In these changing times I look for comfort food from my childhood. Alphabet soup was a favorite with my family. Mother used the soup as a spelling challenge. We were to fish macaroni letters on our spoon to spell our name or another word to express how we were feeling. We could all take time to look in our comfort soup bowl and see what we find there. Maybe the word share is there to recall and connect with others in your community that may need a listening ear. You may find the word care and you can check on neighbors that live alone and may need a item from, the store or a pet walked. Finally as you sip the last of the broth may you find the letters love , just for you.
Alphabet Soup an acrostic Poem
All people need comfort. Living in these changing times, People long for the normal. Health is an illusion. Agreeing to keep social distance. But wishing for a connection Each person longs for a touch Tabled all social events.
Simple connections mean so much. Our opportunities daily given, Understanding, caring and sharing. Psyche fed by connections to others.
Social Distancing I hear this phrase and it brings others to mind.”Marginalizing “ No Physical hugging, kissing or hand shakes. Eye contact communication only. This brings an interesting dilemma to mind. Blind, hearing impaired, physically challenged and mentally challenged can’t follow the rules. As a blind individual, I locate a speaker by touching them. Now, I must locate them by hearing. Not easy with hearing aids. I can no longer take an offered elbow to give me a occasional hand. In stores, I have noted hoarding of cleaning supplies, toilet paper and other paper items. It is hard to believe that all of these people ran out of such supplies at the same time. I can only hope that some of the items eventually end up in a food bank. I wonder what the marginal persons are using in the interim. When we are shopping and keeping that social distance, remember to look around you for the senior citizen that may need a hand getting that package of paper from the top shelf. Look for the blind person that is confused with the empty shelves. Look for the person on the street that asked for change. We as a nation, are only as strong as our marginal members. We will be judged not by what we have but how we care.
Happy early Pi Day. I wrote this Pi poem for my daughter, who is a statistician . Thank you Ruth for helping me set this blog.
Statistics Scroll Down the lap top screen. Fingers dance over keys, producing large and colorful graphs showing all the variables, In the standard mean. highlighted in iridescent colors green, red , yellow and blue. beautiful to behold, colors obscured the meaning but they are pleasing to the eyes. Camouflage the real intent the math is hidden Statisticians loudly cry
information lost amid colored lines stop this now! begin again.
I wrote this poem for Pi Day on Saturday March 14th is Pi Day.
Numbers count in math
good ingredients make pie
Pi is forever
Happy Pi Day on Saturday.
I wrote for my daughter who is a mathematician and a statistician . This a th.
When I was first married I found that my new husband loved pie. I didn’t have much experience with pie making but I figured I could follow a recipe
I got out the old Betty Crocker cook book and looked up desserts. I found a recipe for apple pie. I carefully measured the ingredients for the pie crust and the pie filling. I mixed, rolled, and fitted the pie crust into the baking pan. I mixed the sliced apples with sugar, flour, butter, and spices. I poured the whole mix into the crust and put into the oven to bake.
After the timer went off I removed a beautiful looking pie. I didn’t want to ruin the look of the pie so I didn’t try it.
When my husband came home he was greeted with the smells and the appearance of a perfect pie. He got a glass of milk and cut a big slice of the apple pie.
He took a large bite with his fork and started to chew. His eyes grew large and he was nearly unable to swallow the pie. After a large drink of milk he asked what spice I had put in the apples. I replied cinnamon . He asked to see the bottle. I rummaged in the cabinet and pulled out the container. My husband read the label and started to laugh.
I wanted to know what was so funny. After wiping his eyes he told me that I had used red cayenne pepper instead. To make matters worst. I had doubled the cinnamon amount thinking it would be Spicy.
My husband tried to finished the piece but the heat of the spice was too much. The pie was thrown out in the compost. To be honest no critter attempted to eat the pie. We finally had to bury the pie..
Ever since then I have put markers on my spices and have my husband check what I am putting my desserts. I have made errors over the years but I have not made such a Spicy pie again.
First printed in June 2019 – The Blind Perspective