This page is dedicated to samples of creative writing.
It is intended to provide a glimpse into some of the stories, poems, opinion pieces I have authored over the years.
All work as contained herein is ©michael moore and may not be copied or reproduced without express written permission .
It is intended to provide a glimpse into some of the stories, poems, opinion pieces I have authored over the years.
All work as contained herein is ©michael moore and may not be copied or reproduced without express written permission .
8 ITEMS or LESS
Idly watching but not seeing anything, I had placed the contents of my cart on the belt.
Heard a voice - took a second to realize she was talking to me.
'Real nice steaks you got there..... now that's a dinner party I'd like to go to...'
I looked over at the cashier.
Smiled
She smiled back - a lovely smile. Except it showed the gaps where two of her upper teeth were missing.
But it was real warm. And a twinkling eye. Or, as she turned to look at me full-face, I instantly wondered if the twinkly eye might
be due to the fact that it was what you call, a lazy eye.
But she smiled again....
And of course I said, 'Well I figured that....clearly you recognize quality when you see it.'
She grinned real warm at me.
'Yep...I do. And I ain't no cheap date!'
'Could see that immediately', I replied.
'Watcha makin' anyways?'
'Music, Honey', I said with a smile....
'So far, it's sounding like a nice melody'
She smiled, a lazy, warm glow.....I melted a little.
'Sally', her name tag read.
'So, Sally - time to get cooking......'
'Yep', she said, breaking the moment.
Turning back to busy herself at the register, she looked back at me - that smile again, and winked.
'I'll bring the desert', she grinned.
'Honey - you are a desert.... a real treat.'
Awkward moment there.
'So - for sure - I'll be out front waiting - at what time?', I asked.
'Six o'clock - get off at six', she replied.
'Six 'tis', as I picked up my bags, our fingers touched as she handed the receipt to me.
'See ya then'
'Yeah - see you then', she said.
Idly watching but not seeing anything, I had placed the contents of my cart on the belt.
Heard a voice - took a second to realize she was talking to me.
'Real nice steaks you got there..... now that's a dinner party I'd like to go to...'
I looked over at the cashier.
Smiled
She smiled back - a lovely smile. Except it showed the gaps where two of her upper teeth were missing.
But it was real warm. And a twinkling eye. Or, as she turned to look at me full-face, I instantly wondered if the twinkly eye might
be due to the fact that it was what you call, a lazy eye.
But she smiled again....
And of course I said, 'Well I figured that....clearly you recognize quality when you see it.'
She grinned real warm at me.
'Yep...I do. And I ain't no cheap date!'
'Could see that immediately', I replied.
'Watcha makin' anyways?'
'Music, Honey', I said with a smile....
'So far, it's sounding like a nice melody'
She smiled, a lazy, warm glow.....I melted a little.
'Sally', her name tag read.
'So, Sally - time to get cooking......'
'Yep', she said, breaking the moment.
Turning back to busy herself at the register, she looked back at me - that smile again, and winked.
'I'll bring the desert', she grinned.
'Honey - you are a desert.... a real treat.'
Awkward moment there.
'So - for sure - I'll be out front waiting - at what time?', I asked.
'Six o'clock - get off at six', she replied.
'Six 'tis', as I picked up my bags, our fingers touched as she handed the receipt to me.
'See ya then'
'Yeah - see you then', she said.
LITTLE LOSSES - TINY VICTORIES:
‘Ahh! Great! Was gonna ask you to check.’
‘Check what?’
‘If we had enough.’
‘Of?’
‘Fish sauce. How much do we need?’
‘Two teaspoons. As you can see there’s probably just a little more than that left.’
‘Yes – thankfully. And the sesame oil?’
‘I didn’t put it out yet – can you check?’
‘Yup! There is…we don’t need that much, right?’
‘No, if memory serves me well, only 1 tsp. Yes – Two teaspoons fish sauce, one of sesame oil’
‘Sure hope he gets here on time. Burgers are not burgers without the bun, you agree?’
‘I do. I also hope he gets here on time. But, looks like we have a little under two hours before I need to fire up the grill.’
‘No – you’re not gonna drag out the barbecue now are you? In this pissy weather? And it’s cold out there – rainy and cold.’
