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It seemed to illegtimize my feelings. But the truth is, sometimes it just doesn't take very much to bring us out of our despair. Sometimes it does, but that's another story. Virginia writes, interestingly, "I'm given to jumping in the car and taking spontaneous mini-trips. Isn't that a good idea?
And with testimonoy about continuing to love people close to us when the going gets tough. Tell all your friends! Short stories are great! I wanted to share more letters, but Homer just came up and put his nose on my knee, and looked up at me. What's so great about typing?
Pieces of I-don't-know-what gross stuff stuck to the ground for me to quick gobble up before you can yell at me or jerk me away! Then I'm going downtown to the great city of Chicago to see a play and have dinner with a girlfriend.
This is even better than red lipstick. This was in part because the literary festival was full of such first class writers and poets and audience members. I sat in a darkened auditorium and listened to Jane Hirshfield and Billy Collins, for example, and thought, well, here's a peak experience. I also enjoyed the chickens that run all over old town, and in fact witnessed a chicken domestic squabble--a hen was running down the sidewalk making pissed off clucking sounds: Or so it seemed.
Calvin Trillin was there, and Roy Blount Jr, so you can just imagine. Maybe we can arrange that. I had such a fantastic time and then wrote about it for National Geographic Traveler. You can see the article online. And if you go to: So sorry; I still don't know how to add a link The 6 night program will provide you with my writing workshop focusing on character, place, and dialogue, and the way to liven up prose by adding interesting details.
There will be cooking classes with meals, and accommodations at the villa style hotel featured in the movie Under the Tuscan Sun.
Oh and more, more, more. Read all about it, and if you have any interest, let Lauren know right away--there are only about 7 places. This is a perfect opportunity to write something you've put off, to have guidance and feedback from me in an intimate group, and to have a wonderful time in Italy at the same time. You can call Lauren at , or at and talk to her about it.
Maybe you and your best friend could come together, or maybe you can come alone, as I did, and see what there is to discover about yourself. It is no exaggeration to say that my solo trip to Italy changed my life; I can't wait to go back. As for now, I can't wait to make a sandwich and eat it. Then, as it is nearly 2pm, maybe I'll get dressed. You know what's best about being a writer?
Staying in your pajamas until 2 pm, that's what. Coming nex to the blog: And the very popular Mailbag. So here's my resolution: The rain has washed almost all the snow away, and there is an eeriness about the day, which always happens when the weather is not what it's "supposed" to be. Later, I'll take Homer for a long walk, and we'll both come home muddy. I used to love to get muddy, but that was in the good old days when I bore no responsibility whatsoever for the mess it created.
When you have to clean up your mud, well, that's like baking your own birthday cake. It's one of my very favorite books. In it is a story called "Dog Heaven," and I won't ruin it for you by sharing the last line, because that line will resonate for you in an entirely different way if you read the story.
And I hope you will read the story as well as the rest of the book. The last line is, "It waa a good day, it was a good day, it was a good day. I got up and had an excellent breakfast while I listened to jazz. All you need to know about breakfast is that maple bacon was involved, which is why it was an excellent breakfast. After I read about the place, I had to go and see it.
On her website, artist Lisa Nordstrom says, "I am convinced that our lives are shaped not only by the few cataclysmic events that inevitably occur during a lifetime, but quite profoundly by the collective moments of our everyday, even mundane, life experiences. It is over the course of time that we gather the memories and pieces: It is in the spirit of gathering these separate pieces and bringing them together to form a whole that I create my art.
She makes Christmas tree ornaments and lamps and purses. I stayed a long time, looking at everything, and came away with a number of treasures, some of which I'll use as gifts.
I found out about this author because of another article I read in the newspaper describing Harington as a vastly under-appreciated writer. I had to see what all the fuss was about. Now I know what all the fuss was about. I had to go, and I invited my pal Bill to come along. I would get the tickets: Bill did a little research and we ended up eating at a place called Mana, at W. It was small, with a very interesting vegetarian menu, and man, was it good.
