dangerous compassions

I call you / from the comet's cradle

Saturday, December 17, 2016

pan tree

Ming got the mass mailing sent yesterday afternoon then took our friend G to lunch, his bribe for going with Ming all the way across town by the airport.  It was the airport Indian food restaurant, and they liked it.  It's called Pure.  You can watch the planes while you eat buffet.

This morning I worked on Christmas presents and hurt the backside of the my thumb when a tool slipped.  It's merely a scratch.

I made a list of foods that I like that are good for me and bought some of them at the grocery store.  Last night Ming cooked me up some spinach with garlic.

Ming said the plastic pot in the kitchen needs to go.  I said he should put it in the garden.  "So we can grow a pot tree?" he asked.

"I don't like pot," I said.

"That's almost as good as a pan tree," he said.

This morning when we served the hungry it was so windy and cold.  I suffered for an hour or so, which is nothing compared to the suffering of the people who have to live in it.


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