‘Nah – just a figure of speech. I’ll probably do them in the toaster oven. Only making four – that’s what the recipe calls for. And so we have just enough fish sauce for tonight.’
‘Tenks God! ‘Cause there is nowhere that I can think of that will deliver fish sauce. We’ll be lucky if we get the buns.’
‘Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it. Burgers sans buns is like, well – almost sacrilegious. Not only that but they’re nowhere near as good.’
‘Hey – don’t beat me up. Just sayin’- it’s close to five now. Last week’s delivery was here before this.’
‘Yeah. I know. But they must be overwhelmed this week. Given the latest government proclamation to ‘Stay home – stay inside.’ Judging by what I’m seeing on the street, everyone’s taking it seriously – finally.’
‘Yes – you’re right. As sad as that is. We have everything else we need though, I think. I mean for this special treat dinner tonight. Ground beef, ground pork, scallions – we have the fish sauce and the sesame oil.’
‘We do. And given your recent bad reaction to things spicy I won’t be using sriracha sauce in them.’
‘Oh? But that’s what makes them so special, no? That tangy hot sauce.’
‘Yes – sortof. But give this a try.’
‘What is it?’
‘Mayonnaise, hot horseradish with a dash of oyster sauce. We know you have no problem with horseradish. The therapist confirmed that, right?’
‘Yes, correct. Okay – let me give this a little try. Mmmmm! That has a nice kick to it. And the oyster sauce gives a lovely depth of flavor. Wherever did you get this idea from?’
‘Dunno – you know me – always experimenting. I am, after all, dangerous in the kitchen, don’t you know?’
‘You are that. Dangerously good.’
‘So - - since we have some time why don’t we dial up a video chat with Amanda and the kids?
We can describe what our special treat dinner is going to be tonight.’
‘Good idea. Give me five minutes to get ‘em online, okay?’
‘Sure – I’ll finish up making the coleslaw.’
‘Okay – got ‘em. She should answer in a bit. Come – come join me here.’
‘Coming – coming.’
‘Hi sweet girls - how are you? What have you been up to? You helping Mommy make dinner?’
‘We are, yes! We’re making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. With glumpy tomato soup.’
‘Glumpy? Why glumpy? I don’t think we’ve had that before. And we love tomato soup.’
‘We call it glumpy because we put chunks of cherry tomatoes in the soup when it’s heating up. It’s really good. You should try it Grandma.’
‘That sounds wonderful. We’ll definitely try that.’
‘And so what are you guys having for dinner?’
‘Ahhh! A very special treat – we haven’t made these in quite a while. We’re having ‘bunny burgers.’
‘Ooooh. Bunny burgers? Yuck! Really Grandma? Bunny burgers?’
‘I’m sorry – oh no! Look – Tracey’s upset. Why is she crying? Please go bring her back. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, Mom, you know that she probably thinks you’re cooking up little bunny rabbits.
A four year old – well that is upsetting to her. But you’re not, right? You guys aren’t
making burgers out of, ‘bunnies’? Like, actual rabbit?’
‘No – no. I’m so sorry. I thought you’ve heard us call them that before. They’re Banh burgers. They’re Vietnamese. Haven’t we had them with you when we’ve done barbecues?’
‘Uhhh, I don’t think so. Look – I have to go find her – settle her down. Can we call you back later?’
‘Sure. I’m so sorry. Anyways, they may not turn out to be actual burgers if the delivery guy doesn’t get here with our order – and the buns. Go. I’m sorry. Give her hugs and kisses from Grandma and Grandpa. Loveyou.’
‘Well – that didn’t go over so good, huh?’
‘Uhh, nope. Did not.’
‘Okay – look – it’s after 7:00. It’s going to take half an hour to do the burgers, etc. Whaddaya say we start everything. If the delivery shows up, great – we’ll have burgers-in-buns. If not, will still be great. Okay?’
‘Yeah, guess so. I feel so shitty. Feel shitty that I upset Tracey, feel shitty about this whole COVID lockdown thing – feel really shitty that we can’t, anymore, be normal. Is this, like, ever gonna end? I mean in a reasonable time?’
‘No one knows Angel – no one. It’s one day at a time. Look – we’re safe here – granted we’re now into week 3 – but, we’re safe here. Thank God. And we’ll just have to keep plodding along.
