What I am about to share is both personal and heartfelt. I suppose that what I am about to share with you is also part of why I see things the way I do. Also, this is where and how I learned about the birth of my taste buds and the meaningfulness of lunchtime and meals after a hard day’s work.
Of course, not everyone likes the same thing and not everyone comes from the same background which is why I like to try new meals from different people. I admit to being adventurous and trying foods from different places. I can say that I have tried things that were not for me. I can say that I have tasted things without knowing what they were and, in fairness, had I known I might not have tried them in the first place. And yes, I’ve eaten things that sound terrible but tasted great.
Mealtime Memories: Down to the Last Bite
I wonder if people really know. I mean, do people really know what it means to have a good meal? I wonder how many people truly understand the experience and the rituals behind fine dining or good food. Then again, I suppose that culture and background is everything and that yes, my version of a great meal might not reach the same flavor to someone else. But ah, I can say this without any doubt: Food is love.
It’s not just the food itself. It’s the meal. It’s the manner in which it’s prepared and how the food is shared. This can happen anywhere too or even out of a brown paper bag. A shared meal is perhaps the most comforting, giving and charitable expression that we can share with each other. And again, it’s not just the menu or the meal but or how the plates are passed around the table. It’s not always about money either or expensive dishes.
On the contrary, there are meals that can be had for an affordable rate. The attention to detail, the power held in the ingredients and the flavors can be a perfectly connecting detail.
An Open Ramble
What was your best experience as a kid? When was your craziest night or what was your wildest time of year? I ask this with reason. I ask this without regard to right or wrong or good or bad and rather than place opinions or act as judge or jury, what was the best memory of you as a kid?
What was one of the best nights when you were out late with your friends, beyond sunrise, and as the night came to a close, was there a time like this when everything was perfect? The night behind you was wild and incredible. You lived every minute up until the very last second. And somehow, as the morning struck, there was a sense of rejoice in your private rebellion because you beat the morning. You went at it without any regret and the laughs and the howls were absolutely worth it. By the time you hit the bed to crash, there was a sense of crazy accomplishment which usually resulted in a late-night meal before parting ways with your friends.
Prose From the Soul: The End of a Journal
They teach a lot of things in school.
Don’t they?
They teach us how to read and write and how to add, subtract and multiply. They teach us about history and about who was the first to sign the Declaration of Independence which is, of course, John Hancock of Massachusetts.
We learned about the colors of the rainbow and the names of the planets. We learned about the Earth as it is and as it was. We learned things like geometry or algebra and calculus, which at the time – I’m sure I’m not the only one who wondered “Is any of this necessary,” and questions if any of this would be something I needed in my future life.
Prose From the Soul: To the Mental Mirror
I was up last night (again)
I had the chance to listen to the rain
hit the rooftop and splash against the skylights
like a team of soldiers, hoofing their way
down from a parachute raid.
Nighttime and yet, there’s so much on the mind
Am I good?
Can I be good?
Prose From the Soul: Friends
I can say that I have had friends of all kinds.
Good ones, bad ones
real ones and fake ones. I have friends of opportunity,
friends out of necessity, out of convenience,
true ones, false ones, old ones and new ones.
I have made friends in places where I’d have never expected
and there are friends of mine
who I found through a process called life.
Prose From the Soul: A Letter to You
Dear You,
I have been coming here for a long time now. It’s been years since my return and since then, I have grown and my directions have changed. Then again, my intentions have changed as well which means I have changed and so have you. So has the rest of the world and since this is true, then it’s also true that we all evolve somehow.
Continue readingProse From the Soul: Scenes From the Other Side
There it is. The sun coming up from a different side
and ah, the West Coast.
She remembers me like a new friend
reacquainted by a connection through a dream.
There are hopes here. Stories too, of all kinds
like mine for example,
or the idea that the beaches here
were something that I never thought I’d see;
yet – I’ve seen them
Prose From the Soul: Who You Are (Is Who You Are – Perfectly)
Just for the record –
that is, if anyone keeps records anymore
or watches the games we play
or keeps a score . . .
most people don’t see what you see, nor can they.
Prose From the Soul: What It Means to “Be There”
And you start to wonder if anybody gets it
Do they know?
Do they understand?
You try to explain yourself but still,
you wonder if anything you say makes sense.
Maybe it does. Maybe there are people who get it on some level
and maybe people like us; we’re kindred
maybe
The Written Addiction 