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There Is Still Plenty of Life to Live

By The Artful Woman
Lately, it has been hot, so I decided to do something that would make life a little easier. I cooked a bunch of different meals in the crock pot, put them into containers, and froze them. That way, when the weather is hot, I wouldn't have to do much cooking. Then a flyer came in from the local Mexican market. They had pineapples, plantains, mangoes, watermelon, cucumbers—fresh fruits and vegetables at really good prices. They also had beef shanks. So after the gym, I had my caretaker take me to the store. I already had plenty of food at home. I had meals in the freezer, food in the refrigerator, and everything I needed. I wasn't going to the store because I was running out of food. But when I got there, something happened. I felt happy. The store was colorful and full of fresh food. I could choose one of this, two of that, three of something else. I wasn't limited to whatever quantity happened to come in a package. I could actually look at what I wanted and decide what I wa...
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Spaghetti Regret-ti

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By The Artful Woman

 

My brother-in-law is suffering from a severe case of Spaghetti PTSD. Apparently, giving his leftover spaghetti to my chickens was a major offense. So, in an attempt to soothe his wounded soul (and maybe get him to stop talking about it), I've written this poem.


Spaghetti Regret-ti

You rolled up late, all pale and slow,

Hungover bad—put on quite the show.

Too sick to move, too weak to stand,

So I fed you spaghetti, spoon in hand.

You feared your bowels might explode,

So you stayed parked in recovery mode.

When you finally emerged—hooray!

I went to fetch your bowl away…

But oh, the horror! The tragic scene!

Strands of spaghetti left—halfway between!

Yet dessert had started, cake was sliced,

And five hungry chickens had locked their sights.

Your hesitation, their delight,

They gobbled it up, no fork in sight!

You sat there mourning, full of regret,

Over pasta you hadn’t even finished yet.

I said, "Here, take some sauce, make some more!"

You shook your head, heart still sore.

But the chickens? They had no complaints—

They blessed your name with feathery thanks.

So while you sulked and wiped a tear,

I scrubbed your bowl—now eat cake, you hear!

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