We got good food and lots of it, we got books, music, movies – heck – this is better than being away on vacation. I don’t feel any guilt about anything like finishing a report, dealing with work issues – all the normal pressure points in our day-to-day lives. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?’
‘Yeah – guess so. So alright – let’s get this show on the road I’m starving and buns or no buns
this is gonna be great.’
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
‘Phew! So even without the buns, I loved it! The cole slaw was wonderful – your special mayonnaise was great! Maybe this is how we should have them all the time – a brand new
style of ‘bunnyBurgers’. Whaddaya think?’
‘Yep – I liked it. And it’s a good thing we didn’t wait ‘cause it’s now after eight o’clock.
I’ll tidy up here – whyn’t you go and call the girls before their bed-time? Make sure Trace
is feeling better.’
‘K.’
It was twenty minutes later that she came back into the kitchen. He had cleaned, tidied – washed up and put away the pieces and parts of their dinner.
At that moment his cel-phone buzzed. As he looked down at it she asked, ‘Who’s that?
I’ll bet it’s the delivery guy, right?’
‘Yup – it be he. He’s fifteen minutes away yet. Glad we didn’t wait for him.’
She came close to him, shmooshed tight against his chest, tucked her head up under his chin.
He enveloped her, pulled her close. Pulling back a little she looked up at him, tears coming to life, washing against her cheeks.
‘When the FUCK is this gonna be over with? I am scared, I am tired – I am weary. This is SO awful, doesn’t matter how brave a face we put on it.’
His hand gently on the back of her head he pulled her closer, kissed the top of her curls
and said, ‘It’s going to be, alright . . .it’s just going to be alright. You’ll see.’
She leaned back slightly in his arms, looked up at him, the corner of her mouth tilting in a smile
and said, ‘Yeah Boss. And tomorrow we’ll still have some ‘bunny burgers ‘left and, we’ll have buns, right?’
‘Yes - and tomorrow’s just another day. We’ll meet it and fight through it together, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Ahh! Great! Was gonna ask you to check.’
‘Check what?’
‘If we had enough.’
‘Of?’
‘Fish sauce. How much do we need?’
‘Two teaspoons. As you can see there’s probably just a little more than that left.’
‘Yes – thankfully. And the sesame oil?’
‘I didn’t put it out yet – can you check?’
‘Yup! There is…we don’t need that much, right?’
‘No, if memory serves me well, only 1 tsp. Yes – Two teaspoons fish sauce, one of sesame oil’
‘Sure hope he gets here on time. Burgers are not burgers without the bun, you agree?’
‘I do. I also hope he gets here on time. But, looks like we have a little under two hours before I need to fire up the grill.’
‘No – you’re not gonna drag out the barbecue now are you? In this pissy weather? And it’s cold out there – rainy and cold.’
‘Nah – just a figure of speech. I’ll probably do them in the toaster oven. Only making four – that’s what the recipe calls for. And so we have just enough fish sauce for tonight.’
‘Tenks God! ‘Cause there is nowhere that I can think of that will deliver fish sauce. We’ll be lucky if we get the buns.’
‘Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it. Burgers sans buns is like, well – almost sacrilegious. Not only that but they’re nowhere near as good.’
‘Hey – don’t beat me up. Just sayin’- it’s close to five now. Last week’s delivery was here before this.’
‘Yeah. I know. But they must be overwhelmed this week. Given the latest government proclamation to ‘Stay home – stay inside.’ Judging by what I’m seeing on the street, everyone’s taking it seriously – finally.’
‘Yes – you’re right. As sad as that is. We have everything else we need though, I think. I mean for this special treat dinner tonight. Ground beef, ground pork, scallions – we have the fish sauce and the sesame oil.’
‘We do. And given your recent bad reaction to things spicy I won’t be using sriracha sauce in them.’
‘Oh? But that’s what makes them so special, no? That tangy hot sauce.’
‘Yes – sortof. But give this a try.’
‘What is it?’
‘Mayonnaise, hot horseradish with a dash of oyster sauce. We know you have no problem with horseradish. The therapist confirmed that, right?’
‘Yes, correct. Okay – let me give this a little try. Mmmmm! That has a nice kick to it. And the oyster sauce gives a lovely depth of flavor. Wherever did you get this idea from?’
