Goats and Pie.
Who woulda thunk?
“Not I,” said the little mousy wife trying to stay alive and out of mischief”
“Not I,” said the big brown bear looking around for a chair.
“Not me,” said the hen again and again.
Goats and Pie…as in pie a la goat?
As in goat a la pie?
Either way….it would be best to say bye bye…
Okay now that those of you brave enough to read beyond the first line are scratching your head wondering where did the original goofy gal go? No worries. I am right here, scraping the egg off my face, pulling the twigs out of my hair and the sprigs of feathers from the bottom of my feet. And to think this is just the first week of my low residency MFA program…only 103 weeks more to go…What joys and treats you are in for my dear loyal readers!
Fear not, I have gone just a bit loopy my friends and fellow Thespians. But I must share with you two recent happenings that left me sitting on a local street corner sans shoes - singing, squawking really, for my dinner- actually a cup of coffee - I made ten cents, and a fellow crazy person donated the dollar to me to purchase said beverage. (story for another day- someone remind me…memory of the ol’ gal ain’t what it used to be.)
Why you ask was I sitting on a street corner? Well, when you have nothing left but dotty thoughts of apple pie and goats well, where does one turn? To the street my friends, to the streets.
It began on a recent afternoon around 3:00 p.m. Dear Son had just come home from school. Imagine if you will.
The Scene:
Scruffy mousy mom sitting at keyboard pecking out a story upstairs in her office.
Door slams from somewhere below.
“Hello Mama!” a familiar voice bellows.
“Hello My dear,” the mousy mom bellows back down at her young son. “I will be down in a minute dear,” she quickly pounds a few keys and hits the “save” button.
Next Scene: (The family Room):
Mousy mom bounds down stairs and plants a west kiss on sweaty cheek of young ward who smells like a wet puppy dog.
Sweaty young son is plopped on leather oversized couch drinking a bottle of water watching a basketball game on television.
“Hey Mom,” sweaty young son asks.
“Did you send in my form and money for the apple pie?”
Mousy mom stares at young lad and questions:
“What form, what pie?”
Sweaty young son turns off television and gives mousy mom a long stare with two pools of dark chocolate in which water appears to be cresting the dam.
“What are you talking about?” Mousy mom (aka yours truly in case you haven’t figured that out) asks in disbelief.
Young son stares at crazy lady with paint splotched oversized oxford shirt and bleach-splotched sweatpants and socks complete with holes where big toe peeks out unceremoniously.
“Mom, Miss A. says is it the best pie in the world. Everyone in the class is getting one. I was the only name she didn’t call when she read out the list of those who had sent in their forms and money.”
“Well, okay then” says I in mock agreement. “But please, may I ask you, when did you develop a craving for apple pie? I can barely get you to eat the apples I put in your lunch. And while we are talking about apple pie, since when do you or I or Dad for that matter eat pie? When was the last time you saw a pie in this house?”
The dam broke. I was faced with a ten year old soon to be eleven crying buckets because his mousy mother had neglected to send in a form for an apple pie that was going to cost fifteen dollars. And we don’t eat pie. At least I wasn’t aware we did.
But there on the couch in front of me sat the young lad telling his mousy old mam that he loved apple pie…I guess it must have been with his other mother that he ate the aforementioned apple pie.
I sighed. It was a losing battle that I was happy to let go. I would give in and let him buy a pie which I must admit, I was curious to see exactly how it would make its way home on a 2-hour bus ride. Might be worth the humor factor- cheaper than a movie ticket. And I was even more curious to see who would eat this supposedly ‘to die for’ pie.
…Just when I thought things couldn’t get more surreal, I read an article on The New York Times home page http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/01/dining/01goat.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=goat%20meat&st=cse
that shared with me that the most populous meat the world over is: GOAT. As in horns and bleating and head butting four legged, hooved creature. I am heading toward complete vegetarian and now this- goat? I guess I learned too may nursery rhymes in preschool including Baa Baa black sheep and read too many stories about Billy Goat Gruff to ever fathom (gulp) eating such animals.
Anything with eyes is circumspect in my book when it comes to food.
Speaking of eyes…Apples don’t have eyes do they?!...
