Posts Tagged ‘Pressed Juicery’

Serendipity

Tuesday, March 11th, 2014

 

Stephanie, Libbie, young

I had no plans for Wednesday.  None.  The only vague plan was to go get the vaccine for shingles .  Those are the kind of plans I make now.  Planning ahead to prevent a medical disaster.   I don’t, however, own an earthquake kit, so clearly I’m not well prepared.   I woke up and wasn’t feeling it.  I would do what I always do: stay at home.  It was cold outside and threatening to rain.

To be honest, my day was derailed by an e-mail from my husband.  It was a link to a scone recipe and attached was a picture of a piping hot biscuit.  That did it.   I knew what my new plan was.   I looked in the refrigerator and the buttermilk would expire in two days.  Meant to be!!  I would be making biscuits.  I have some big productive days!! (more…)

Paintings

Friday, January 11th, 2013
Mary Lou Rutenberg painting of my stunning mother, Evelyn Duke, 1960's

Mary Lou Rutenberg painting of my stunning mother, Evelyn Duke, 1960’s

I posed nude, you know.  Several times.  Me and my two good buddies.  All three chicks, totally naked.  In a bathtub.  It was for an artist who thought this would make a great painting.  Or, perhaps, it was a commissioned painting.  Either way, I was asked, and I was in.  It got cold because we sat in that water for hours.  Or did it only seem like hours?  The two friends of mine were sisters, Lori and Lesly.  I slept at their house a lot.  We were kind of inseparable.  Only, secretly, it was Lesly, the younger one, who I was closest to; she looked up to me because I was older.  Lesly rocked herself to sleep in this crazy, enviably violent manner that totally intrigued me.   I guess I should reveal that I was nine years old, though I was trying to figure out a way to tell the whole story without saying how old I was, to make it funnier.  However, it’s probably not all that funny to imagine an adult woman after you hear the tale.

 Here is what happened, one fateful day, in that water-filled tub.  I farted.  Yep.  As a kid, I was pretty much constantly constipated.  Truly, I spent my whole childhood blocked up, because I ate no fiber and consumed mostly mayonnaise sandwiches on white bread (which you would know, if you’re following my blog), so it’s not a surprise, really.  There we three girls were that day, and when their mother, the artist, told us to get out of the bath, I looked back at the water and saw a turd floating about.  A little rabbit sized pellet of a thing, just like the one that I was used to expelling — to use a polite word.   I’m trying very hard to keep this polite and not say shit.

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