How Many Ingredients

Its been too long since my last post. I feel the overflow of narrative being sand bagged by urgent dealings with phantom details of living.

My daughters, once again, inspire me to get on with it as I read their commentaries.
The following may serve to clean up the kitchen of past meals that wanted reporting.

The most recent was my encounter this a.m. with the man on the phone at Charles Schwab who we will call George because I have no qualms about revealing his true identity. It started when I asked how to find the transfer form on line that I needed to download about my mother's estate. All of a sudden I wanted to squeeze through the phone and send him to the office to be fired. It was about logging into the site and saying I had to look up my husband's name and password. George boomed out the words "you should not be able to know that" and I gathered all of the tired, insecure, lonely, abandoned feelings that snuck up on me yesterday while I thought I was living a grown up life of abundance. My own power was supplanted by thoughts of "this is MINE and YOU shut up". The wounded little girl rears her uncared for identity. Poor little thing, she needs a nap.

Next: I have been meaning to report the count and character of the salad ingredients in last week's foraging at the edible plants class and a nod to groundhog college road.
sheep sorrel
galensoga
dandelion
chickweed
plantain (2 kinds)
wood sorrel
yellow dock
horseradish leaf
jerusalem artichoke (*we cheated on this and one other in that they were cultivated)
wild onion/garlic
red clover
comfrey
perilla (shiso, the purple mint that makes umi plum paste red)
asparagus (*the other)
It was yummy and the company was wonderful. I met a delightful young woman named Dani who cheerfully stuffed a healthy handfull of dandilion greens in her purse announcing she was taking them to a friend. She lives nearby and wants to see the cob.

Next: I am whining about taking King's tile table to an art show. It is a symbol. He was going to be home by Sept. 30 and therefore HE would be putting it on top of the car and driving it to West Chester...

I think the clog has passed. I must sign off. My young friend Maureen is coming from NJ to make clay spoon rests and she is on her way. I may have time to get my brochure done before she gets here -today's MUST DO task (besides the damn table).

The thought in my mind is don't forget to notice the beautiful white teeth on that dead dog lying mangled and rotting by the side of the road. Let's hear it for the miracle of canine dentition.

And here it is: Maureen is also bringing what sounds like a yummy lunch, as if her presence is not enough.