‘Dunno – you know me – always experimenting. I am, after all, dangerous in the kitchen, don’t you know?’
‘You are that. Dangerously good.’
‘So - - since we have some time why don’t we dial up a video chat with Amanda and the kids?
We can describe what our special treat dinner is going to be tonight.’
‘Good idea. Give me five minutes to get ‘em online, okay?’
‘Sure – I’ll finish up making the coleslaw.’
‘Okay – got ‘em. She should answer in a bit. Come – come join me here.’
‘Coming – coming.’
‘Hi sweet girls - how are you? What have you been up to? You helping Mommy make dinner?’
‘We are, yes! We’re making grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. With glumpy tomato soup.’
‘Glumpy? Why glumpy? I don’t think we’ve had that before. And we love tomato soup.’
‘We call it glumpy because we put chunks of cherry tomatoes in the soup when it’s heating up. It’s really good. You should try it Grandma.’
‘That sounds wonderful. We’ll definitely try that.’
‘And so what are you guys having for dinner?’
‘Ahhh! A very special treat – we haven’t made these in quite a while. We’re having ‘bunny burgers.’
‘Ooooh. Bunny burgers? Yuck! Really Grandma? Bunny burgers?’
‘I’m sorry – oh no! Look – Tracey’s upset. Why is she crying? Please go bring her back. I’m sorry.’
‘Well, Mom, you know that she probably thinks you’re cooking up little bunny rabbits.
A four year old – well that is upsetting to her. But you’re not, right? You guys aren’t
making burgers out of, ‘bunnies’? Like, actual rabbit?’
‘No – no. I’m so sorry. I thought you’ve heard us call them that before. They’re Banh burgers. They’re Vietnamese. Haven’t we had them with you when we’ve done barbecues?’
‘Uhhh, I don’t think so. Look – I have to go find her – settle her down. Can we call you back later?’
‘Sure. I’m so sorry. Anyways, they may not turn out to be actual burgers if the delivery guy doesn’t get here with our order – and the buns. Go. I’m sorry. Give her hugs and kisses from Grandma and Grandpa. Loveyou.’
‘Well – that didn’t go over so good, huh?’
‘Uhh, nope. Did not.’
‘Okay – look – it’s after 7:00. It’s going to take half an hour to do the burgers, etc. Whaddaya say we start everything. If the delivery shows up, great – we’ll have burgers-in-buns. If not, will still be great. Okay?’
‘Yeah, guess so. I feel so shitty. Feel shitty that I upset Tracey, feel shitty about this whole COVID lockdown thing – feel really shitty that we can’t, anymore, be normal. Is this, like, ever gonna end? I mean in a reasonable time?’
‘No one knows Angel – no one. It’s one day at a time. Look – we’re safe here – granted we’re now into week 3 – but, we’re safe here. Thank God. And we’ll just have to keep plodding along.
We got good food and lots of it, we got books, music, movies – heck – this is better than being away on vacation. I don’t feel any guilt about anything like finishing a report, dealing with work issues – all the normal pressure points in our day-to-day lives. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?’
‘Yeah – guess so. So alright – let’s get this show on the road I’m starving and buns or no buns
this is gonna be great.’
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
‘Phew! So even without the buns, I loved it! The cole slaw was wonderful – your special mayonnaise was great! Maybe this is how we should have them all the time – a brand new
style of ‘bunnyBurgers’. Whaddaya think?’
‘Yep – I liked it. And it’s a good thing we didn’t wait ‘cause it’s now after eight o’clock.
I’ll tidy up here – whyn’t you go and call the girls before their bed-time? Make sure Trace
is feeling better.’
‘K.’
It was twenty minutes later that she came back into the kitchen. He had cleaned, tidied – washed up and put away the pieces and parts of their dinner.
At that moment his cel-phone buzzed. As he looked down at it she asked, ‘Who’s that?
I’ll bet it’s the delivery guy, right?’
‘Yup – it be he. He’s fifteen minutes away yet. Glad we didn’t wait for him.’
She came close to him, shmooshed tight against his chest, tucked her head up under his chin.
He enveloped her, pulled her close. Pulling back a little she looked up at him, tears coming to life, washing against her cheeks.
‘When the FUCK is this gonna be over with? I am scared, I am tired – I am weary. This is SO awful, doesn’t matter how brave a face we put on it.’
