“the human body, as all of nature,” by Sasha at Bowmore

Saturday October 26, 2019
3:26pm
5 minutes
Prescription For Nutritional Healing
Phyllis A. Balch, CNC

I’m glad for the season changing, the cool weather bringing space that heat won’t, that light can’t. I’m glad for sweaters, scarves, boots, layers, soup, tea, the slow cooker. I’m glad for my Mom’s salad dressing with maple syrup, lemon, garlic, olive oil. I’m glad for you, that you’ve had this time away. I’m glad for naps with Lola at my breast, her breath rising and falling in her perfect, tiny belly. I’m glad for this attic bedroom, where I’ve spent nights with different lifetimes, different lovers, different “you’s“. I’m glad for the leaves changing colour in quicker momentum than the last five years, everything happening faster, but also slower, but also slow.

“Orange County wild fire” by Sasha at her kitchen table

Sunday November 26, 2017
9:41pm
5 minutes
From an Instagram post

Vivian isn’t sure if anyone will remember her name. This is a big fear, taking up the space between temples, up neck, across shoulders. Fredrick suggested that she take some sort of weekly class, and at first she said that they didn’t have enough money and then she came around. Fredrick is virtuously patient. That’s the main reason she married him. She also very much likes his hands and feet. She parks near the entrance and checks her face in the rear view mirror. She isn’t sure what she’s looking for – salad in her teeth? She hasn’t eaten salad since last Tuesday. Fredrick was surprised when she chose a pottery class because she doesn’t like getting dirty. “It’s something I’ve always wanted to do,” she said.

“Cut cucumber halves crosswise” by Julia in her bed


Monday May 29, 2017
12:29am
5 minutes
The Silver Palate Cookbook
Julee Rosso and Sheila Lukins


Thanks for doing the shopping and buying the cucumber. I dont know what made you think to, but i’m sure glad you did. I really wanted it. I was going to make us a cheese salad, you know with at least three different kinds? Goat and feta and all those guys. I didn’t want to ask you cause I didn’t think you cared one way or the other.

“marinated citrus” by Sasha at Matchstick Coffee Riley Park


Wednesday March 15, 2017 at Matchstick
6:55pm
5 minutes
From the menu at Matchstick Coffee Riley Park

When Beth gets home she sees a salad on the counter – endive, roasted beets, marinated blood orange, goat cheese, pickled red onion. “Hello?” she calls, unsure who she is expecting to reply, and if she’ll like it if someone does. Dustin gave his key back the last time he looked after Jemima, the cat. Of course no one answers, she doesn’t know what she was possibly thinking. Lily. Of course! She watered Beth’s plants when Beth was white water canoeing in August. She texts her sister, “Did you make a most beautiful salad at my place today?” and then she backspaces because she remembers that Lily is on a ten day silent meditation retreat.

“Share with a friend!” by Sasha on the bus home


Wednesday November 26, 2014
9:14pm
5 minutes
from a thank you card

When my mother makes soup she chops up everything in the fridge – even the rejected broccoli florets in the crisper corner – and she lets it simmer and she adds salt and pepper only at the very end.

“Two eggs and one piece of whole grain toast has been my breakfast for forty six years… Why would I change that now?”

When my mother goes grocery shopping she organizes her grocery list by type. “Fruit”, “Meat”, “Dairy”, “Treats”.

“Snacking causes obesity.”

When my mother makes salad dressing, she chops up garlic very finely. She refuses to use a garlic press. “Lazy,” she calls them.

“Take this banana bread and share it with a friend! I don’t want it!”
“Well then why did you make it?”
“I wanted one or two pieces, not the whole loaf! If it sits on the counter, I just eat it!”

When my mother orders tea in a restaurant she says, “Bag out, please.”

“In all times and all countries,” by Sasha at King’s Cafe


Monday, April 8, 2013 at King’s Cafe
4:12pm
5 minutes
The Three Muskateers
Alexandre Dumas


Henry wished that he’d remembered to wash the lettuce. When he saw how pretty Deb looked he felt bad that he’d rushed, that he hadn’t changed his shirt, that he’d bought a pre-made Chicken Pot Pie and claimed it as his own. “Wow,” said Deb, after her first bite, “you really know how to cook!” She looked so excited, so filled with genuine admiration for the trouble that he’d gone to. He almost confessed, but then thought about how he’d have to explain why he’d lied in the first place. “Thanks,” he muttered, “it’s just simple.” He hadn’t washed the lettuce because he hated having to put it through the spinner. He remembered her saying how she loved caesar dressing, but not the creamy kind, the vinaigrette. It was one of their first conversations on the phone, and they were talking about some of their favorite things. Deb: sleeping in; the smell of basements; caesar vinaigrette; rhubarb pie; sharp pencils. Henry: motorcycles; a new toothbrush; well groomed feet; sweet potato pie; the sound of traffic. She’d laughed, her Tinker-bell laugh, that’s what Henry called it. She looked less like a fairy and more like a queen. But she laughed like Tinker-bell. It made Henry miss Alice, his first wife, with her hearty, full, laugh. He had a pang, but sent it away with a bit of the pie.