Some weeks simmer on low then lash out at us. While a naughty cold brewed, my laptop decided to crash and now I’m in danger of missing a deadline because my head feels like it’s in a vice and it’s working in slow mo.
The good: I still remember how to use a laptop and download all the tool of the trade. Like my Windows Live Writer which I am using right now to write this post.
Last weekend when I visited my mom at her home, I brought the fixings to make pea soup and enlisted her help and the help of my daughter.
Mom can still chop vegetables but she can’t remember how to make soup so I set her up to chop the celery. Every few minutes, she asked me if she was doing it right, if the pieces were small enough, if she should put them in the soup pot. Then it would start all over again.
Little K (daughter #2) didn’t know how to make pea soup and I thought it would be a good time to teach her so I had her washing the dried peas and chopping the onions.
AS I supervised, I realized that I was teaching my daughter what my mother taught me years ago—how to make soup. And even though I was acting as teacher to my mom, she would never re-learn how to make soup.
Take the word teach or any permutation of it (taught, teaching, teacher, etc.) and write a poem that reminds you of or includes your ALZ LO.
Here are the rules: Write in private or on your blog and leave a link.
Or leave your poem in the comments.
We Sewed Much
You awoke my hand
though I doth fiercely protested
scuffing my Ked’s
in the dark-tiled corners of Hagenbring’s,
sulking between the cottons and rayons
where I inherited your love of textiles
and tiny stitches.