Thursday, February 10, 2005
Dear friends,
While I give the prose-generating areas of my brain one more night's rest, here are some more goodies from Bakerina's Photo Album of Chaos:
Believe it or not, these are all Meyer lemons, part of the bundle I picked up for last month's Shaker lemon pie. The day after I bought these, the weather was sleety and bitter cold. I thought about buying flowers for my desk on the way to work, but I decided that some nice Meyer lemons would elevate my mood just as efficiently.
I might be taking the egg motif too far, likewise with the Arkansas motif, but I never got tired of the various sizes and hues of the eggs I bought. This particular egg caught my eye because it was the longest egg I'd ever seen. If you think that "long" is a weird adjective for an egg, consider this egg next to one of its regular-sized brethren:
One day near the end of my stay at the Colony, one of the staff knocked on my door. Before the Colony was a writers' colony, it was an inn, and before it was an inn, it was a farm. As such, there was still a lot of farm property on the premises, including this nifty wooden sign, which the nice young man at the Colony said was mine if I wanted it. It hangs in my cubicle now, taking up nearly a third of the wall on which it hangs, but it makes the cube feel much friendlier, much more of a place to keep my counsel while I make the living that enables me to chase this silly, improbable, dreamy plan to write this book.
I love the pictures.
Prose-generating areas.
Mine is a gland in my armpit. I pack it with pine tar and ground Sweet Tarts to keep the prose at bay.
Good luck to you.
What exactly is silly and improbable about your book? Nothing, if you ask me!
I like the drumstick on that cow.
I also like the way it says “fight bac” above the gees, as if the little one is expected to somehow defend itself against that green(???) goliath staring down at it. I checked out the Fight Bac website and had a good laugh.
And by “gees”, I do mean “eggs”.
I figured that “gees” was eggs in some language or ‘nother, Tvindy. 
That Fight Bac site was pretty amusing, but somehow I think that the Egg Board was hoping you’d click on this instead. Of course, it’s not nearly as much fun as the other site, and every time I look at the .org site, I find myself getting wound up at how bacteriophobic our public health policy has become. I have no qualms with public safety, and I think that the eradication of polio was one of the greatest success stories of the 20th century, but I still think there’s a middle ground between dangerously contaminated food and sterile food that takes like nothing. But you’ve heard this from me before, over and over, so we’ll take a little break from this discussion. For now.
That sign is udderly enchanting.
Och, I can’t believe that I completely forgot to address the whole shell-color issue! Yep, that is indeed a green egg. There is a breed of chicken called the Araucana that lays eggs of various interesting pastel hues, green and blue and light pink and beige and cream. One thing I just learned this year was that you can tell what color your hen’s eggs will be by checking the color of her ears. White-eared birds lay white eggs, brown-eared birds lay brown eggs, and green-, blue- and pink-eared birds...well, you get the idea. 
And where have my manners been?…
Owen, I owe you a bechamel recipe. It only appears to the naked untrained eye that I have forgotten. As for your prose generation and suppression, wouldn’t it just be less painful to pound nails into the floor with your head? That’s what I usually do.
Jamie, you are a dear, you really are. When are you coming to visit so we can do the neighborhood baklava tour? Better yet, I’ll just lay in supplies so you can bake a batch. I’ll bet yours kicks my neighborhood’s any day of the week.
‘mouse, oh, ‘mouse...leave it to you to head right for the udders. And incidentally, Lloyd would like to have a word with you about yesterday’s comment.
I honestly thought the Fight Bac graphic represented a call to arms against...Bacon. Bacon and eggs straddling a pocked wall of stone, once brothers, now locked in a perpetual struggle which no one understands...I don’t know why, but I didn’t even question it, just thought, “Yeah, the egg folks want me to ‘Fight Bac[on]’.”
when i get my hands on that prose-generating sarcophagus! i’ll share.
i’m still trying to picture the decent back rub from your last mental imagery suggestion.
sheesh. lloyd is listening...?) ((pulling head back into shell slowly)). let me know when he’s gone.
I suddenly feel compelled to search for long eggs. In the morning, I will give the hens a pep talk (or is that peck talk, in chicken?) Squeeze those babies out slowly, I’ll tell them. Extra scratch for long eggs. A free copy of Chicken Run on DVD for the longest egg by the end of the month.
The hens usually respond well to these talks. They know how much I love fried egg sandwiches, and will go to almost any length to please me. (No pun intended.)
But how do you eat a long-egg, fried egg sandwich? On a hotdog bun? Perhaps you will cover this in your book.
What I wondered about that long egg is how many yolks it contained. Is there such a thing as a triple-yolk egg?
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I love the pictures.
Prose-generating areas.
Mine is a gland in my armpit. I pack it with pine tar and ground Sweet Tarts to keep the prose at bay.
Good luck to you.