The Eclectic

Dancing the tango for Triple Threat

Dancing the tango for Triple Threat

my homemade pho!

my homemade pho!

milkmadeicecream:

Hay. It isn’t just for horses. It’s for ice cream too.
Our second flavor of the month for October, flavor #72, is Two Snaps and a Hay. Hay ice cream with gingersnap chunks from our pals at Baking for Good. Yes, we really turned  hay into ice cream. And it was good! You may think we’re crazy, and we are. Crazy good. And so is our hay.
What does it taste like? First thing we said when we took our first bite - Sugar Smacks, the cereal.

How neat, I wish I could try it!!

milkmadeicecream:

Hay. It isn’t just for horses. It’s for ice cream too.

Our second flavor of the month for October, flavor #72, is Two Snaps and a Hay. Hay ice cream with gingersnap chunks from our pals at Baking for Good. Yes, we really turned  hay into ice cream. And it was good! You may think we’re crazy, and we are. Crazy good. And so is our hay.


What does it taste like? First thing we said when we took our first bite - Sugar Smacks, the cereal.



How neat, I wish I could try it!!

Bustling streets where the city’s heart beats warm

I can feel its core beneath my feet

The citizen’s shoes shuffle along beside me

Sweet smoke from a balcony above

Heat stroke from lovers making love

This music moves me

This city grooves me

The Intersection


I sit at the intersection everyday at 6:00 am,
across from the 7 eleven and the liquor store.
I watch the cars go by, busy as they flee no time to breath,
I watch the children cry on their way to school because they walk so much
they broke their shoes.
I sit at the intersection everyday at 6:00 am waiting for the bus,
and behind me is a diner, where I can smell bacon frying and warm coffee
where I can smell spilled gasoline on the streets as the bitter wind hits my face
and I frown in disgrace of what I see
Old women struggling to walk
cold hearts that don’t think when they talk
pedophiles lurking in the corners and the bankrupt store owners.
I sit at the intersection and I see men talking to themselves, ripe with insanity.
I see babies crying because they are hungry and I see mothers sighing because they don’t know what to do.

I sit at the intersection with tired eyes, a tired smile and tired lies because I continue to pretend that what I am surrounded by is a different place where the sun is not covered by a gloomy sky and the streets are clean and I can smell the fresh air and birds that sing where mothers and daughters and brothers and fathers all live in one home no one is alone and they eat well because they can- where they buy new shoes and go to school, get educated ‘cuz thats the plan where everything that I see is how it was meant to be.
I sit on the corner and I wonder why we can’t live in a world where there is no underage pregnancy, no poverty or insanity no lies just to realize you are not who you were meant to be, where we live free of complacency. 
But I am stuck in this reality…
I sit at the intersection where the cars meet and leave, and I get on the bus. I sit to the first seat on the left and I wait and I wait and I wait. I wait for the man that sits next to me smelling like cigarettes and alcohol to leave. I wait for the passengers walking by to stop stepping on my shoes, I wait for the moment I can step out and breath. For 45 minutes I have nothing to do but watch the other passengers snooze or the buildings pass by as we move. I can see everything through these windows. The hearts that breath, the trees with no leaves, the little girls talking on their cell phones, the gas stations and the crossroads. I see the car crashes and the blood that spilled on the road, and I see the strip malls standing where there used to be homes. I sit on the bus and I wait indefinitely for my destination where there is no cold, or poor or alone, where everyone has food and everyone has a home. I wait indefinitely for my destination that I miss, for my destination that doesn’t exist.