Everything was so different , which I really appreciate when I go out to eat. I had a spinach and pear salad with a sweet mustard vinaigrette and musroom saute over polenta and a white wine from France called La Craie. Everything was exceptionally good. Including the service and the bathrooms. A woman behind me who reviews plays on her theater blog said afteward, "It was so And it takes place in a diner. I'd see anything that takes place in a diner.
Here is what I would like to do today: The moral of this story is: I just want to say one thing to you. Go to this website: See that flying machine manned by a guy and his dog?
The guy is my brother, and he took me up in that machine. At first, I was so scared, I couldn't unclench my jaw. I kept trying to think that in a worst case scenario, this was actually a very good way to die. But then I relaxed and oh boy, was it fun.
If you ever go to the Big Island of Hawaii, call my brother. He'll give you a ride you'll never forget. AND you can have a picture made of you up there that you can show all your friends and they'll admire you for your courage. Those of you who liked my piece on Positano, Italy will probably enjoy this as much or more.
Oh, one more website for you to visit: That's where the photographer for the piece stayed, which is right across the street from my brother's house, where I stayed. And MY accommodations were even better. Read the article to see why. Not sure when it's coming out yet, but I'll let you know. Now it's book and bed time. If I make it through a whole chapter, it'll be a miracle.
On December 23, my youngest grandchild turns one. I expect he'll have a lot of wisdom to impart to me when I hold him on my lap and we eat cake together. Which, as it happess, is a very rich and complex word. You'll find it in bookstores, all shy and new-guyish, trying to make friends with the books it's placed between. Please say hello to it, and compliment it on its cover, which is adorable. Let me know if it doesn't say thank you.
I hate to be all gross and commercial, but Christmas is coming In the Chicago area, I'll go to selected stores to sign stock, but if you have a book you want signed, you can always send it to me--note the new address under "contact directly. And all of a sudden I had a rush of insecurity, and heard that familiar and awful voice that sometimes comes into my head, saying, "Oh, going out to record are you? Who do you think you are, Meryl Streep? Why don't you let an actor record? And then, again, "Why don't you just stick to writing and your homey little recipes?
Inside was the most exquisite affirmation for my reading my own books. A man in Australia named Michael sent a letter written in what looked like black fountain pen ink on gray paper. Beautiful combination, and his penmanship was very artistic. He told me he likes to listen to my books on tape. He says, in part, "My current audiobook is "Home Safe," but I've found the same experience with all the other audiobooks of yours that I've heard.
This feeling is very much a combination of both the book content and your reading style. I guess because you know the characters so well, you can voice them so much better than any actor. Now, I ask you. Doesn't this make you think that maybe we all do have guardian angels? Right when the dip stick put into the self esteem container comes up dry, voila! I have to go now and make pies to bring to my parents' house for Thanksgiving. I read every letter, often times twice.
And am grateful for every one, even the crabby ones. I wish everyone the happiest of holidays. I told my friend Phyllis the other day that I love Thanksgiving, that I have never had a bad Thanksgiving. Being the natural optimist and sunny personality that she is, Phyllis said, "You've got to have had at least one bad one.
In half an hour, I'm due to go to the airport. It's time for a hit of grandkids. Outside is a gray sky, and it feels a lot colder, maybe even cold enough to snow. But someone is out with their leaf-blower, acting like there's no such threat at all. I got a letter from a girl who's doing a school project about me.
She had just a few questions. What makes you tick? Also from the mailbag: Esther from Malvern, PA, writes to say that she agrees that dogs' feet smell like Fritos, and she's so glad to have someone else say so.
Cindy, from Ottowa, Canada, was sitting out on her deck thinking about how she always means to write authors whose books move her, and today was the day. She had just spent two hours in her garden, cleaning up hostas and day lillies and gathering leaves. She was also watching two chipmunks, a pair of bluejays, and a woodpecker.
Holly, from Mesa, Arizona, writes complaining that I used the F word in The Year of Pleasures, so she had to immediately stop reading it. Uh oh, my ride to the airport is here. Now it's time for my favorite activity: Soon we'll all be passing through naked but for a TSA towel.