His hand gently on the back of her head he pulled her closer, kissed the top of her curls
and said, ‘It’s going to be, alright . . .it’s just going to be alright. You’ll see.’
She leaned back slightly in his arms, looked up at him, the corner of her mouth tilting in a smile
and said, ‘Yeah Boss. And tomorrow we’ll still have some ‘bunny burgers ‘left and, we’ll have buns, right?’
‘Yes - and tomorrow’s just another day. We’ll meet it and fight through it together, right?’
‘Right.’
A WASHINGTON NIGHT:
The rain thrummed down against the bay window.
Gazing at it from across the room, he watched the rivulets stream down the panes.
The light of the fire was the only illumination in the otherwsie darkened room.
He stood there, breathing quietly, and deeply - almost trancelike.
When he had come into the foyer from the street, water sloshing from his raincoat, and his shoes, it was almost all he could do to shed himself of the soaking overgarments, loosen his tie, strip off his suit coat, kick off his shoes - and move fluidly into the alcove off the living room. The little recess that housed the full bar - everything set out on a trestle table, with a small mini-fridge beneath it.
He had picked up the remote from the bar top and without even looking, pointed it over his shoulder and heard the satisfying hiss as the gas fireplace ignited.
Pouring a 12 year old single malt in a cut crystal glass, adding a splash of spring water, he had turned to be watching as he was now.
The silence, aside from the rhythym of the rain and the soft swish of the fireplace, soothed his jangled nerves.
Head back against the frame of the alcove, he closed his eyes momentarily.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then with a visible shudder, he let out a deep breath, and seemed to melt into the surrounding woodwork.
It was the aftermath of the terrible tension and conflict which had been the compass for that day.
It was the realisation, that now - now, finally, it was done. Finished. Over with.
Pointe finale!
He waited a moment then moved into the room, sat back into a plush lounge chair, dragged his feet up onto the ottoman and listened to the fire, listened to the rain - listened to his heart, now finally beating in time to a serenity he feared he might never experience again.
It was a Friday night, in Washington DC. Actually, more precisely, in Georgetown. One of those 'oh-so-discreet' legacy row houses. With all the right kind of brass on the front door, the appropriate hedges and plants along the brick walkway….it was, proper.
And that was how he now finally felt - proper. Divested of the
abrasiveness of a shrieking wife, the accusations - unfounded, unjustified, irrational - of, an irrational mind. A mind that was housed inside a body, so exquisite, and behind a face so perfect, that he had wilted and withered in its presence.
The rain thrummed down against the bay window.
Gazing at it from across the room, he watched the rivulets stream down the panes.
The light of the fire was the only illumination in the otherwsie darkened room.
He stood there, breathing quietly, and deeply - almost trancelike.
When he had come into the foyer from the street, water sloshing from his raincoat, and his shoes, it was almost all he could do to shed himself of the soaking overgarments, loosen his tie, strip off his suit coat, kick off his shoes - and move fluidly into the alcove off the living room. The little recess that housed the full bar - everything set out on a trestle table, with a small mini-fridge beneath it.
He had picked up the remote from the bar top and without even looking, pointed it over his shoulder and heard the satisfying hiss as the gas fireplace ignited.
Pouring a 12 year old single malt in a cut crystal glass, adding a splash of spring water, he had turned to be watching as he was now.
The silence, aside from the rhythym of the rain and the soft swish of the fireplace, soothed his jangled nerves.
Head back against the frame of the alcove, he closed his eyes momentarily.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then with a visible shudder, he let out a deep breath, and seemed to melt into the surrounding woodwork.
It was the aftermath of the terrible tension and conflict which had been the compass for that day.
It was the realisation, that now - now, finally, it was done. Finished. Over with.
Pointe finale!
He waited a moment then moved into the room, sat back into a plush lounge chair, dragged his feet up onto the ottoman and listened to the fire, listened to the rain - listened to his heart, now finally beating in time to a serenity he feared he might never experience again.
It was a Friday night, in Washington DC. Actually, more precisely, in Georgetown. One of those 'oh-so-discreet' legacy row houses. With all the right kind of brass on the front door, the appropriate hedges and plants along the brick walkway….it was, proper.
