“Acceptable for Breakfast” by Julia at her desk

Saturday November 4, 2017
5:36pm
5 minutes
Smittenkitchen.com

Every Zia made sure we had the right breakfast. Zia one would let us have cookies and milk. Oreos to be exact. Wih a tiny esspreso spoon, we’d crush them all up and eat it like ice cream. Zia two had something good to eat too. Salmon gravlax, snails, probably, and cantaloupe.  Zia three never had to feed us. Zia four had homemade leftover pizza, yogurt, biscotti and homo milk. Zia five had captain crunch cereal. Zia six gave us cadburry cream eggs. Zia seven gave us soft boiled eggs and olive oil. That’s not even all the Zias.

“Acceptable for Breakfast” by Sasha at Moii Cafe

Saturday November 4, 2017 at Moii Cafe
4:45pm
5 minutes
Smittenkitchen.com

My Mom and Angel have completely different ideas of what’s acceptable for breakfast. My Mom believes that sugary cereals and bacon are only appropriate for Sundays. Every other day has to contain whole grains. Angel will slather anything, and I really mean anything, in Nutella. She loves the stuff. My Mom goes on and on about how much crap Angel eats, but how she keeps the body of “Cindy Crawford”. I don’t tell her that I have no idea who that is. Gotta add that to my Google List. Whenever I have access to my Mom’s computer, or Bruce’s tablet, I go through my Google List and check off the things that have been accomplished.

“let’s get to breakfast” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday January 24, 2017
10:15pm
5 minutes
From an infomercial

We were never sure of much, were we? We were sure of the skyline, condo buildings and smokestacks, voices ballooning out of windows, bass wafting through tailgates. We weren’t sure about the future. We couldn’t be. We weren’t sure about where we’d get breakfast, and, once we got it, what it might be. I thought that might feel like the world was our oyster but instead it felt like the world was our can of tuna, ninety nine cents at No Frills. One thing Annie taught me was how to score a deal, how to comparison shop, how to be smart about every dime.

“Let’s get to breakfast” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday January 24, 2017
9:46pm
5 minutes
from an infomercial

I remember I got mad at him for asking for his eggs plain
It wasn’t difficult to see that I put thought into making his eggs interesting
I don’t know why anyone would prefer a plain egg
Isn’t the whole point of an egg to be a base for something else?
Like cheese?
Who likes regular, plain eggs?
After he wiped his mouth he told me he would rather his bare
I got mad at him for waiting till he was finished to say something to me
I was mortified
And I was disappointed that he would think it was okay to be ungrateful
at breakfast time
Because I had gotten up earlier to make the damn things in the first place
And that is why I hacked his dick off with a cheese grater
And that is why we are no longer eating eggs together
And that is why he is married to a woman who doesn’t argue
And that is why I won’t visit England

“round their throats” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, March 25, 2016
10:36pm
5 minutes
From lyrics in a song

She keeps her secret safe around her throat a
red ribbon tied in a bow the edges fraying the
fray undoing the past and what is heavy there.
She keeps her secret safe drinking beer with
breakfast drinking coffee with lunch drinking
no water only brown liquids to keep the pain
down below the sludge. She keeps her secret
safe by only calling him on his birthday and
making sure it’s at a time he won’t pick up.

“Happy birthday, Owen. Hope you’re well.”

Dial tone like the drone note of a prayer she
won’t do this again. This is the last time.
She keeps her secret safe until it doesn’t
want safety. It wants air it wants light prisms.

“entirely free of the curse” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Tuesday, September 29, 2015
10:19pm
5 minutes
a Wikipedia page

Kit doesn’t believe in fate. She shakes her head when her older sister Betty talks about this and that. They live in adjoining townhouses and have breakfast and dinner together. They trade off who prepares what. This morning Betty appears at Kit’s front door with a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice and a scowl that would scare a priest.

“Oh Kitty, I swear to you that dog is cursed!”

She pushes past her sister and kicks off her rubber boots.

“He howled all night long. Did you hear him?” Betty picks a blueberry off her bowl of oatmeal.

“Of course I heard him!” Kit eyes the clock.