This year when I go on book tour, I want to travel by donkey. I'm Elizabeth Berg, the person who's been missing from this blog for That's because I was doing revisions to my next novel. But I thought I'd drop into my own website for a visit. It's a beautiful fall day, the leaves turned their show-stopping colors, the air mild, the flowers in the garden making their last glorious stand.
I hate being cold and in that respect dread the coming of winter, but what better sight is there than snow falling when you're warm in your kitchen and making butternut squash soup? A long time ago, I promised to share with you some of the letters I get, and then I never much did anything about it.
It's like when I lay blouses on the ironing board, you know what I mean? But I got a handful of letters the other day, and they were so swell, I'm going to share with you now. Mary "Sam" from Irvington, Virginia, wrote that I "had her" at saying on my website that I wanted a chicken. She said that when she was a kid, she had a bantam hen that would let her put dresses on her, and that she loved riding in the doll buggy.
That image made my day. Can't you see it? The ruffled sleeve over the wing? The imperious look in the chicken's eyes as she rolled past her yardmates who scratched for bugs in the dirt?
At the end of the letter, Sam said, "I would love to meet you in person one day if you are ever in Virginia for a book signing or to purchase chickens or something. Nellie from Collingswood, N. She wrote to say that a specific passage in the book talking about what joy books bring to our lives propelled her to write to me and say thank you. Well, it's early morning, I'm wearing my ragtag pajamas, NPR is on softly in the background, Homer the dog and Gracie the cat are fed.
I need to pack for the trip I'm taking today to New Hampsire this afternoon. I swear, I have never worked so hard on a novel in my life. When it comes out, please buy seven copies. I have to end by telling you one thing about my four- year- old grandson, Matthew; I don't think his parents will mind. Matthew is the most sensitive and caring child, he feels things so deeply. Sometimes I worry about how he'll get along in this world. But the other day he said something that made me think, Well there are many sides to old Matthew: The situation is that the family has a brand new kitten.
Julie, my daughter and Matt's mother, was worrying aloud about whether the cat and their dog would get along. Said Matthew, "Well, if you're so worried about that, you shouldn't have gotten the friggin' dog and you shouldn't have gotten the friggin' cat.
It's been so long since I made an entry here, I almost forget how to do it. The manuscript is in the hands of my very capable editor and agent, and now the last step will be the tweaks before the galley gets sent around for reviews. This one is about a long-divorced couple in their fifties who have an 18 year old daughter to whom something pretty awful happens. The couple come together again around this, and Well, what happens when they're together again is what the book is about.
There's humor here, gotta have humor, and there's a couple times where you might cry, and as you know crying is good for you, as stress hormones are released in tears.
I think this is the longest book I've done, and I like it a lot. I hope you will, too. It's a beautiful day today, slight hint of fall in the air, the leaves offering sneak previews of what will be their full glory.
I took a long walk with Homer and we stopped in the bookstore to pick up a few things. I bought Room , a novel, several children's books. On the way home, I walked past the playground for the elementary school near me. It was recess time, and the shouts of the chidren playing were high and pure and timeless.
There was a line of about six little boys tearing around single file, the boy at the front the obvious leader. What accounts for that particular kind of popularity, which manifests iself so very early on in the school year? It's not attractiveness, although leaders are often attractive.
It's charisma, I suppose. Anyway, there was this line of boys racing along the fence of the playground, yelling "I'm a shark! The little boy who was last in line tripped over something and fell, tumbled over and over himself. He watched them for a second, and I felt kind of sorry for him, but then he saw Homer and I saw it in his face, he got another idea. Possibly a better idea, having to do, I guess, with dogs.
His face changed; he was no longer disappointed, but inspired. He went on his way directly opposite the direction he had been going in, and he was fine, he was more than fine, he was fired up again. This is a leasson in creativity: They might not be accidents at all. The new Ann Hodgman cookbook which will be out soon. Again and again I must sing the praises of that beautiful and most accomplished of novels, one that is worth buying in hardback and should be displayed proudly on your bookshelf.
