I was tagged again for the book meme so this is what I’m reading now – Cat & Mouse by James Patterson
Here are the rules:
1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
That had been part of Gary’s careful facade. It was the perfect hiding place: a sweet little house on Central Avenue, with a white picket fence and a stone walkway bisecting the front lawn. “So what do you figure is going on with Soneji?”
Sophia tags Fiona Bun, Orlando and DKM since everyone else has been tagged.
Lightly coat your fingertips with flour and shape teaspoons of the mixture into flat circles. To make the minted cream sauce, slice the spring onion, melt the butter in a frying pan, add the garlic and spring onion and cook over medium heat for three minutes or until the garlic is soft and golden. Add the cream, bring to the boil then reduce the heat and simmer for three minutes, or until the cream has thickened slightly.
To see what this is, you will need to come back later.
They forget all kinds of stuff, whittle stuff away, and there’s nothing you can do about that – they’re bound to do it. I guess it’s because there are so many things for us to do, but still…” “I think I see what you mean,” I said.
Goodbye Tsugumi by Banana Yoshimoto
One way to have seniors and others know your expertise and contribution to the company is to promote yourself with integrity. Letting people know about ideas you initiate or results you achieve is neither conceited nor crass. You’re not showboating-you’re showcasing.
Survival of the Savvy by Rick Brandon and Marty Seldman. What? I live in a house with three women, I need some survival skills!
Celebrate Poetry Month
Dear Mr. Merrill,
by Moira Egan
I hope you’ll pardon the informality
of this letter, postmarked Olympia
(Greece, not Washington), its task not simple:
crossing lines you’ve crossed, time, mortality,
to find you, who spent a lifetime crossing lines
out, twisting, polishing them to shine
cool and lustrous as the statue I fell in
love with yesterday. I’m sure you saw him
too, that perfect Hermes by Praxitelis,
full lips, hips contrapposto. I wished to draw him
down, latter-day Pygmalion, and embrace
him. Or barring Eros (and the guards) I’d trace
his face, the supple muscle of the marble.
I had a student who resembled him—
yes, Angelos—arrogant and beautiful.
I never touched him though he touches me in dreams.
Eros dangles his perfection in our faces
like one-armed Hermes with his promise of the grapes.
I was certain I’d dream of him last night.
Instead I dreamed another in the growing chain
of others with whom it ended not quite
right. But the thirst was perfect, if its price pain
and shattered crystal, spilling wine, all part
and parcel of our imperfect lives. Then Art
startles out of heartache, marble or page.
You learned this long ago. Now I too see
the wildest things require the strongest cages,
the panther’s double bars, or the seeds,
bloodysweet and bitter, in the pomegranate’s
rind. Love held tight in a sonnet.