And that was how he now finally felt - proper. Divested of the
abrasiveness of a shrieking wife, the accusations - unfounded, unjustified, irrational - of, an irrational mind. A mind that was housed inside a body, so exquisite, and behind a face so perfect, that he had wilted and withered in its presence.
THE EVENING HEAT:
The heat and /warmth of a welcome exhaustion wash over me.
Sun, and this day is fading slowly into a misty sunset. Off to the left, far down in the deepest reach of the pasture the night dew starts to rise....drifting ghostly contrails float skywards.
My eyes are drawn to the setting sun, now a faintly defined orb, in the haze.
The chill is suddenly palpable as I rest, legs crossed at the ankles, worn cowboy boots caked in mud and dust.
Leaning back and into the supports that reach up to the porch overhang, I hear the tendrils of your lilting laughter. Autumn Leaves whisper-sung by Eva Cassidy wafts out from the cool darkness of the cabin.
Duntz, the border collie mutt mix, lies beside me on the old warm boards of the porch. His paws occasionally stretch out to lightly touch my thigh, as he wants to remindme that he's there and he's my ever friend.
My hand grips tightly to the tumbler carrying the blessed glass of hope....
And my thoughts reach out and around all the memories of you I hold dear to my heart. The ache, always there, always present, in my heart thrums against my rib cage.
And the singular question that haunts my every waking moment is
'Why?'
And on most every level of intellectuality I recognize the futility of the question.
That you're gone, now and forever, brings a constant mist to my eyes and pain to my heart....
Too young....so too very young - unfulfilled. And I ache and I hurt to hear your voice again.
Sun slips back and away into the coveting mist and as twilight is flushed about me, I wonder why, am I, still......
The heat and /warmth of a welcome exhaustion wash over me.
Sun, and this day is fading slowly into a misty sunset. Off to the left, far down in the deepest reach of the pasture the night dew starts to rise....drifting ghostly contrails float skywards.
My eyes are drawn to the setting sun, now a faintly defined orb, in the haze.
The chill is suddenly palpable as I rest, legs crossed at the ankles, worn cowboy boots caked in mud and dust.
Leaning back and into the supports that reach up to the porch overhang, I hear the tendrils of your lilting laughter. Autumn Leaves whisper-sung by Eva Cassidy wafts out from the cool darkness of the cabin.
Duntz, the border collie mutt mix, lies beside me on the old warm boards of the porch. His paws occasionally stretch out to lightly touch my thigh, as he wants to remindme that he's there and he's my ever friend.
My hand grips tightly to the tumbler carrying the blessed glass of hope....
And my thoughts reach out and around all the memories of you I hold dear to my heart. The ache, always there, always present, in my heart thrums against my rib cage.
And the singular question that haunts my every waking moment is
'Why?'
And on most every level of intellectuality I recognize the futility of the question.
That you're gone, now and forever, brings a constant mist to my eyes and pain to my heart....
Too young....so too very young - unfulfilled. And I ache and I hurt to hear your voice again.
Sun slips back and away into the coveting mist and as twilight is flushed about me, I wonder why, am I, still......
FAR PAINTED FADED HILLS
Far painted faded hills
A purpley-blue twilight
Pulling at my senses
Tug me out into the night
Roads, soft, cut like ribbons
Through high towering trees
Leading paths go onwards
To outward rushing seas
The call upon my nerve ends
Which just quite won’t abate
Demands of me obedience
Before it’s all too late
Night skies black and chill winds
That cut to, through the bone
Demand of me attention
Won’t leave me here alone
Paths in falling trickles
Down and to the right
A deeper glen is calling
Me out into the night
Dark stream that flashes bubbles
Embracing to the stones
Beckons me seductively
In soft and pearly tones
And the road that outward winds
Past tomorrows’ distant dawn
Still tolerates no bargaining
Demands that, I just carry on
FAR PAINTED FADED HILLS
Far painted faded hills
A purpley-blue twilight
Pulling at my senses
Tug me out into the night
Roads, soft, cut like ribbons
Through high towering trees
Leading paths go onwards
To outward rushing seas
The call upon my nerve ends
Which just quite won’t abate
Demands of me obedience
Before it’s all too late
Night skies black and chill winds
That cut to, through the bone
Demand of me attention
Won’t leave me here alone
Paths in falling trickles
Down and to the right
A deeper glen is calling
Me out into the night
Dark stream that flashes bubbles
Embracing to the stones
Beckons me seductively
In soft and pearly tones
And the road that outward winds
Past tomorrows’ distant dawn
Still tolerates no bargaining
Demands that, I just carry on
‘patates/oignons?’, she asked.
