Something like a four minute poem.

Boo, Gotcha.
Halloween is my favorite holiday, as a kid and now too. It must have something to do with dressing up, the semi spooky nature of the night, hanging out with my neighbors, that it isn’t associated with gift buying or giving or the simple fact that I can happily live with the candy gluttony that takes over a 36 hour period in my kid’s lives, that brings them pure joy. For me Halloween also signals the start of the holiday season, the time of year where all the old, old, old traditions have been tossed out the window and have now been reinvented in a way that is starting to look kind of familiar. When I think about all the hard things about splitting up a family, holidays rank in the top five and though it is easier every year, I work hard to get a grip on these few months so that I am prepared for the not totally unexpected sadness that still creeps around. It is ironic too that Halloween starts this season of holiday change because it is the one holiday we haven’t messed with. The Halloween traditions remain the same as they have been since the first costumes and plastic jack o lanterns and piles of fun size treats.

Not Quiche.
I make a lot of pie. Egg pie as my kids call it is pretty much on the menu every morning and sometimes for lunch. And it is humble, this pie, and I make it before sunrise, before I have had enough coffee and certainly not with my best culinary skills. Egg pie is not beautiful, it is simple in looks and taste and travels well. Wedges for breakfast, warm out of the oven and then another, room temp, often for lunch. I think it is one of those foods that is actually better after a few hours of rest from the oven. It can survive a lunchbox toss around on the bus, a good jamming into a backpack and a few hours in a classroom desk waiting for midday. I like to believe that it is so good because of the eggs and sausage and crust though I really think it is because as I put it in my mouth it so completely conjures home and love.

Under the Surface.
I fell into a song this week, a song that made me think of a book. Not any particular book, more like the feeling of discovery that happens when you read a more than just the meaning on the surface, book. That happened with this song, even though I have heard it a million times, for some reason this time it reached me. Timing, I think, connecting these words to my current story with layers, depth and musicality that created a meaningful riddle for me. This song is a stick to your ribs, four minute poem with a rhythm that holds and words that sooth, justify and serve as an anthem and that maybe send even another message just by me writing about it.

Bright Path.
I walked miles today and hours and wrote most of the words here in my head. I actually lost track of time and even though I have been doing distance almost every Sunday, I did more today, by accident. And while my feet and legs are pretty hearty, they ached tonight for a hot bath. And as I sit here steaming, a beautiful more fall than winter breeze wafts through the open bathroom window. It cools my face while the rest of me melts happily in the hot water. Outside I hear the cars pass in tune with the stop light out my front door and have a perfect view from the window of the waxing moon that is for certain bright enough to illuminate all possible paths.



Author: Eileen O'Toole

A quick service restaurant vet who loves food, teaching, learning and being a single Mom. Believes that waking up each day with a positive attitude and a smile on your face can change the world.

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