Who woulda thunk?
“Not I,” said the little mousy wife trying to stay alive and out of mischief”
“Not I,” said the big brown bear looking around for a chair.
“Not me,” said the hen again and again.
Goats and Pie…as in pie a la goat?
As in goat a la pie?
Either way….it would be best to say bye bye…
Okay now that those of you brave enough to read beyond the first line are scratching your head wondering where did the original goofy gal go? No worries. I am right here, scraping the egg off my face, pulling the twigs out of my hair and the sprigs of feathers from the bottom of my feet. And to think this is just the first week of my low residency MFA program…only 103 weeks more to go…What joys and treats you are in for my dear loyal readers!
Fear not, I have gone just a bit loopy my friends and fellow Thespians. But I must share with you two recent happenings that left me sitting on a local street corner sans shoes - singing, squawking really, for my dinner- actually a cup of coffee - I made ten cents, and a fellow crazy person donated the dollar to me to purchase said beverage. (story for another day- someone remind me…memory of the ol’ gal ain’t what it used to be.)
Why you ask was I sitting on a street corner? Well, when you have nothing left but dotty thoughts of apple pie and goats well, where does one turn? To the street my friends, to the streets.
It began on a recent afternoon around 3:00 p.m. Dear Son had just come home from school. Imagine if you will.
The Scene:
Scruffy mousy mom sitting at keyboard pecking out a story upstairs in her office.
Door slams from somewhere below.
“Hello Mama!” a familiar voice bellows.
“Hello My dear,” the mousy mom bellows back down at her young son. “I will be down in a minute dear,” she quickly pounds a few keys and hits the “save” button.
Next Scene: (The family Room):
Mousy mom bounds down stairs and plants a west kiss on sweaty cheek of young ward who smells like a wet puppy dog.
Sweaty young son is plopped on leather oversized couch drinking a bottle of water watching a basketball game on television.
“Hey Mom,” sweaty young son asks.
“Did you send in my form and money for the apple pie?”
Mousy mom stares at young lad and questions:
“What form, what pie?”
Sweaty young son turns off television and gives mousy mom a long stare with two pools of dark chocolate in which water appears to be cresting the dam.
“What are you talking about?” Mousy mom (aka yours truly in case you haven’t figured that out) asks in disbelief.
Young son stares at crazy lady with paint splotched oversized oxford shirt and bleach-splotched sweatpants and socks complete with holes where big toe peeks out unceremoniously.
“Mom, Miss A. says is it the best pie in the world. Everyone in the class is getting one. I was the only name she didn’t call when she read out the list of those who had sent in their forms and money.”
“Well, okay then” says I in mock agreement. “But please, may I ask you, when did you develop a craving for apple pie? I can barely get you to eat the apples I put in your lunch. And while we are talking about apple pie, since when do you or I or Dad for that matter eat pie? When was the last time you saw a pie in this house?”
The dam broke. I was faced with a ten year old soon to be eleven crying buckets because his mousy mother had neglected to send in a form for an apple pie that was going to cost fifteen dollars. And we don’t eat pie. At least I wasn’t aware we did.
But there on the couch in front of me sat the young lad telling his mousy old mam that he loved apple pie…I guess it must have been with his other mother that he ate the aforementioned apple pie.
I sighed. It was a losing battle that I was happy to let go. I would give in and let him buy a pie which I must admit, I was curious to see exactly how it would make its way home on a 2-hour bus ride. Might be worth the humor factor- cheaper than a movie ticket. And I was even more curious to see who would eat this supposedly ‘to die for’ pie.
…Just when I thought things couldn’t get more surreal, I read an article on The New York Times home page http://www.nytimes.com/2009/04/01/dining/01goat.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=goat%20meat&st=cse
that shared with me that the most populous meat the world over is: GOAT. As in horns and bleating and head butting four legged, hooved creature. I am heading toward complete vegetarian and now this- goat? I guess I learned too may nursery rhymes in preschool including Baa Baa black sheep and read too many stories about Billy Goat Gruff to ever fathom (gulp) eating such animals.
Anything with eyes is circumspect in my book when it comes to food.
Speaking of eyes…Apples don’t have eyes do they?!...
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