Of course she did, every time. It’s her job.
I never said ‘No!’
‘Mais oui!’, I reply…
‘Votre commande est: deux oeufs tournées, toast brun, bacon – oui?’
‘Oui’, I respond. ‘Mais pas des fruits. remplacez aves les tranches tomates s’Il vous plait.’
‘Parfait – pas de cretons?’
‘Non merçi – et plus de café, s’il vous plait.’
‘Immédiatement. Bon appetit.’
Most early mornings I would start my mornings with that exchange.
At the New System Bar-B-Q diner at 3419 ouest Notre Dame. A stone’s throw, kitty corner sortof, from the venerable Marché Atwater.
Those early mornings, in those days, were generally about 6:15, 6:30.
It was a ritual. A very comforting ritual. Whether bitter icy wind cold and snow or the sun-up heat of summer. The routine never changed.
Mostly, neither did the other patrons you’d always find there. Hydro Québec crews, construction guys, a wide assortment of colleagues having their break/fast before another slogging hard day in their kind of work.
And, there’d be guys like me – loners, cradling a hot coffee – some reading Métro, many just staring blindly/blankly. Watching the cook as he rattled and banged along behind the open kitchen. It was, comforting, always.
Never did know if the cook was the owner or just simply, ‘le chef’. Didn’t matter. He was clearly a master of his domain. And the New System is the only restaurant I’ve ever been in in Québec that offered patates-iognons, as the standard staple. It may well have been that it was their own invention. So simple! A mixture of coarse potato mash with delectable caramelized onion strands throughout. It could be, and may have been for some, the only thing they had for breakfast.
Sadly, it is now gone. At least for the foreseeable future it is gone. Yes, New System Bar-B-Q has been a local fixture for decades and by the appearance, the décor, that is instantly obvious.
But their little yellow delivery cars have always been seen bopping about the Point, all around that whole area. They had distinguished themselves with a tasty delivery menu. Which is, still available today.
Except that, patates/oignons simply do not ‘travel’ well – nor do ‘les oueufs tournées. ‘
I know I’d never order it for home delivery.
And so, for now, until the sun again rises on a world that has returned to years past,
‘patates/oignons’, have gone the way of the dinosaur.
One simple additional loss in a landscape of things ‘missing in action.’
Perhaps, if when life returns to normal, following the forced closures of places and businesses like this, perhaps when the scourge of the rampant virus has been vanquished, it will moved from the MIA column and be restored, rightfully, to the ‘Open for business, ready for action’ column.
I will return to New System one day – hopefully soon – and hopefully I will see that they have indeed survived. Which, as I walk through the old glass door to be welcomed by the distinct aromas and smells, will mean that I too – have survived.
Of course she did, every time. It’s her job.
I never said ‘No!’
‘Mais oui!’, I reply…
‘Votre commande est: deux oeufs tournées, toast brun, bacon – oui?’
‘Oui’, I respond. ‘Mais pas des fruits. remplacez aves les tranches tomates s’Il vous plait.’
‘Parfait – pas de cretons?’
‘Non merçi – et plus de café, s’il vous plait.’
‘Immédiatement. Bon appetit.’
Most early mornings I would start my mornings with that exchange.
At the New System Bar-B-Q diner at 3419 ouest Notre Dame. A stone’s throw, kitty corner sortof, from the venerable Marché Atwater.
Those early mornings, in those days, were generally about 6:15, 6:30.
It was a ritual. A very comforting ritual. Whether bitter icy wind cold and snow or the sun-up heat of summer. The routine never changed.
Mostly, neither did the other patrons you’d always find there. Hydro Québec crews, construction guys, a wide assortment of colleagues having their break/fast before another slogging hard day in their kind of work.
And, there’d be guys like me – loners, cradling a hot coffee – some reading Métro, many just staring blindly/blankly. Watching the cook as he rattled and banged along behind the open kitchen. It was, comforting, always.
