thank you, english 101

While eating these for breakfast, I thought of the following excellent poem by William Carlos Williams:

This is Just to Say

 

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

 

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast.

 

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold.

 

All I can say is if Roger ever left me a poem like that, he would be so forgiven! 

 

It's a funny thing, the difference between my husband and I when it comes to food...and by "funny" I don't mean "funny"...I'm not really sure what I mean.  I guess you could say my tastes are simpler than his.  This thanks to a childhood of fending off wolves for a meal, while his unfolded against the backdrop of every buffet from here to the end of the Strip.  When I was hungry, I'd take my Fisher Price bow and arrow and bring down a caribou, for crying out loud.  Then, and this is where it gets iffy, I'd make an incision along its belly and climb inside for the winter.  It was close quarters, mind you, but there was always something to eat. 

 

As upbringings go, there's no denying mine was utterly precious and surprisingly well suited to survival in this town.

 

At any rate, what I'm trying to say is, especially in this sweltering heat, I don't really care what I eat.  Sugarplums could pretty much hold me all the live long day.  Roger, on the other hand, has such a penchant for the entire food pyramid!  Which is why on a night like tonight, with him being out of town, I set just two dishes on the table--one laden with steamed broccoli, the other, roasted sweet potatoes. 

 

"Is that everything?," asked Sophie brightly, a bit too brightly.

"Will there be any meat?," ventured Isabella, eyes like Oliver Twist. 

"I don't think so!  Who needs boring old meat anyway?," was my hearty reply.

"Chicken's good!" piped Caroline, who was about ten seconds behind the conversation and hadn't yet processed the dim reality of it all.

 

There was a long pause as the children each mentally composed a journal entry detailing their arduous existence as my daughters.  Finally I could take it no longer and broke the doom and gloom by promising an after-dinner trip to the yogurt shop for all good little vegetarians, which seemed to do the trick quite nicely, indeed.