“make a cool can” by Sasha on her couch


Tuesday, September 8, 2015
10:12pm
5 minutes
from a LinkedIn profile

We got matching red hats from the Sally Ann and we wore them all through the fall and winter and even in April’s aloof blush. Yours was more slouchy and mine was tighter, what with my gargantuan head. This made less people recognize that we were indeed wearing matching hats, which isn’t what we were going for, but was a nice perk. You worked out Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings at six thirty, before going to work at the Lavalife call center. I would have breakfast waiting on the table, a couple of scrambled eggs and rye toast with caraway seeds.

“Last night I was like fuck it” by Sasha at Arbutus Coffee


Friday, June 5, 2015 at Arbutus Coffee
2:52pm
5 minutes
from a text

Vera walks by the ocean everyday, and she has since she was fifteen, since she moved to Vancouver from Windsor with her stepmother. Her father had gone to Hong Kong for a two year placement at a Chemical Engineering firm and both she and her stepmother had sworn they wouldn’t leave Canada. “Well at least go someplace fun,” he’d said, probably stroking his beard, probably narrowing his eyes the way he did when he was deep in thought. “Vancouver!” Her stepmother had said, with her Polish accent. “Okay,” Vera had shrugged and gone to her room and listened to Joan Baez. She has walked by the ocean everyday since she got here, different shores, but the same changing ocean. Today she sees an Orca. She blinks several times, as she does when she doesn’t trust her eyes, maybe she hasn’t drunk enough water, maybe an orange and a piece of toast wasn’t a big enough breakfast. Nope. It’s definitely a whale. She watches and listens, he’s singing! He’s singing just for her.

“three variations to play with” by Sasha at the UBC Learning Exchange


Monday February 16, 2015
6:03pm
5 minutes
chatelaine.com

It’s funny how the colours change, how suddenly oatmeal tastes really different. Kenneth makes a mean bowl of oatmeal. He lets the oats soak overnight, covered, on the countertop and then, in the morning, there is the best damn oatmeal you’ve ever had. He adds raisins and flaked coconut, a little drizzle of honey. Warm soy milk. He’s inspired me to switch to soy, that wasn’t something I did on my own. I’m not that health inclined, right? But Kenneth reads all those articles and they really stick, he remembers every little thing! Chia seeds have protein and avocados are good for your hair and eat some fish, but not too much and – ! Phewf! It gets exhausting! So many variations of health to play with, so many possibilities. I say, make a piece of toast and put some peanut butter on it and call it a day but not Kenneth. “If you’re going to spend your money on anything, spend it on your fuel,” he says. It’s not “food”. It’s “fuel”.

“rather than something crafted from odds and ends” by Julia at her desk


Sunday November 23, 2014
11:56pm
5 minutes
from a quote by Mary Catherine Bateson

She leaves a note on the kitchen table
Says there’s pizza in the oven and yogurt in the fridge if you’re hungry
I observe her life without her there
Taking it in, seeing how big of a fan she is of Bob Dylan
The sink is filled with a paste of flour and water
Pancakes, she says, taste better at midnight
I wander through her closet, see her obsession with shoes
Shoes and shoes and belts and shoes
I leave her drawers
I don’t go in them even though I want to
Even though I want to know everything
I can’t stop thinking about the kiss she didn’t give my mouth
But the kiss she wrote on paper
I can keep the one she left there
On the table top with a small bowl
A spoon
And a coffee pot on a cutting board
She wants to care for me in her way
And I could stay all day in her dirty kitchen
Scrubbing the stove free of pancake paste
And smiling to myself

“we have the luxury of time” by Sasha at Culprit Coffee


Tuesday September 30, 2014 at Culprit Coffee
5:48pm
5 minutes
On Directing Film
David Mamet


“We have the luxury of time, Jenna…” He says, as he cracks another egg into the steaming pan. It sizzles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She responds, pouring orange juice into cups. She drinks hers quickly, and pours another glass. “I love your hair like that,” he says, putting two english muffins into the toaster. “Why don’t you wear it down more often?” She smiles. “It gets in the way.” They’ve only been in London for two weeks, but she feels at home. It’s taking him longer, but that’s okay. She opens the window. He flips the eggs and she goes behind him and puts her arms around his middle.

“Inn of Olde” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday March 24, 2014
9:45pm
5 minutes
from the sign for Linda’s in Quidi Vidi, NF

She thought she was something that she wasn’t. She was trying, for his sake. “Sure,” she’d said, “let’s do it.” It was his dream to hike the Torres del Paine in Chile and how could I hold a guy back from his dream, or be left behind. “There’s no pressure,” he said, “you have to do something like this for you.