Also I must sing the praises of fresh figs. I bought some yesterday as a dessert and was really sulky about it because what I really wanted was cake, pie or a cookie. Or ALL of these. But no, I got figs and man alive, are they good. Thursday morning, I looked out my window and saw that the little girls across the street had set up a lemonade stand. Oh, boy, I thought. I'm going to buy some, later.
I'm going to buy two glasses of it--or two paper cups, more likely. They had a little white table, and they sat professionally behind it on two little white chairs. By the time I looked up, many hours had gone by, it was early evening, and it was time to take the dog for a walk. And after that, I needed to do a million other things.
So it was was with some haste that I snapped Homer's leash on him and started off down the block. I did want to.
I had promised myself I would. But now there was the beating of that drum in my head: The next day was so hot the heat index was something like degreees.
But when I looked out my window, there was the little table, all set up on the sidewalk again. There was a pink construction paper sign in the shape of a heart taped to the table, fluttering in the breeze, but I couldn't read the message on it. I saw that the proprietors were up on the porch in the shade, where they could see customers without subjecting themselves to the brutal heat, and I figured the sign said something like if you were interested in lemonade, approach the girls on the porch and they would happily serve you.
Serious inquires only, it might say. All I had was a ten, and I thought to give it them and if they couldn't make change, well, I'd tell them to keep it. Then I decided ten dollars was too much, it might make them uncomfortable. So I found four quarters and put them in my pocket and I headed across the street.
When I got to the little table, I was happy to see that lemonade was 50 cents. But there was no sign of the girls. But below that, it said, "We'll be right back. And I felt disproportionately sad.
Because there was such hope in that little girl's voice when she asked if I'd like to buy some lemonade. Because the girls' signs were homemade, from colorful construction paper, and I was pretty sure they'd had quite a conference about what color the signs should be, what shape.
Because every day those kids grow older and soon the coltish, messy haired little girls that they are now will have morphed into teenaged girls who wouldn't be caught dead selling lemonade, who would understand instantly that the gain would never equal the effort.
But for every single one of us adults who walked or drove by or, best of all, stopped by that lemonade stand, the gain was immeasurable.
It's worth ten bucks to see a kid with a purple plastic headband pour you a drink from a plastic pitcher so heavy for her it wobbles dangerously when she pours, the same kid who entertains herself by turning cartwheels between customers.
Some kids are using their imaginations and getting good ideas and turning them into reality. I've learned my lesson; I'm ready to do my part. It won't be today. Today is going to be more severe thundershowers, as there were last night. I woke up this morning to a flooded basement, and I called my friend Bill to see if he would come and help bail me out and bless his heart, he came right over. And he will get a good dinner. When Bill first arrived, I was standing by the garage where I'd gone to get the shop vac.
I was ankle deep in water and the yard was a virtual lake. It was pretty grim. But the first deep blue morning glory had opened up on the vine I planted to grow up the garage. And he nodded appreciatively and then squared his jaw for work, and so did I. I got a call from my insurance company saying I cannot rent out my Wisconsin place, so I'm going to have to take down all the information on the website.
Meanwhile, the sky is cloudless and that impossible blue, the kind you wish you could wrap up and save in a box under your bed. Or send to someone who lives in a rainy climate. The humidity level is way down, the birds are full of gossip, and there is the scent of cut grass in the air. I'd be looking for adventure, which would be sure to show up in one form or another, if only in successfully capturing some minnows I would later release from their Mason jar jail.
Kids would be all around the neighborhood, doing different things. One memorable summer day in Texas, I came outside to find a group of kids gathered around a big bush. But when I parted the branches, I saw that the baby was just some dumb doll. With catsup on it. The group of kids stood silent for a moment, and then went on their way to find the next great thing to do.
I watched them go, and thought about taking the doll out of the bushes and giving her a little sponge bath. I left her there, where later she might have scared someone half to death, and the kids who put her there, the installers of this imprompu avant -garde art exhibit, wouldn't even see it. I'll open my window to hear the birds better, though. And at lunch time, I'll sit on the wooden porch steps to eat.
