Below is an extract of a post published on Guardian titled "Cooking for one in the age of Trump"
Scroll down to the bottom of this article and tap the read article button to visit the Guardian post directly and give your opinion.
Make america great again.- Donald Trump.
What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog.- Dwight D. Eisenhower.
The best executive is the one who has sense enough to pick good men to do what wants done, and self-restraint to keep from meddling with them while they do it.- Theodore Roosevelt.
Discipline is the soul of an army. It makes small numbers formidable; procures success to the weak and esteem to all.- George Washington.
America 1st Girl is a Blog by Conservative Artist Cara Sky.
Essentially i Blog on all things Donald Trump and on occasion post my own Art.
I curate Donald Trump articles and notable Tweets on your behalf from all over the web into one easy site for you to browse without trolling through hundreds of different sites or posts.
America 1st Girl is not affiliated with the journalist or Twitter user who published the original article or Tweet, nor is she responsible for any affiliations the journalist or Tweeter user in question may hold.
Everything here on America 1st Girl is Donald Trump related from Media to Podcasts, Forums, Blogs and Fan groups.
Via: Guardian
The kitchen in my flat in New York was squalid. And so was the daily news of Trump. But I have learned to adapt to both Two autumns ago, on the wide avenue where I live in New York City, I abandoned a bicycle, a bulky blue gift from an ex that had never been quite right. The news in my country was so bad I could hardly speak, and I was single and living alone for the first time and feeling afraid, distracting myself most days with rides through the lacework of tree shadows – but, one day, the chain came loose on my way somewhere, so I locked up the bike and began to walk. This made one less distraction from the question of my tiny apartment, where I was intent on being very happy but where, despite being someone who had once prepared octopus on Tuesdays, I could not bring myself to cook. The issue seemed outright personal at first, the shock of cooking for one, instead of two, but soon I realised it had as much to do with the outer world as the inner, the mornings I woke up to the sounds of children marching in protest against their president. We had just elected a man who thrilled at the mistreatment of women, and somehow anything traditionally female had begun to repulse me. The collection of vintage cocktail dresses in my closet, printed silk and ruched chiffon, went untouched. As the autumn fell away, I wore a burgundy leather jacket with a sheepskin collar and ate without taking it off – seated in Polish diners where I ordered kielbasa and something called Peanut Butter Pie, standing in the pizzerias under the stained photos of celebrity patrons. From the backs of bodega freezers I pulled mysterious off-brand popsicles, summer’s refuse, and ate those too. I must have thought that by eating this way –a diet strange and piecemeal, a far cry from wholesome – I was disguising my body from the inside out, changing it into something no one could want. Continue reading…
