Basil from my porch garden. Taken with my Panasonic DMC-LZ7 point and shoot camera. Fixed in Picasa.

***

This photo is part of the August Break, hosted bySusannah Conway. During the month of August, participants post a minimum of one photograph per day. No rules!

I move down the line of green bottles:
garlic, basil, lemon and Persian lime.
After a while, all I can taste
is spice and green, warm on my tongue.

***

Today, we went to Stillwater, MN and the Stillwater Olive Oil Company to get a refill of garlic infused olive oil. It took us almost a year to make it through a bottle and I expect that it will take us another year to use this one. The best part about the trip was tasting the rows and rows of olive oil, just for fun. We didn’t get any other flavors, although I was quite attached to the 18-year old balsamic and the Picholine olive oil.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July

Every cell of me is connected,
from the hips that have stretched wide
to the tips of my puffy, sore feet. I breathe
in and out, cradling what needs to be cradled.

***

I am not the type of person who pampers herself regularly. Sure, I enjoy a good facial/massage/pedicure, but I rarely shell out the money for these treats. My mother, on the other hand, is a world-class pamper-er. She indulges in these things, probably because she sees them as necessary to her happiness. So, whenever she comes into town, I have a good excuse to get pampered. Yesterday, she got me a manicure/pedicure, which was fabulous, because I can’t reach my feet well enough to paint my nails. Today, I treated her to a facial while I got a prenatal massage.

It was worth every red cent. The thing about pregnancy is that my body changes on a daily basis. These changes are interesting, on a scientific level, but they come with a degree of discomfort. Every day some part of  me is sore and achy, which is exacerbated by the heat and humidity. Swollen feet, stiff legs, creaky lower back – they take turns. So, to have all of these parts soothed for one hour was a treat. After the massage, I felt the best that I have felt in months. Now, I just want to go back again.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July

Tonight, I sopped the last bit of tomato curry and paneer with a tender piece of naan. I counted my blessings, one satisfied belch at a time.

***

Yesterday’s small stone is a little bit late, because my mother came in to town last night. Whenever she (or any guest, for that matter) arrives, we are go go go until she leaves. So, she got in to my condo around 4 and we were off. I fell into bed around ten and just couldn’t fathom writing down my small stone. But I knew it was going to be about the Indian food we ate for dinner. I’ve been craving Indian food for several weeks, but we just never seemed to make it to the restaurant. Now, this meal of paneer makhani, lamb biryani, aloo gobi and naan will last me for a long time.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July

Watching the small screen, every shadow, flash and beep feels like a prayer.

***

I had another ultrasound today, my fourth during the pregnancy.  No matter how many times I have one, I cannot get over watching the movements on the screen. It’s particularly amazing at this stage of the pregnancy, since the baby is bigger and more fully developed.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July

From their open windows, I hear
thirty sets of  cymbals zills
singing in time, vibrating
the humid evening breeze.

***

Near my house (and across from the awesome ice cream shop) is a belly-dancing academy. On certain nights, you can hear the cymbals from down the street. As Aaron and I went out for ice cream, I remembered why I love my city so much.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

EDIT: With the proper word for belly-dancing cymbals, thanks to my friend Laurel. 

I read blue ink names through car windows, chase black stars on the arms of my fellow bus commuters. I see tips peeking out of neck collars and sleeves, try to imagine their full shape.

***

I love tattoos. I love the art, I love the idea of permanence they represent. But I have no tattoos and no plans to ever get one. I just admire them from afar. My husband, on the other hand, is a collector. He currently has six tattoos and I think I know what his seventh will be. You can see them all (and read about their inspirations) here:

• Tattoo #1
• Tattoo # 2: Dragon
• Tattoo #3: Crop Circle
• Tattoo #4: Compass Rose/Eye
• Tattoo #5: MFA 
• Tattoo #6: Tree Frog

I love the way he has written and thought about his tattoos throughout time. After writing today’s stone, I knew I had to reread these posts again.

I missed yesterday’s small, inadvertently. Throughout my day, I half-wrote a couple of stones in my head, but never finished them. Then, I went to bed. I woke up at 2:45 for one of my bathroom trips and realized I totally missed the day. Oh well. Two out of twenty six isn’t bad, in my opinion. I don’t think I will be able to make them up, at this point.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

I submerge my head beneath the waterline, listen to the muffled world above. All I hear is the constant thrum of my heart.

***

Lately, I’ve been reading through the Kurt Wallander series. I’m on the fourth book, The Man Who Smiled. They are completely engrossing, to the point where I stay in the bathtub (my favorite reading spot) long after I should. At the clip I’ve been going on this book, I should be done in the next few days. And then I’ll be Wallander-less and sad.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

I watched him ride bicycles today, silver spokes spinning and shining like stars.

***

Today was a bicycle-centric day. First, we went to the Tour de Fat, which is a celebration of all things bike. I watched Aaron ride a bunch of different experimental bikes, including a bike with car tires and a circular three seat bike that just turns in circles. Then, we went bike shopping at four different bike shops, because Aaron’s bike was stolen from our garage on Thursday. He loves bikes and frankly, I love watching him engaged in something he loves.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.

Watching a small rabbit cower in the brush, I think about you. Will you grow up and think of yourself as predator or prey?

***

I’ve had two rough days in a row. Yesterday, I was unable to get out of my head long enough to write a small stone. Thankfully, I was able to write one today. I am hoping to make up my Thursday small stone either Saturday or Sunday. Weekends are always better for creating, for me.

***

This micropoem is part of A River of Stones International Small Stone Writing Month, hosted by Fiona and Kaspa. The goal of the project is for participants to create one small stone (a recorded moment of mindful observation) each day in July.