Home: Kitchen: Recipe Aubergine (Puree) Memories

a lemon is better, garlic crushed
nicer

Broad nails, sturdy hair

steady, solid, grounded.

Earth fragrant he cooks

cause I didn’t learn yet.

Patlıcan poor man’s meat

carrier of garlic and spices

mild, pale, flesh vessel

which when unsure,

sprinkled with salt draws

clear drops of unhindered

bitterness, anger

frustration.

Patlıcan is a love affair

the curve of a wrist

the sure supple

knife flick, slice

the boiling kettle

when coloured and soft

the oven

heating the room.

I: top, tail,

half, drizzle oil

in oven

wait…

chop garlic

mix olive oil

vinegar

salt

pepper, stir.

A lemon is better,

garlic crushed: nicer.

when coloured and soft

separate the skin

mix the flesh into: dressing

mix

crush for chunks

chop garlic

whizz for silk

Annem

I watched her

he smiles a line in his cheek

and it tastes

of Istanbul

not the nomad

not the stories:

of goats, sheep,

nights under stars

it tastes

good and alive

of travel

my kitchen

home.

my kitchen
home.

Body: Grandmother's hair and Argan Oil

Dealz Aragon Oil hair treatment €1.49

My father always used to say:
'Be proud of your hair,
there aren't many with hair like us.'
Thin like a spiderweb's thread,
straight with a kink to the right,
light with an auburn hue
that made my grandmother money
before the war.

'The hairdresser paid her to sit
with her hair displayed in his window
as she read magazines and gossiped with her friends.'

Halfway through life
I'd have to agree.
The inherited hair
has served me well
and suits me fine.
But it does need love
so now and then.
Like now;
I've cut it
but not enough
and it keeps being hard to comb.

'Argan Oil,' the child suggests.
So when in Dealz trying to find
little bits to make me feel better
about life and it's challenges
I find a small bottle saying:

I wash, towel dry and then
massage...

Argan Oil, hair treatment.

A 50ml bottle for €1.49 seems like a good deal(z)
and as per the instructions
I wash
towel dry
and then massage
the Argan Oil
into my hair.
Not from the scalp outward
but from those dodgy ends in.

The comb glides,
the hair shines.
And I smile as my friend
compliments me on how well it looks.
'So healthy, so shiny.
Who do you go to?
What did you do?
My colouring alone is costing me a fortune!'

I leave her ramble
my hair has no hairdresser friend
who wants to display it in his window.
I've got a little bottle
and a budget of under a cup of coffee.

I'm proud of my Recession Kitchen hair
as would my grandmother be.

Family: Kittens opening eyes

Growing fast

meoing

scratching

Searching 

sleeping again.

All the same 

and oh so different

huddled,

growing.

And then

tiny and blue

open eyes

doubled in size

ready for the next

stage:

scramble
amble: life.

Family: Good Friday, Easter is on it's way and the Matthäus Passion (Excerpts 1 to 9)

Good Friday
Before I forget:
eggs, sugar, sunshine
and Bach.

Never a lover of St John
it is St Matthew I crave.
His turn of phrase
the way he shows not tells.
.
Childhood memories:
songs, chorales, standing, arias,
sitting, singing, sleeping, listening.

Mrs Toonder repeating again and again:
Open up
open your mouth
Wide
Relax
Project
Stand still...
and watch the conductor.
He will be there,
waiting.

And Bach he too
moving from chorale to aria
melismatic counterpoint
speaking to us
always clear
always precise
two hours and more.

Erbarme Dich
Blute Nur
Over and over
every year.
I sit and listen
hum, sing along, feel, learn,
know, remember.

Easter is here.




This 1994 dramatized version of the Matthew Passion has been my favorite for some time. Rather than the big Amsterdam's Concert Gebouw setting we sung at as children it is small the soloists partaking in the chorales but no children's choir. Unfortunately the full version doesn't seem to be available anymore. But here are the excerpts which are wonderful... ... Enjoy|!

House: Spare Room

Spare Room

Hurdy-Gurdy in need of repair and memories

We have a spare room.

A room without belonging 

without purpose.

It was different at first.

When we moved here
it was a bedroom.

My bedroom.

North-facing small.

Uncomfortable with too much space
- Im a city girl after all -
I left the big room empty.

Luggage, clothes...

I grew into it.

The room, the house.

The big bedroom
with view
is now boudoir

There is carpet, curtains, space.

And the small room
is now filled with
leftovers from periods gone by
things kept, saved.

Luggage, clothes,
CD's, books, notes, bedding.

It needs a purpose,
something to do
that spare room.

That spare room of mine.

I'm a city girl after all

Family: Kittens! ...Mi-mi-ao Mammy!

Look there are kittens in the box!

...four ball of fluff have to go hunting...

I've been trying to get a good shot of them. It doesn't work. The corner that seemed just perfect - out of reach of Guide Dog Yeltsin, lodged between the piano and the harps - is too dark and just a little tight. So I'm left with nothing else to do but wait until they're big enough to climb out into the light.

For now it is screeches and screams when mammy moves. Tiny wails of despair as four balls of fluff have to go hunting for tit. Sometimes it isn't the mum moving but their brother-of-a-different-generation trying to squeeze in on the warmth. She's his mammy too. And if he could, he definitely would, even though he's too big a boy now which she lets him know all the time.

Three are just like their mammy and one is darker just like the different-generation-brother.

Truly, I never thought I'd enjoy seeing all that new life so much. It never was my thing. Yet here I am, oohing and aahing over the Wild Cat from Blarney Street being such an amazing parent. Patient, protective... ...she's different to how she normally is. She's given in to being a mum. Not because she chose but because nature demands it of her.

She's given in to being a mum

She turns onto her back so the little ones can reach better. She looks at me looking at her. I assure her it's ok. Much more so than it ever was for her mammy. Would she choose all of this if she could?

She squints at me and I tell her about where she's from, the spring she was born under the oil-burner and how she moved here with her brother, so she could have a better life. Because it's important to know where you're from.

She licks a head and a belly, puts a paw over one and her tail over the other. For now, their only response is to drink, wail, sleep and crawl towards the warmth.

I'm looking forward to blue-eyed and climb-out-of-the-box kittens soon.

There's purring going on.