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About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write. Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground. Kiya's gift. I love it!
Off the Cuff / My Other Journal
#576947 added April 1, 2008 at 4:00pm
Restrictions: None
Jell-o...ooo.oo.o.oh!
Jell-o is sexy. Anything that quivers and shakes with whipped cream on top has got to be sexy. Probably that is why it is so popular. You know, sex sells…

Sex may sell, but I didn’t know until recently that jell-o’s fancy crystalline powder base was gelatin from pig bones. I learned this from the news, which showed some people whose religions abhorred anything of pork fall apart. They were rebelling against a situation that some of them were served jell-o in the hospitals where they were recuperating from one malady or another. Then I realized that there is no warning on the jell-o packages about pig material.

I used to make sugar-free jell-o for my husband when he dieted. Not that the diet stuck, but I loved making the jell-o, adding hot water to its base, and watching its sparkles and crystals separate into color and silt. It gave off its sweet aroma of desire, with strawberry or watermelon as my favorites. Stirring and stirring the mixture until it turned to clear liquid was a delight whose memory still makes my toes curl.

How could I know I was dissolving a pig? This came like a Jack-in-the-box surprise. I had surmised jell-o’s base was plant material. Duh! But then, I am so clueless of some things and so not caring about their origins, I wonder how my gray matter keeps the rhythm and the momentum going. Are other people as oblivious as I am to the origin of things?

What’s in what or who will do where, when? Facing the probability of my shallowness, I’m bewildered.

© Copyright 2008 Joy (UN: joycag at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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