A.G.E's Joint

  "Honey? I'm going to Kroger. Do you need anything?" "Pick up some cream and butter. I'm making chicken pie and I'm out." "How about a pie crust?" "Got that from the quiche we made last week. Let me check something. Chicken Broth, check. Canned fried onions, check. Salt...Pepper.." "What if they have 'Fish Heads' on sale?" "I hate that song." "I know. Be back in a sec."

So, what are we having for dinner next week?” She asked giggling from the chair. I roll my eyes. Here we go again. If I had one power , I’d write a program to automatically answer this question. Beginning with the Wednesday ads, I’be been asked this every week for the last 35 years. And there is no getting around it, the pen and pad is waiting. It doesn’t matter whether it is spring flowers , summer heat, or autumn leaves ; the grocery list has to be done. Of course, my answer is” “Let’s starve.” The whole process makes her giddy . It’s like preparing for battle. Gathering coupons feels so righ t to her. The list is constructed counterclockwise around the store, Produce, Meat, Dairy, Frozen. As she strolls the aisles, the sight of a spectacular markdown leaves her moaning in delight. “Ooh, barbecue sauce for fifty cents. That’s mine.” I may be going broke by saving money. I can’t complain. I still get fed. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~...

Writer’s choice this week? Since I want to hit #atlbeltline and do a bit of #urbanhiking while dodging kamikaze E-scooters, I’ll do something a little bit different. Since I’m between contracts, I’ve been doing most of the cooking in the house. It’s fun as long as I don’t have to do the shopping. I leave that part to the wife. She gets off on a price war. She determines the objective, researches the prices, adds the coupons and we all “cheer” her victories over the profits of Kroger. No, I don’t. I just roll my eyes when the phrase “what are we having for dinner this week” comes up. We’ve had this same conversation for 34 years. What do you want? I don’t know, chicken? If I have that again, I’ll sprout feathers...etc.etc. So, what is for dinner? Earlier this week, I fixed Pork Chops in Wine. Are you on a budget and can only afford trashy end pieces? This stew will soften them up quick. The recipe comes from a old Junior League cookbook we were given at our wedding. You know t...

Dancing slowly around the counter Sinatra on the oldies station What music they make. Apron swaying To a Parisian dream. Teaspoon off the rack Spices sprinkled in flour.     Beads as liquid joins.   Dough ball forms slowly.   Familiar thrill begins   Love rises, falls.      Hands quickly knead Searching the dragon’s face When love is not madness, It is not love. Spirit attracted To the scent. To her   She is the bread   Intertwined loaves in the oven Only in the next life, She knows.    Topic- Kim Herndon Pic- Christine Wichman Pic Guesses-Dragon (in blog), Sauron, Godzilla, Long Journey, Middle Earth, Knights of old, Tequila dreams, 4 and 20 years ago,

Deep darkly I dream of Losing your dark nightie.   “Here we are all, by day; by night, we're hurled By dreams, each one, into a several world.”  Nostalgia and dreams of the past. The subject comes up in weird ways. Sometimes it's just a song: Or dreaming when TV only had three channels and no remote control: I tell you, it was hard work hauling my fat butt off the couch without spilling the popcorn. And the spilled drinks.... But today, it is food. Scanning Facebook (an addiction worse than heroin), I was directed to an article on "50 Foods You Should Eat Before You Die." A BBC rundown of the essential food everyone should have consumed, whether I liked it or not. I was pleased to find out I had eaten 46 of the foods, thanks to living in an area with an lots of recent immigrants and great restaurants. Most of what ate was delicious. If the Grim Reaper should come tonight, I should feel pretty fulfilled. But one of the foods that I...

Atlanta Highway seemed surreal. Asphalt and concrete stretched for miles in all directions and dimensions.   Sensations of elevation and descent alternated as light posts and warehouses floated across his vision.   The Toyota wasn’t a car, but a mutant space plane rapidly traversing this so called reality. The Pigs created this illusion of “Reality”. Jeremy smiled at the thought.   It didn’t matter how many substances the Pigs put into him, he rejected this concept and had since the fire. All he saw was the illusion aw it was projected from the central location. Even this train of thought was a delusion. He knew that. It was never mentioned in polite, or any other, company. The small, white room was too close of a memory for him to relive.  A gnawing sensation began to rise up from his gut. Hunger? Time won’t let me eat. There are things to do and plans to make. When did he eat last? At 3 sheets, whenever that was. He remembered absent mindedly gnawing...

When I was a little, my mother would make Red Rice. It is a humble dish, adapted from the Gullah settlers during the depression.  It's combination of leftover meat and vegetables was designed to fill bellies with low cost.  But even to this day, I equate this dish with weekday dinner. It didn't matter what Mom's sobriety level was that night, she never would mess this recipe up.  And I would eat until my heart's content.  When I was in college, my own ability to make this dish earned me more than one couch to stay on. But now, I rarely get to eat it. My wife and kids hate onions and bell peppers. I need to take a vacation. So, I can eat it again.   Savannah Red Rice