Dangerous Compassions

I love pesto


I love pesto

Lammas is a harvest holiday, for wheat, but we don’t grow wheat.  Ming harvested for me the bumper crop of basil, some parsley, and a few kale leaves. I used pecans, a clove of garlic, olive oil, salt, those three veg, and water to make very delicious pesto in the blender.

Wow, like robbing the chlorophyll bank, for sure.  I was eating so much green excellence, I didn’t know if it was too much.   I ate some generous dollops on quinoa, then had seconds!

How do we figure out portions?  My family didn’t eat this, when I was a kid.  I had no example!  I’m like, hmm.  Pecans are good, garlic is good.  Veg is good.  Some olive oil, sure.  Some salt is ok.  Basically, this is the perfect food!  I should eat all of it!

tummy talk

Afterward I was lying in bed, spending time alone with myself, talking to my tummy.  “You ok in there?” I asked.

“Well, you never ate this much pesto at once, Laura-Marie.  Not so sure how I feel about this.”

“Take your time, tummy.  I’ll wait, while you figure stuff out.”  You can imagine me lying there, the ac blasting and two fans pointed at me, one hand on my tum, one beneath my head.

You know my tummy is a tricky one.  I need to be extra kind to it, as I almost died of that ulcer bleed last year.

I never want to be mean to my body, or any body.  It’s been 43 years, my body got me this far, and think all she’s been through.  She’s a precious miracle I want to love and protect.  She is a very good person, or person case.  Earth suit, the hippies say.

We delivered flowers again, to that first halfway house we delivered to.  It went ok.  Ming handed them to the lady I like best, the sad white lady who smokes a million cigarettes.  I was so glad.



Ming got out of the shower and was glistening with water.  His ocd means he can’t use regular towels.  He washed his hands at the sink and dried them on a paper towel.

I told him how beautiful he is.  I looked at his tummy and said he reminded me of silly putty.  “In a good way,” I said.  “When it has this smoothness, when you first take it out of the egg.”

He smiled.  “I’m like an egg!” he said.  “Egg contents.”

“Egg contents,” I agreed.

conclusion: I need more basil, stat!

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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