I've been noticing what I think I've known for a long time about my husband. (I've known for a long, long time. We'll celebrate a quarter century of marriage this month, and I've known him even longer. Years longer.) Every now and again, but a lot lately, I'm surprised as I notice his well considered and thoughtful ways.

Yesterday I found our voting guide, with a pen on the tub ledge. He's reading the whole thing -- the pros and cons provided for every proposition. I know he thinks before he moves. I know he reads. I know it all matters to him. But seeing the dedication to the process reminded me of his deep desire to give to the democracy as it is.

The other night when we were walking up the stairs and out of the theatre, I walked ahead a little, climbing the shallow steps out of the Ahmanson and I lost him. He wasn't right behind me. Then I heard these words coming over my shoulder, "Well, take my arm, I have no where to be. We'll climb together." He was helping the woman with the cane who was struggling. Of course he was. And this night, he touched my heart with that love he so easily offered to a gal having a tough time going up.

I find him often with one of the dogs. Either on the floor or on the bed. Belly rubbing, talking softly, loving, just sharing time and giving and taking a moment of community. Both pups know he's the pop and love that closeness to him.

I think I forget that I really am in the presence of one of the most deeply caring people on earth. I love his heart. I benefit all the time from his compassionate and giving ways. I need to think about this. And, about how I can join him rather than getting ahead of him. I have things to learn here. I'm enthused to get going.

But not entirely surprised.

Surprised but not entirely surprised.

I notice things. It's my nature to try to see and writing, drawing and playing are all disciplines requiring attention, listening, noticing. Lately I've been noticing, rather frequently, what I think I've known for a long time about my husband -- who I've known my husband for a long, long time. We'll celebrate a quarter century of marriage this month, and I've known him even longer. Years longer. And every now and again, but a lot lately, I'm surprised as I notice his well considered and thoughtful ways.

Yesterday I found our voting guide, with a pen on the tub ledge. He's reading the whole thing -- the pros and cons provided for every proposition. I know he thinks before he moves. I know he reads. I know it all matters to him. But seeing the dedication to the process reminded me of his deep desire to give to the democracy as it is.

The other night when we were walking up the stairs and out of the theatre, I walked ahead a little, climbing the shallow steps out of the Ahmanson and I lost him. He wasn't right behind me. Then I heard these words coming over my shoulder, "Well, take my arm, I have no where to be. We'll climb together." He was helping the woman with the cane who was struggling. Of course he was. And this night, he touched my heart with that love he so easily offered to a gal having a tough time going up.

I find him often with one of the dogs. Either on the floor or on the bed. Belly rubbing, talking softly, loving, just sharing time and giving and taking a moment of community. Both pups know he's the pop and love that closeness to him.

I think I forget that I really am in the presence of one of the most deeply caring people on earth. I love his heart. I benefit all the time from his compassionate and giving ways. I need to think about this. And, about how I can join him rather than getting ahead of him. I have things to learn here. I'm enthused to get going.

But not entirely surprised.

October 05, 2016

I choose writing.

I pondered.
I'm writing.

It's just too sweet to consider and lay down a strings of words as they become one thread to another. An idea, a thought, a story.

Today I chose someone else's writing. Here's a wonderful string of words, ideas, actions that will end up a tasty plate for you.

So here is David Leobovitz's fabby way to roast tomatoes.

This is my before picture:


If I showed you the after picture, you'd want to eat them and you can't because they went so fast it would make your head spin. They were sprinkled with a little mineral salt, thyme and chopped garlic before they hit the oven.

My friend Claudia found Kumato tomatoes at the 99 cent store. (Those are the dark green/brown faces amid the reds.) They are super delicious. So there's your start. Go make them! Report back.

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