Each season offers its gifts and it's in taking them that I realize my greatest wealth. It's a lovely summer day, and I'm off to do one of my favorite things, which is go out for breakfast.
I'm walking, so I can do my usual inspection of the gardens in the neighborhood. I feel so lucky to live among people who put on the dog when it comes to their gardens. Isn't breakfast the most hopeful of things? The whole day before you, nothing wrecked or badly done yet.
The only danger is the stories in the newspaper, which can take a good mood and wipe it right out. Yesterday, in the newspaper, I read a letter from a reader who complained about how many negative stories there were and how few positive. I couldn't agree more. For years, I've wanted to write a Pollyanna column, to offer a place where people can go and read something knowing it will be only good news.
Maybe after I retire onto my chicken farm. Speaking of chickens, a woman at a reading gave me a toy egg to hatch. I shared it with my grandaughter who LOVED the chick that came out, carried it around everywhere like a Judith Leiber purse, and alas, lost it.
If that woman reads this blog, can you please tell me where you got that thing? For those of you asking, I'm finally back at work on the next novel which is still in the chrysalis stage, but about which I am plenty excited. It's about a long-divorced couple who come together again because of something that happens to their daughter.
If you're interested in renting, please contact the person whose name appears with the other information under the "Berg Retreats" part of this website. Okay, off for an egg white omelette, spinach and feta cheese.
I hope whoever sits near me is having an interesting conversation so I can eavesdrop, which is in my job description. Some people are licensed to carry a gun; I am licensed to eavesdrop. Also to stare into space for long periods of time and call it working. Tinkers, by Paul Harding. So lovely, so rich, so complex, such a rewarding read and begs to be read twice.
War, by Sebastian Junger. Gripping and unsettling, and it made me understand things I never had before. Please do read today. Your soul will be better for it. Also authors will be better for it. I'm so happy that people are having FUN with this book! Today a reporter asked me, "Why IS it that high school never quite leaves us?
No time to share stories now, but soon, I promise, I'll tell you about the woebegone guy who told me about never having worked up the nerve to kiss the woman he's wanted to kiss for 45 years , even at the reunion he finally attended without his wife; the man who went to his reunion and finally didn't feel like an outsider wait till you find out WHY , the woman who confessed that she DID make out in a car at a reunion just like my character, Dorothy, wants to.
And she is so not alone. I'm in the midst of packing to go to Houston tomorrow, but wanted to give you a quick heads up on the retreat space in Wisconsin. There is now an email address for you to use to make inquiries or reservations.
You'll see it under "Berg Retreats"--it's cberkel remax. I still haven't taken photos of my place there but hope to get to that as soon as I've finished traveling sometime in June. A rainy day, the sky the softest of grays, the air rich with the scent of green grass, drops of water dripping off the leaves in that lovely slow motion way. The Miss Kim lilacs are pushing open a little bit more each day.
My whole garden had a face lift courtesy of the incomparable Claire Painter she of Painted Gardens and to stand in my yard and look at what she's done is to be overcome with gratitude and wonder. Wait till the bumble bees see THIS! If you like pepperoni but don't like all the fat and calories, try turkey pepperoni. It tastes the same or even better. I make individual pizzas on the small-size whole wheat boboli with red, yellow, and green peppers and red onion sauteed lightly in a little olive oil, and top it with turkey pepperoni and it's so good.
I use tomato paste mixed with fresh oregano and garlic for pizza sauce, and light mozzerella both under and on top of the toppings. Now I want one and I don't have the ingredients. When I want something and I don't have the ingredients, I get to have one piece of See's chocolates, in compensation. So here I go to select a caramel one. This may be the last entry I'm able to make for a while, as next week the tour really gets going. I'm having fun so far, and am gratifed at the number of people who have seen that The Last Time I Saw You is a lot more than a story of five people coming together for a high school reunion.
Today is one of those almost frustratingly beautiful spring days--you can't quite hold all the loveliness around you, but you WANT to.
