and what, before my wondering eyes should appear....
....but a pasty, lying on the sidewalk so clear.
Okay it is not the best poetry, but I am still puzzled over how this seemingly perfectly baked pasty showed up on the sidewalk, a block below the high school? No one, or at least not many people in this city, beautiful as it is, knows what a pasty is even.
Jack and I were running along yesterday on a cold but sunny day, minding our own business. I could see something lying on the sidewalk ahead of me, which isn't too unusual...sometimes there are bagels, old french fries, or bags from the many nearby fast food joints...but a pasty? Never. As I approached it, I stopped and stared. Jack wanted to sniff it and eat it of course. I got off the sidewalk and circled it suspiciously, wondering if I was going crazy or just so homesick that I was hallucinating? Maybe my wild college days finally caught up with me and I was having flashbacks?
I thought it might be an empanada, which is a Latin American pastry with meat or fruit in it, but it looked too big for one of those. It didn't look like one of those pizza things either. It looked like a pasty, and a good one at that - the crust looked perfectly browned and nicely crimped on the edges - just like my mom used to make. I had my camera with me because I thought since we had such a wind storm the day before, I might see some trees in the road or something. With one hand pulling Jack away from it, I took a picture. I half expected it would not show up on the camera - like something from the spiritual world.
Part of me wanted to take that beautiful pasty and bring it home with me, heat it up, add a dab of butter and some catchup and eat it. But I just left it there, by itself, in all it's nostalgic and mouthwatering beauty. I couldn't bear to mess it up, even though I wanted to open it and see if it had rutabagas in it - then I would know it was bonafide. I wanted to keep the dream alive so I left it undisturbed. And today I kept thinking about going back to see if it was still there.
If you are wondering what a pasty is, it is a meat pie, originating from Cornish miners. A good description and definition is at this link. You can find a bunch of recipes for them here if you are so inclined. Some of my friends thought about the little things some dancing ladies wear on their girls....but that is not it at all!
Maybe it was a sign of some sort, from my mom, who comes to me (very rarely) in dreams but doesn't say too much. If it is a sign, I am not sure what it means, but it sure has me hoping that Santa brings me a pasty for Christmas!
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| a pasty. On the sidewalk. In Salt Lake City? |
Jack and I were running along yesterday on a cold but sunny day, minding our own business. I could see something lying on the sidewalk ahead of me, which isn't too unusual...sometimes there are bagels, old french fries, or bags from the many nearby fast food joints...but a pasty? Never. As I approached it, I stopped and stared. Jack wanted to sniff it and eat it of course. I got off the sidewalk and circled it suspiciously, wondering if I was going crazy or just so homesick that I was hallucinating? Maybe my wild college days finally caught up with me and I was having flashbacks?
I thought it might be an empanada, which is a Latin American pastry with meat or fruit in it, but it looked too big for one of those. It didn't look like one of those pizza things either. It looked like a pasty, and a good one at that - the crust looked perfectly browned and nicely crimped on the edges - just like my mom used to make. I had my camera with me because I thought since we had such a wind storm the day before, I might see some trees in the road or something. With one hand pulling Jack away from it, I took a picture. I half expected it would not show up on the camera - like something from the spiritual world.
Part of me wanted to take that beautiful pasty and bring it home with me, heat it up, add a dab of butter and some catchup and eat it. But I just left it there, by itself, in all it's nostalgic and mouthwatering beauty. I couldn't bear to mess it up, even though I wanted to open it and see if it had rutabagas in it - then I would know it was bonafide. I wanted to keep the dream alive so I left it undisturbed. And today I kept thinking about going back to see if it was still there.
If you are wondering what a pasty is, it is a meat pie, originating from Cornish miners. A good description and definition is at this link. You can find a bunch of recipes for them here if you are so inclined. Some of my friends thought about the little things some dancing ladies wear on their girls....but that is not it at all!
Maybe it was a sign of some sort, from my mom, who comes to me (very rarely) in dreams but doesn't say too much. If it is a sign, I am not sure what it means, but it sure has me hoping that Santa brings me a pasty for Christmas!
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