She’d never been so hot in her life and her thighs were chafed and her heels were blistered. He was happier than she’d ever seen him, smiling like it was the best day of his life. “It’s the best day of my LIFE!” He said, as he stretched in their tent every morning. She groaned. “Come on, trooper,” he pushed her shoulder, “let’s make breakfast…” She wanted to bite him, to punch him in the stomach, to push him down as he sped down the trail faster than she could. She wanted to break up with him, the reason she was out here in the first place, the reason she was tired and sore and angry. But, then what? They had seven more days to go.

“A knock on the door” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday November 24, 2013
11:36pm
5 minutes
At The End
Mark Gore


There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting anyone. In fact, your hair was wet and wrapped in a towel and you were wearing your father’s old Edmonton Oilers jersey, too-short fleecy pants and mismatched socks. You thought about pretending that no one was home but the lights were on and your guilt mechanism kicked in. You opened the door. You gasped, not for the cold but for me, there, in front of you. “Holy sh – … Come in! Come in!” I do. I put my backpack down and take off my boots and my raincoat, placing it on the back of the red couch. “You shouldn’t do that!” You say. “I could’ve had a heart attack. You know about my murmur…” “I took the red-eye,” I say. You look at your watch. 8:12. “Should I call in sick?” You’d have to leave in forty minutes. “No, it’s cool – ” “Are you…?” “Yeah. I’m staying this time. I’m… sticking around.” You sigh and I see a fleck of wondering. “What happened with – …?” “He decided that it would be better if we…” You nod. I follow you into the kitchen where your bagel has gotten cold. “Tea?” I shake my head. “I’m going to sleep for a couple of hours… If that’s okay?” You nod. “It’s really, really good to see you,” your eyes are soft, I like them better without make-up. “You too, Izzy.” I walk like a ghost into your bedroom and lie down on your bed. It smells like Paul.

“viciously funny” by Sasha at R Squared


Tuesday, August 13, 2013 at R Squared
6:31pm
5 minutes
from the SummerWorks Performance Festival guide

They are eating chips for breakfast. They have freshly washed hair and are wearing variations of the same khaki shorts – hers are lighter in colour, his are longer in length. She has sunglasses on top of her head. When she puts them on, they’ll be smudged. He holds a brown manila envelope. She sits. He stands. They feed each other chips. I’m not the only one watching when she sucks his finger and he blushes. The enormously tall man sitting beside me, wedged in, really, he’s also looking. He is not charmed, like I am, thinking back to myself at twenty, thinking back to the firsts. Enormous Man has downturned lips and a deep wrinkle in his forehead. He gets off the train. Boyfriend kisses Girlfriend with salty lips.

“Don’t ignore” by Julia on the subway going north


Sunday June 16, 2013
2:46pm
5 minutes
an ad at Ossington subway station

Pushing his little face away with the palm of her hand, she kept her eyes closed, breathing deeply. Not now, Benny, Mommy can’t right now. Benjamin had been sitting with his mother at the table since breakfast. She wouldn’t speak to him or look at him. She put an empty bowl in front of him with a dirty spoon and told him to eat his breakfast. Benjamin didn’t know where the cereal was. He didn’t want to look for it in front of his mother in case that would make her
more angry. So he sat and watched his Mommy breathe with her eyes closed. After an hour of watching and waiting and being very concerned, he tried to get closer. Tried to get close enough so his mother could hear his tummy growling. That’s when she pushed him away, feeling his big blinky eyes on the inside of her hand, tracing the scar line on his forehead from when he fell into the chalkboard at Auntie Caroline’s two winters ago. He didn’t ask her for a single thing.

“behind the kitchen” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday, January 18, 2013
6:56pm
5 minutes
http://www.whiteonricecouple.com

I never remember how you like your eggs – over easy or sunny-side up. Sometimes I guess and sometimes I ask and either way I feel bad because this is something that I should know. My mother calls this kind of thing a “mental blockade”. You sit in your Study, tucked behind the kitchen like an inappropriately placed piece of chewing gum. But, you said when you bought the house, you needed a “Study” because that would make you a real writer. It had been six years since the travel book you wrote while travelling in the Miswestern States had been published. You’d done such a good job, you really had, but travel in those parts just wasn’t very popular right now. I decide on sunny-side up. I crack the eggs into the hot pan and they sizzle, like they should. I hear you laughing to yourself and it must mean you’re being productive. I’m glad for you.