Tell me all about the hard times that you had to be alive
I do not wish to become a photo blog for a variety of reasons, including the importance of words to me, but my chicken carcass with vegetables and spices came out so peculiarly photogenic mid-soup-making that I wanted to share it. If my stovetop looked just a little more like a Symbolist void, I could try to convince people it was some kind of memento mori still life. Or, since we are going to get new soup out of it, perhaps a metaphor for renewal.

The soup is now boiling and doesn't look like much of anything, especially since I've clapped a lid on it for the next few hours.


The soup is now boiling and doesn't look like much of anything, especially since I've clapped a lid on it for the next few hours.


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Soup is definitely the latter.
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And I really like posts that show my friends are nourishing themselves, body and soul.
I think of you often, and on my desk I have my copy of Forget the Ceaseless Shores.
P.
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There was a news item a few days back about an old (really old) lady who came though covid and claimed her family's recipe for potato soup was what got her through! :o)
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...sorry, Grosse Pointe Blank is with me always, it does seem like the beginnings of lovely soup.
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