Daily Archives: 15/06/2011


15 june 2011 > 7/16 > charioteer/tower

What needs your focus?
Can you take one small step to regain your focus?
How do you remain true to the core/foundation of your life?

Small moments; that’s what we are focusing on in the writer’s retreat. Thinking of a large moment of our lives and from that, a small moment of. NO more than 500 words. Sorta like flash fiction.












 I moved into Sandy Pulce’s basement apartment till I could find my own. The sunken stone bath rivaled my bed with an open view of giant ferns, weaving pink bougainvillea, and birds of paradise.

Mother Moon’s Magnificent Munches, operated above me, sending the waft of spice and fruit through the house. Smells I had never imagined existed, filled my nose with bliss. I was high.

Everything about Sandy was luscious, exotic, an endless temptation to the senses. Her generosity and kindness equaled her sensuality. She trailed in her brilliant silk swaths of fabric that barely covered her sumptuous curves, gracefully falling into the folds of stacked pillows of the same silk fabric, scattered over her entire living room. She would set her white wine on a low carved table, inlayed with stones and mirrors from India, speaking in expletives, swinging her arms like a ballerina swan dance, and passing a joint around the room for our heady pleasures.

I helped Sandy with the catering, prep, cooking, cleaning, washing, gathering the silver, the cloth napkins and table covers. I learned to spice and garnish succulent turkeys stuffed with dried fruits soak in sweet wines, covered in India spices, baked to perfection. Salads of couscous, asparagus, chick peas, garlic, tahini, raw vegetables, eatable greens, gathered and considered for various salads to be matched with the turkey.
Sandy did everything with colour and flare, giving her exotic delights to her clients who paid her well for her catering.

Once all was ready, properly stacked and contained for travel, I packed it in my shabby, ’65 Rambler station wagon and went to the location of some film or commercial to feed the hungry crews. I’d lay out the table cloth and napkins on a make shift table or the back of a camera crane, setting the beautiful food out as Sandy had taught me. I improvised a lot: serving, catering to the whims of these Hollywood people that were alien to me, spilling their gratuitous comments, hugging and touching, ripping into the beauty of Sandy’s eroticism. I was a Mid-Western gal, we didn’t touch like that.

From Sandy. I learn the art of sensuality, graciousness, and the pure pleasure of letting food be a near sexual experience.


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