Seeds in Mouth

I recall the specific instant when you looked up at me and your salad fork was arrested in its mouthward journey. For a moment, just for a moment, you lost your train of thought as your eyes focused on the gooey mash in my mouth. Good stuff.

All I have to do is look at the writing as a gift. As long as I don't pressure myself to write something GOOD, I do fairly well. I even stand the chance of writing something good. But if I sit down with the idea of writing something GOOD in my mind? Forget about it. It's gotta be fun or it ain't worth it.

I'm sewing the seeds of love today, my friend. Sewing the seeds of love. These days my issues can almost all be solved by sleep. I took a nap yesterday and woke up into a new and much less complicated world. This is what parenthood has taught me; nine times out of ten, whatever is wrong with me, no matter how deep or complex it seems, it can be fixed by a little extra time in bed.

My mother-in-law came to visit. I love my MIL. She's a really nice lady. We were having gyros for dinner. She's from the South and has never had a gyro in her life. She was really looking forward to it. I toasted her pita bread for her but unfortunately I left the bread in the toaster a bit too long; it emerged with the consistency of a kiln-baked pot. It literally clinked when I put it on the plate.

A thrifty woman at heart, the MIL would not allow me to throw the pita away; she insisted on using it for her gyro. Halfway through the meal I left the table, and as I was returning, I heard the faint sound of a saw cutting wood. Strange, I thought. One of the neighbors must be working on a project. No, it was actually the MIL. She'd immobilized the pita with a heavy stab of the fork and was sawing away with her knife, trying to chip off a little piece of that bread.