Stephanie says

I made one from scratch. Artichoke, olive, tomato and basil. It was worth the wait.

Living in a small town like Yoncalla has many positive aspects. There are limited dining options, a plus to my quest for thinness. My diet is nearly meatless, not for any noble reason, like not eating anything with a face, but for the shallow fact that you just don’t see fat vegetarians. However I had a hankering for pizza last night, I hungered for slices of Canadian bacon sizzling on a fragrantly bubbling cheese pie, but informed by the deli the oven was down. Lacking motivation to make one from scratch or drive 30 miles to the nearest pizzeria, I made do with a BLT. The “B” being fake soy bacon, a poor substitute indeed. Oh it smells sorta like bacon – how good for one’s health exactly is the stuff? Yes, I could have read the label except I’d already recycled the box. Eating frozen soy bacon doesn’t fit the localvore diet but hey, I grew the tomatoes and the lettuce. The pizza would have been better.

I’d been and maybe even camped here years ago. Catherine Creek was a favorite spot for brother-in-law Jack and wife Debbie. In preparation for two days of camping every inch of their Jeep stuffed with camping equipment, baby accoutrements, fishing gear, dogs and accompanying dog supplies. I confess to a secret amusement and no small sense of superiority, I could fit all my camping gear and husband and dog into a two-seater car with a minimal trunk. My station wagon this trip was filled with camping gear (no baby equipment), a teeny space for Molly’s dog bed squished on top a box of supplies, barely enough room for her to stand without hitting her head on the ceiling. Good thing she’s old and doesn’t want to stand up that much and in any event has very short legs. The air circulation in the car was disturbed, the down side of this arrangement. Molly’s dog-breath kept fouling my air space until I figured out how to blow the air conditioned air up onto the ceiling and send that smel...

       

Perfume wafting by of sublimely ripe melon brings me sweet August

He takes my by surprise, slipping into my dreams, beguiling me with a dimpled smile I’m elated to see. Muddled, confused, the moment our eyes meet my hesitation vanishes. I’m enthralled at his physical presence. I remain breathless throughout hoping for a touch. As the dream unfolds in disjointed story line I begin to wake. And struggle to dream a little longer, yearning already for his essence which evaporates with consciousness. Fully awake now in sweaty tangled sheets, an empty ache in my belly. I cry for what has gone.