Never did know if the cook was the owner or just simply, ‘le chef’. Didn’t matter. He was clearly a master of his domain. And the New System is the only restaurant I’ve ever been in in Québec that offered patates-iognons, as the standard staple. It may well have been that it was their own invention. So simple! A mixture of coarse potato mash with delectable caramelized onion strands throughout. It could be, and may have been for some, the only thing they had for breakfast.
Sadly, it is now gone. At least for the foreseeable future it is gone. Yes, New System Bar-B-Q has been a local fixture for decades and by the appearance, the décor, that is instantly obvious.
But their little yellow delivery cars have always been seen bopping about the Point, all around that whole area. They had distinguished themselves with a tasty delivery menu. Which is, still available today.
Except that, patates/oignons simply do not ‘travel’ well – nor do ‘les oueufs tournées. ‘
I know I’d never order it for home delivery.
And so, for now, until the sun again rises on a world that has returned to years past,
‘patates/oignons’, have gone the way of the dinosaur.
One simple additional loss in a landscape of things ‘missing in action.’
Perhaps, if when life returns to normal, following the forced closures of places and businesses like this, perhaps when the scourge of the rampant virus has been vanquished, it will moved from the MIA column and be restored, rightfully, to the ‘Open for business, ready for action’ column.
I will return to New System one day – hopefully soon – and hopefully I will see that they have indeed survived. Which, as I walk through the old glass door to be welcomed by the distinct aromas and smells, will mean that I too – have survived.
timeXdistance
Oh!
How is it
We've aged
And
How have we
Gauged
The distance
And difference
And the time
In between
Us?
Are we sepia-toned
Cold blue,
To the bone
Tried
Sometimes to be true
To
Only ourselves?
Or black-white
As in which
Should come
First
In order
Of choice
Or in order
Of consequence
How is it we've
Aged
And how have we
Staged
A threshold
Of chapters
Each Unto
Itself?
Where have we
Been
And where have we
Gone
And did we come back
Or did we carry on
And to where
And to what
Did we satisfy
An aim
Or was it
Just a mystery
As in
'What's in a name?'
Yet time has
Become
Distance
And dash
Is the difference
It quite simply
Lies in a brash
And simply
Unordinary
Debate and decline
To the question
Throughout
Your, and my
Time
Does it matter
A whit
Or matter
A bit
Of dust and confusion
Sorting through
It
Or black-white
As in which
Should be first
Are our actions honest
Or simply rehearsed?
To find there
A truth
Not wanting
To be found
Thus this distance
Or difference
Goes round, goes round
To the point where
Both lines and
Memories collide
As we stealthily
Seek what we
Now see is outside
Of the time
And the distance
And the engulfing
Years
And all that time wasted
Washed away
In our tears
To a time which
Is captured
Now here in this day
Allowing me finally
To stand up and say
How is it
We've aged
And
How have we
Gauged
The distance
And difference
And the time
In between
Us?
Oh!
How is it
We've aged
And
How have we
Gauged
The distance
And difference
And the time
In between
Us?
Are we sepia-toned
Cold blue,
To the bone
Tried
Sometimes to be true
To
Only ourselves?
Or black-white
As in which
Should come
First
In order
Of choice
Or in order
Of consequence
How is it we've
Aged
And how have we
Staged
A threshold
Of chapters
Each Unto
Itself?
Where have we
Been
And where have we
Gone
And did we come back
Or did we carry on
And to where
And to what
Did we satisfy
An aim
Or was it
Just a mystery
As in
'What's in a name?'
Yet time has
Become
Distance
And dash
Is the difference
It quite simply
Lies in a brash
And simply
Unordinary
Debate and decline
To the question
Throughout
Your, and my
Time
Does it matter
A whit
Or matter
A bit
Of dust and confusion
Sorting through
It
Or black-white
As in which
Should be first
Are our actions honest
Or simply rehearsed?
To find there
A truth
Not wanting
To be found
Thus this distance
Or difference
Goes round, goes round
To the point where
Both lines and
Memories collide
As we stealthily
Seek what we
Now see is outside
Of the time
And the distance
And the engulfing
Years
And all that time wasted
Washed away
In our tears
To a time which
Is captured
Now here in this day
Allowing me finally
To stand up and say
How is it
We've aged
And
How have we
Gauged
The distance
And difference
And the time
In between
Us?