The dogs being walked down the sidewalk past my house all have their tails in the high alert position, and my cat is sitting transfixed before the window, her own tail flicking with excitement, watching the birds take off and land in the back yard bushes. I'm going to work in the garden a little always a wonderful thing to get dirt under the fingernails and then take Homer for a well-deserved long walk. The buds are still tight on some trees and they remind me of lipsticks rolled up partway, like they show lipsticks in magazine ads.
I saw a magenta colored "lipstick" and the contrast was beautiful next to its light green "case. Then tomorrow, I'm going with a friend to see a kind of Project Runway--students at Dominican University have made original designs and are displaying them in a fashion show.
I love seeing evidence of creativity, whether it's the loopy scrawls my grandson makes on a piece of white paper, or a black floor-length gown festooned with feathers at the bodice.
I am devastated when they cut art programs from public schools, because it seems as-- if not more-- important than academics. Art instructs the soul, and teaches the worth of quiet observation. Just wait till I'm president. I'm going to "shove down the throats of Americans" the idea that art saves us. As for now, I'm going out on the porch to finish my coffee and read the paper. I'm wearing my red robe and black sneakers and glasses that once again are spattered with something, why do glasses always get spattered?
What IS that stuff?? I suppose I should get dressed first, but I'm too eager to go outside. It's like the time I was nine and went out to ice skate wearing my nightgown under my coat. I didn't even get cold because I was too excited. I'm very close to becoming eccentric, I suppose. I'll give them a wave. Maybe a muffin, too. Well, it's the birthday of my new book. Please pay a visit to my stack of books in your local store and pat them and murmur reassuringly.
I did a radio interview for the book yesterday, and one on TV today. I almost went to an electric company rather than the TV station, but otherwise things went well. The best thing that happened in the TV station is that the woman who is the news director's assistant came in the green room and told me she read my book in an afternoon.
Then she said, "You know what always happens when I read your books? I want to be a better person. After the interview I went to court to try to get out of a ticket I'd been given for backing into a parking place in a municipal lot. And I told her how when I pulled in there was a car directly across from me that had also backed in and that the sign that said not to do that was obscured.
She said, "I agree with you. I've been to that lot and the sign is ohscured. So I slunk out of court, twenty dollars richer and feeling ever so vindicated but also shamed for apparently overstepping my bounds. That judge is no longer invited to my book's birthday party, which is tonight at my first reading.
I hope there are little cupcakes there. A lot of people are writing to me wanting to do the same cooking vacation in Italy that I did I wrote about my trip to Positano in April's National Geographic Traveler--it's the cover story. If you want to read it, you can buy the magazine or read it on line. To contact the people I worked with and adored email them at info cooking-vacations.
Here's my morning routine: I wake up and have little one-sided conversations with my dog and my cat. I notice I say everything twice to my dog, as most people do eg.
She helped the cops up, told Fran to outfit them, arm them, their ready agreement, they would war for Jill, they would die for Jill, building our army, gathering our warriors, Jills giggle, these cops had one thought process, protect their Queen, building our Royal Bodyguards.
We were all gathered around the punk we had caught burning a nearby barn, he was naked, hanging by his hands, feet feet off the ground. His stomach and back were crisscrossed with angry purple bruises from being carried in Marcels powerful jaws, the fag was on the verge of insanity, unable to control his bladder or bowels, pig. Jills honesty, telling the fag he was going to return to Hell soon, first we would torture him brutal, Jills smile, Lucy felt his pain, this she knew, just as Jill felt Roberts bullet wound as if she were hit, Jills rage, she would make him pay for his sins, would send him back to his Mistress broken and shamed.
Jesus, sweet fuck jesus, things kept getting stranger, degrees stranger, as Trevor broke through the trees, his Harley had been customized, armor plated all over, there were machine guns, Uzis, resting on each hand grip, but who he was carrying was freaky, she had to be the biggest woman ever, it was comical the way the bike kept tipping back, her weight easily four hundred pounds, but not till they got off the bike did we realize she was at least six foot six, lots of fat, but the muscle was there, she was not soft, even her mountainous tits appeared rock solid, this was one scary broad.
