7300 Bowls of Campbell’s Soups

I was stirring the oatmeal this morning and christened the 50+ year old stainless steel Paul Revere pot, “The Red River Pot.”  I chose this name because my Dad cooked Red River cereal for himself each morning in it.  I suppose I could have co-termed it the “Campbell’s Soup Pot” in fairness to Mum and the many hundreds of tins of Campbell’s she heated in this sturdy vessel.

If I take 365 days a year and multiply them by 20 years I have eaten 7300 bowls of Campbell’s soups.  I have not yet mentioned I was allergic to the great quantities of sodium laced into these soups.  These caused me to experience, “soup rage.”  I became unhinged after each serving but we all thought these out-rages were just part of me being Nicole and OD’ing on drama classes at school.  It was when I terminated conventional and manufactured foods from my diet that the reason for my reactions became quite clear = allergic! to chemicals, additives, and preservatives.

When I cook oatmeal I take my time licking the wooden spoon after filling our bowls with the sticky, nutty, batter-like organic cereal.  Blueberries, bananas, maple syrup, and cream:  perfect!

Listening to CHQM-FM and a country singer, a neighbor of Johnny Cash, is singing a song of tribute to him.  The singer says he loves crows; and Johnny Cash dressed like one!  This made me laugh.

When I’m up late in here filling in this book I feel like I’ve kindled my special powers.  I consider this time, “The Witching Hour:”  my witching hour.  It’s dark and raining.  I’ve turned on the heat.  A black figure reels down an inky Seawalk with a silver path from overhead lighting the walk under his feet.  An orange umbrella  appears like a gigantic flower moving in the black air.

"Moon Reflecting the Orange Umbrella"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets

Dog-Leggin’ Downtown

Early downtown,

people looked like they

were hugging the warmth of

their waking hours against them.

The sidewalks held damp and

chill

from overnight rain.

The sun can’t quite

make it out.

People are all over spitting,

the latest craze since

bums spit over our clean streets

in the fifties.

It’s all ages and genders now.

I duck into a warm booth at the back of

New Town Bakery.

Orange plastic upholstery

and

a wood-alike arborite tabletop.

The plastic glass containing amber tea

is room temperature.

I have it replaced with

a hot one

to warm my hards

from the cold gloves

I’ve worn.

I play with the dome

of steamed white dough

secreting black bean paste inside.

The bill is a dollar, fifty-eight.

How is this possible.

I leave three dollars and half the

hot refill of tea.

I will not have people working

for nothing.

"Claiming Unopened Packages of Junk Food Left on Shelf in Phone Booth"

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets

Reincarnation, Cat’s Nine Lives

Living Life as an Animation"
"Living Life as a Ghost"
"Living Life as an Artist"
"Living Life in a Tapestry"
"Living Life as Jean Harlow"
"Living Life as a Cut-Out Doll"
"Living Life Off-the-Wall"
"Living Life Facing Into the Wind"
"Living Life Under Shrink Wrap"

These are my Nine Lives, my Reincarnations, my Dreamwares:  My Short Story.

I’d like to thank my, “Best” Photography Student, Jannette Maedel, for taking the Photograph of Me Titled:  Living Life as an Artist.  (3rd from the top)

Copyright © 2010 Nicole Rigets