an old writer and his words

  • DECISIONS

    Sitting today trying to decidewhether to use seitan or tempehin tonight’s Singapore-ish noodlesI thought back to the afternoonswaiting patiently in line at the onceand then still gas station, the two bays“converted” to a seafood marketwith large tanks of lobster flown intri-weekly and frozen King crab legsand pointing as the attendant, the onewho used to change…

    Lou Faber

  • SERIOUSLY AMAZON?

    I am struggling to understandjust who is the target marketwith a thirty piece atof rubber ducks for the baththat Amazon wants to sell me.I did have a rubber duckyfor the bath when I was a childbut he was singular, and whenhe partially cracked and drownedI buried him in the backyardand vowed never to ownwaterfowl again,…

    Lou Faber

  • GREAT DIVIDE

    The truck, a white Ford F-150with oversized tires was parkedon the lawn next to the smallparking lot, filling quickly as peoplearrived for the community market. There was a giant flag fixedto the bed of the truck, unavoidableflapping in the breeze,“Let’s Go Brandon,” and everyoneknew the message all too well. Some averted their eyes, a fewsmiled,…

    Lou Faber

  • SURGERY

    Preparing it to undergothe knife, its core excised,stem cast aside, slicedthen cut into piecesI pause to consider thatthis pear was oncea blossom, a delicatewhite flower, its cranberryred anthes soon to turnblack, picked carefully,cradled into a bushel,by a knowing hand,washed, and gentlypacked for shipment.For me it was justplucking it from the binat the market, holdingit in…

    Lou Faber

  • ABRIDGED STORY

    On our first visit to Prague it was almost hard to imagine that this bridge was built to ferry people and traffic across the River. Now it is jammed with tourists and those for whom tourists are a ubiquitous market, and anyone needing to expeditiously cross the cranky water that every now and again must…

    Lou Faber

  • NICE JOB

    It is stall after stall of tomates de Provence, choux wishing to be kale, peches, small and barely containing their juice. Courgettes beckon, pommes de terre call out their aerieal cousins, haricots quietly suggest a citron aussi. Walking along the boulevard a tourist obviously, without bags or cart, I get polite nods that say me…

    Lou Faber

  • SEOUL: A TALE OF TWO CITIES

    Namdaeman is a ghetto of shops and stalls, where men squat cupping cigarettes and gesture, their hands grasping stacks of bills, rocking on their heels until they leap up to a patron, asking this price or that, assessing the will of the buyer by the thickness of his or her wallet. An old woman sits…

    Lou Faber

  • AT THE TEMPLE

    The Buddhist priest in golden robes rocks gently to and fro, chanting from the prayer cards over the din of the flea market swirling around him, The faithful stand with heads bowed, as the stone Buddha draped in red and gold nods his approval

    Lou Faber

  • CHONGDONG MARKET

    I Little old woman sits cross legged on a faded cushion. She nods as we enter and touch the ancient chest. She rocks slowly in place, older than the ancient stone carving guarding her doorway.   II In the narrow, dingy hall giant pots nestle against stone carvings. A fat Buddha smiles at a rice…

    Lou Faber