Please visit my friend Kelly Wickham, known on the blogosphere as Mocha Momma, known to me as Simply Amazing. She speaks the truth as she talks about hunger and poverty, food “insecurity” and responsibility.
Look here for her speech, transcribed into a post for all to read.
Meanwhile, keep donating to your local food bank, and get on our lawmakers to set their priorities in order. You know what I mean.
In honor of Veterans’ Day, I offer you an encore post from a different holiday – Memorial Day. Enjoy.
Every year we start Memorial Day by throwing our lawn chairs in Amigo’s bike basket and hitting the road for half a block to stake our claim on a good place to watch the parade. Seriously, it’s half a block from our home. We watch from the front yard, and when the police are putting the traffic barriers up, we head over and park ourselves in the road under our favorite shade tree. Here’s Amigo and MIL cheering on the municipal city band. Chuck? He was relaxing.
And then we went home. Home, to help out our “real live veteran in our front yard,” as Amigo put it. FIL didn’t want to struggle all the way down the street with his walker, so he settled under our mock cherry tree and read a book. We gave him a little flag next to his lawn chair so he could be part of the festivities.
Happy I’ve just been low on time while I make sure that no child remains untested in the fair state of Wisconsin. But meanwhile, something I submitted wound its way through the review process, back to my desk, and back to the review process and eventually out of the pipeline onto my employer’s national blog.
Or you can look into the archives of Compost Happens and find the original here.
I used to use this example to teach my face to face students in the brick and mortar schoolroom that thinking like a writer meant opening their minds and noticing the world around them. The reviewers and editors interpreted that as “Carry a notebook.” Really, readers, that’s only one small postage-stamp size corner of the picture. Thinking like a writer means that I look up, not down. I look around and imagine. I look at that pile of dirt next to the porch and think, “Rock garden.” Where others see dirt, I see soil.
And when something interesting happens, I think “Blog!” Or I should say I think Blog! if Amigo hasn’t already said, “Mom, you should blog this.” He thinks like a writer, too.
So, peoples in Interweb Land, how does your outlook provide you with entertainment and/or writing fodder? Do you carry a tiny memo book in your bag?
Facebook just can’t let me be me. The pretend personality behind the site keeps asking questions, almost like posing a meme for a blog blast.
What’s on your mind? Why, thank you for asking, Facebook. I thought no one cared. But to be honest, FB, I usually air my deepest thoughts on my blog or to my network on Plurk, rather than share it in the most public place possible. And yes, indeed, FB, despite the privacy settings, I’m certain that much more of the private me gets out to the public than I realize.
What’s really on my mind, you might wonder? Too Many Tomatoes, that’s what. Famous last words of mine: Oh, I don’t need to store them in newspaper or a paper bag to slow the ripening process. We’ll just eat them or cook them as they ripen.
I have so many tomatoes that I need to make something, and fast, before they rot. That’s the last word.
So I asked Da Boyz, a.k.a. Amigo and Chuck, whether I should put together another batch of tomato sauce or salsa, and they answered — Tomato Pie!
What? Tomato pie? I gave in and looked it up. Courtesy of Zorba Paster’s Heart Healthy Recipes, we’re having Tomato Pie for Eating the Opponent: Philadephia.
And I still have enough left over for a generous batch of salsa.
We enjoy road trips, Amigo and I. A simple trip to La Petite’s apartment takes over two hours, and we make it a good time. Part of today’s trip was Saturday’s Public Radio line-up. We left the house to What ‘Ya Know with Michael Feldman, and we arrived in the Lake Community to the closing of Car Talk. We took a short break during Feldman’s town of the week to pick up a quick lunch, and then hit the road again.
Picking up lunch was a treat in itself. We stopped on a Strip to end all Strips and, lured by clever advertising, looked for a KFC. We wanted to try their Go Cups in the minivan. The results were favorable; both Amigo and I liked our chicken and potato wedges. It beat the heck out of the golden arches for taste and quality – and fun, too.
Let’s look back a few years. Amigo went to the DMV to get his state ID. As he tapped his white cane across the lobby, a teacher aide called out a greeting. “Hey, Amigo! What are you doing here?” My boy answered without hesitation; “I’m taking my driver’s test.”
Picture the poor teacher aide with her jaw dropping to the floor in her driver’s license picture. When you’re done laughing, come back.
Revving up the engine!
The jalopy pictured was part of an informal gathering in a tavern parking lot. It wasn’t a strictly regulated “Don’t touch anything!” It was more of a “Come on up close and explore!” The car owners saw Amigo’s enthusiasm along with his white cane and invited him in. This one saw potential; he ushered Amigo into the driver’s seat and showed him how to start the car. Vroom!
When we plan our Route 66 journey someday, maybe he can spell me at the wheel.