This meal is a myth of partial perspectives. In one, my head peaks over the table and tries to pull the dough of the apple strudel to make sure some of it stretches over the edge proving that the dough was perfectly kneaded. In another I am taller placing apple slices carefully side by side. In a later one I help my mother knead the dough and my father peel and slice the apples while my siblings sprinkle on raisins.
In all of these there is the common perspective of the fork cutting a warm slice of apple strudel on a plate with ice cream. After having children of my own I understand how they must have enjoyed watching us help make and then eat this dessert which, as far as I can remember, was the meal.
After many years my sisters and I tried to make that meal for them one holiday afternoon when we were all together again since it was not something they did anymore, while there was still time. We read our mother’s handwritten recipe card and she explained what parts we could ignore and what we needed to add that she did not clearly write down. We could not get the dough as large as any of us remembered it being. We realized that none of us were as picky as we used to be with how apple slices should be placed. In the end, it tasted OK without reaching the level of mythic perfection we expected, but we think they enjoyed watching us try.
CHILDREN’S TINY HANDS
SPRING WARMS MEMORIES AGAIN
PARENTS WATCHING ON
Linked to dVerse Haibun Monday hosted by Toni Spencer.
Like colored Easter eggs placed in their nest
These houses built about the hills
Are perfect paintings of an inner best
We cannot see except for these bright frills.
We trust that thrills felt deeper do exist
And there’s no reason not to think they do.
Beneath the painted lips are hearts. When kissed
They warm projecting peace through winters, too.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #7 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez featuring a photograph by Gary Lo.
White, white, white and snowy bright
The snowscape piled high last night.
Winter wrapped its evening show
With spread-on-thick, wet, wondrous snow.
Today will bounce reflected light
From sad-cloud gray to spot-on white.
Linked to dVerse Meeting the Bar Impressionism hosted by Björn.
Linked to crow’s March 2017 Open Mic.
Photo by the author
This ride’s worth a half hour wait.
Even longer, so don’t hesitate.
Thirty seconds of hell
Then a heavenly spell
Back in line, “Yes! The park’s open late!”
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Lillian with amusement park as a prompt.
Photo by the author.
We are perspectives on what’s real.
We’re the ones who see it.
Anticipating what we’ll feel
While wintery fears conceal it.
Although it isn’t spring here yet,
Our fresh, green dreams will grow
And should despair let us forget–
Bright blooms somewhere will show.
Linked to dVerse Quadrille hosted by Kim from Writing in North Norfolk using “spring” as a prompt.
Photo: “Bright Blooms” by the author at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
Most people are blessed with incorrigible ignorance. They don’t see the lion under the table. They don’t see the goblins in their chicken houses. They don’t even have a chicken house and so they can’t see the devil in his details.
I tell them. They laugh. I tell them again. They say they’ll lock me up. I tell them, “If you lock me up who will protect you from the fairy kingdom?” They lock me up. That’s exactly what I wanted them to do. The last line of defense had collapsed. It’s safer right here. By nightfall someone else can worry about those goblins.
There once was a dragon who knew
That damsel’s effectively through
With her knight on his horse.
They had run off, of course,
Since there’s nothing now either can do.
Linked to Saturday’s Image Write #6 hosted by Bekkie Sanchez and featuring Jacek Yerka.
Linked to imaginary garden with real toads Title-Tale hosted by Magaly featuring Goblinproofing One’s Chicken Coop: And Other Practical Advice in Our Campaign Against the Fairy Kingdom by Reginald Bakeley.
Part of the Confessional Poetry of Imaginary People series.
There was a wizard once who knew
The way to let what’s timeless through,
Transforming what we thought was true
Into a lovely show.
He hinted there’s something to do
Then we could be like wizards, too,
But now I’m old, I hope what’s new
Just lets the warm love flow.
Linked to dVerse Open Link Night hosted by Gayle from Bodhirose’s Blog. I wrote this years ago after reading Deepak Chopra’s “The Way of the Wizard”.