DoveSoup Art

I pray I grow into a gracious old lady In advance - I apologize for posting yet another story with more of the same crap about living with an elderly parent. Here is the story... saga... my complaint... by bitch... my moan. While I was getting dinner started, mom obviously heard me moving around in the kitchen. I know this because it wasn't long before she showed up to see what was going on (read: looking food laying around to eat), She asked if there was anything she could do to help. Good start... I asked if she wanted to learn how to make pizza dough, "Would you like to help me?" Her reply; "No" I said, "There is no hand mixing or kneading, all we have to do is measure the ingredients and put them into the KitchenAid, it does all the work." Her reply: "Oh" Can anyone tell me - Why did she ask? Couldn't she have at least come into the kitchen and watch... look slightly interested... measured a couple of teaspoons of salt? Mayb

Matt was out of town last night, we (my 82 year old mother and I) spend part of our evening in the basement while tornado sirens blared. I have never seen blinding rain like I did last night. There is a 1 acre field between my house and the neighbor's, I could not see my neighbor's huge 2-story home through the heavy rain. Mom and I are fine, although getting her 82 year old butt out of bed, her robe and her shoes on, then down stairs was fun. Getting her down the precipitous basement stairs was even funner . With warning alarms blaring I then had to go and collect mom's poodle, who for some reason decided the basement was not where she wanted to be... go figure. The big brave dog had enough dog-sense to get in the basement and stay there. I could hear him whimpering somewhere in the corner. So there we sat - Two old women, two flashlights, two candles, two books (like we are going to read while the house is torn from it's foundation) and two whinny-scaredy-c

I had okra in a New Orleans style restaurant in Pasadena California once. I thought it was the most fabulous thing I ever tasted. I wondered where okra had been all my life? I wondered why everyone did not eat and love this delicious vegetable? Why wasn't okra on every restaurant menu? That was the 1st and the last time I loved okra. I gave it several more tries but each time is was totally disgusting. I tried both frozen and fresh, nothing could have triggered my gag reflex more efficiently and effectively. I think cooking okra is like growing hydrangeas, you just gotta have the knack or you may as well hoist the white flag. Dove

I'm ten published poems beyond thrilled and about a 1/2 century past total (give me meds) anxiety. My chest is all puffed out with pride and my heart is beating madly with (oh my god) fear. I suppose that's the yin and yang of it. Apparently my feelings about returning to college after a 23 year break are zenfully balanced between suffering and happiness.