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Whenever I am on a deadline, we eat soup. I reserve a morning cutting up vegetables, throw it in a pot and make a large pot of chicken soup. And that is what we eat. For days. I do this so that I don't have to cook for the rest of the week and am free to forget about meals as I paint and write away. Recently, these soup days have occurred more often than desired by my husband, who says he has nightmares of drowning in soup. I almost feel guilty, but then I remember he is the one that forgot what a saucepan was after we said our wedding vows.
1 comment:
thanks elaine, great poem! I printed it and hung it on our refrigerator. are you getting any of me e-mails?
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