On (Pantry) Stock & (Kitchen) Timers

<p><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>An experimental hybrid collection of poetic essays </span><em style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)>On (Pantry) Stock & (Kitchen) Timers</em><span style=background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1); color: rgba(0 0 0 1)> uses lists to simultaneously subvert and make sense of day to day mundanity.</span></p><p></p><p>It's there somewhere. Somewhere in the kitchen cabinet. A few degrees north of the pantry and south of <em>This</em> or <em>That</em>. Or perhaps the drawer to the right of the silverware. That moment-the one that never happened. Or did it? Neither gold nor silver but tarnished-of memories and crossword puzzles. Of stews skillets and underdeveloped skills. In the dusty corners where dog-eared crosswords (and cross words) blend with sweet and savory minutes a recipe of sorts is baked then born. Dressed in saucy fabrics smooth turns of the clock and surprise pinches of <em>This</em>. Or <em>That</em>.</p><p></p><p>This experimental genre-defying collection takes readers on a trip through America's kitchens. From <em>Then</em> to <em>Now</em> and back again. Where life (whatever that means anyway) is sprung. From soup to nuts and eggs (scrambled and fried) to dessert (cherry cheesecake blueberry crumble and marmalade pie) days in a life are sliced diced then served in poetic form. The kitchen timer-always on. <em>Here</em> and <em>There</em>. The collection is built of good stock both hearty and nourishing. Of sour lemons and sweet lemonade. It's as much a walk down memory lane as it is an open lane on the freeway of the future. Save room in your journal and on your plate-this collection will satisfy as much as it will inspire readers to write. Don't procrastinate (in America's kitchen the roast is always over-cooked and the oven timer's always watching).</p><p></p><p>Ready. Set. Read. Then Make Lists and Write.</p>