balmofgilead: (Default)
I call this one "still life with hot drink that does not cause heartburn."
I actually quite like the stuff--Inka--but that might be in part because I was raised on a series of Postum (RIP), Pero, and then Cafix (Inka is identical ingredient-wise, but cheaper). I remember frustratedly trying to explain to my nursery school teacher what "Pero" was for some project where we were supposed to list our favorite drink: Powow? That's not a drink! (As a little kid I didn't enunciate very well and it didn't help that the teacher had never heard of Pero.) No, perrrro!  What? Pero. It IS a drink. *tiny [ profile] balmofgilead sighs* Postum? Have you heard of Postum? It's like that. Just put that down. (They actually have different ingredients - wheat vs. barley/chicory/beets, but close enough, right?) 

balmofgilead: (dudley pippin)
When I was four, we took a trip to NYC to visit my aunt.  While we were walking around Manhattan, my mom, always looking to impress (and having lived in NYC for many years at one point), told me that you could buy anything there.  And I, always trying to challenge (and desperate to have a new baby brother or sister like everyone else in my nursery school class), shouted "I know something you can't buy here:  A BABY!" 

There was a moment of silence, and then it was quietly explained to me that yes, sadly, some people do buy and sell babies. She wasn't talking about adoption.
balmofgilead: (Default)
Y'know what? I have officially decided that I like getting older. Lyrics of an insipid sleep-away camp song have been running through my head lately: "I wish that we could stop the sands of time..." And then I stop and think about it--no fucking way do I wish that I were eleven again. I like the sands of time.

It's not that I hated being eleven or that eleven was a particularly bad year; it's that I like the deeper capacity to understand things that has come with age. I'm not sure if it's the brain development that continues through adolescence or if it's because I've been around longer and experienced more, but it brings mellowness and peace--and I'll take that.

I remember my mind being in a perpetual fuzzy haze when I was in nursery school: did Abraham from the Bible free the slaves? what happens if my mother doesn't pick me up from school? why aren't all of my relatives' graves in each cemetery we visit? (I think I viewed it as sort of like a library, with each cemetery having its own copy of the relevant tombstones). I'm not sure if it's common for most kids, but I didn't have a great overall grasp of time (i.e. months and years), which is both wonderful and very, very frustrating.

There were other, subtler mysteries like that as I grew older--the sorts of things that even scouring reference materials or someone sitting you down and drawing out a diagram or launching into a detailed explanation can't really sort out for you. Being able to see things clearly--and furthermore, being able to step back calmly when things aren't clear and figure out a way to make them clearer--brings a great sense of security. That skill seems to develop with age, and I like that.
balmofgilead: (Default)
random thoughts

tomatoes from the farmers' market taste ten thousand times better than the ones from the supermarket, even when they look kinda pale and unripe.

the smell of thick sweat reminds me of being in israel when i was 9. it's not necessarily a bad reminder.

i think my cutting board will always smell like onions. too bad it has to smell like raw onions. cooked ones are so much yummier. oh well.


balmofgilead: (Default)

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