She was wearing mens clothes, all blue denim, pants tucked in to her bright red cowboy boots, her button down shirt embroided with red roses, shirt sleeves missing, ripped biceps exposed,around her ample waist a holster, looked like matching S and W Model s she was carrying, the unquestioned most powerful hand gun ever, fuck ever, matching cannons, the was a.
Let everyone have their fun with the punk, lots of fun, he was quickly reduced to a babbling idiot, all of us guys ass raped him, while the girls destroyed his cock and balls, using knives and pliers to rip him up, his balls hanging free from his ripped open sack, how his sphincter flexed with his pain, quite a fun ride, as I ice picked his back silly, driving my excited rod up his bloody butt, evil would be broken.
Jill decided that the fool wasn't fit for human comsumption, Marcel and Fred had no such reservations, Fred chuckling, he ate squirrel, raw for fuck sake, this was prime rib compared, aha, every fox is a wise guy. Let the weakened fag get a running start before our animals had him in pieces, beautiful to watch, killing machines, the way Marcel and Fred shared their booty with the other meat eating animals in the compound was quite endearing, Jills wish, that fuck humans could learn from that heavy shit.
One of our joys, having dinner with the assembled troops, minus Grover and Jan who were on perimeter patrol, with Marcel and Fred, it was a deeply relaxing thing, a way for all of us to share ideas, worries, a dredging of our collective mind.
Jill and I sat at a table with Tommy and Robert, an Officers Mess if you will, the need for a chain of command right, everyone enjoying Ronnie and Moms cooking, our need for calories big, the way we all were ravenous, like as if this wild life left us faminished for sustenance, to watch all our children, happy, all confident in their skin, all part of our blanket of good, a part freaks and losers, together beautiful and righteous.
The conversation flowing when Donna dropped a bomb, just throwing it out there like a bit of nothing, it was everything. Portsmouth Naval Shipyard, sub yard, nuclear sub yard, that the USS Virginia, a kick ass kill machine, head of its own class of sub, was in drydock, its eight KT W nuclear warheads, removed from the Tomahawk missles on board the drydocked sub, stored at the closed prison, guarded by marines, that the subs twelve Harpoon missles were sitting in a weapons shed pierside, still carrying their five hundred pound high explosive warhead, not nuclear, but quite spectacualr all the same.
Kausapin mo si Pedro tungkol sa balak mo. Talk with Pedro about your plans. He waved at me before he left. His trousers got hooked on the nail. Be careful as you walk or your trousers might get hooked on the nail. Kumawit ang pantalon niya sa pako. His trousers were got hooked on the nail.
Invite someone to go with you to to the market. Invite Juan to watch a movie. We scraped the coconut. Talk to the lonely child. Malamig sa labas, baka ka kiligin.
It is cold outside, you might shiver. Carry a newspaper on the way to the office. Make the way narrow. You make the way narrow. The rough cloth rubbed on his skin.
Sharpen the kinife on the whetstone. He earned a lot at the company. They want to see each other tonight. Collect some financial assistance for typhoon victims. Gather the dry leaves in the garden. Get yourself some bananas from the basket. Get the bananas from the basket. Huwag kang mangulangot sa harap ng ibang tao. You should not pick your nose before other people. Kumulog ng malakas kaninang umaga. It thundered loudly early this morning.
Don't put the bird in the cage. Imprison yourself in your room.
This is a begging letter, as my mother would have called it. I am begging anyone who thinks they might have the slightest interest in coming to the next Writing Matters event on Saturday evening, June 20th, featuring the absolutely delightful children's book writer Amy . Jills Fire. Chapter 4 Road Trip. by roccodadom [email protected] This to shall pass, school out, Bri gone to her moms, I told her I would leave her room for her, no one would need it, fuck sure, Jill sleeping with me, every night now, our life, nostri tempi. Jul 31, · An Online Tagalog - English Dictionary Learn Tagalog or Filipino Language for free.