Sccccrrraaaaaape... scratch, scratch, PLOP! ScrrrrrAAAAAPE-scrape-scrape, PLOP!
Her eyes popped open wide. She instantly held her breath as she tried to identify the noise that had woken her.
Straining, she could hear the faint sounds of wood scraping against metal... the barely-there ring in the air... singing in her ears.
The room was purpley-black, the sheets smelling delicately of downy.
Slowly and carefully the girl twisted and slid her feet from the warm, silky-soft cotton sheets and toward the thickly carpeted floor.
Olive green shag carpet, to be exact.
Emma's little back arched, reaching down the side of the bed. When her toes found the fuzzy warmth, she grabbed gropingly for her red plastic frames on the bedside table.
Glasses on her nose, she tip-toed to the doorway and leaned against the frame. Her knobby, freckled knees peeked out from the oversized t-shirt she slept in; a large, gray, much worn and washed affair stolen from an older male cousin or brother.
Pressing her side into the doorway, she hugged the frame tightly, willing herself not to be afraid. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the wood, tracing the grooves absent-mindedly with a thumb.
Why are old houses so creepy at night? She whispered silently to her eleven year old self. It doesn't help that I've had the monster dream again, where my family all turn into werewolves, vampires and ghouls... she swallowed.
The hallway was deep and murky; paneled in dark walnut it made a sharp contrast to the light blue pastel walls of the bedroom she was in.
Squeezing her eyes shut as the scary scraping sound began again, she quickly counted to eleven in her head (one year for each in her age). Her breath tight in her chest, she exhaled silently and slowly, feeling goosebumps trickle down her arms and legs, her hair standing on end and sending her into a shiver.
Heart thudding her pulse against her throat, she peered right, then left.
Her bedroom was the front room, on the left side of the corner of the hallway. She could see that the middle bedroom door on the right, part way down the hall, was open; her grandmother must be awake too.
Looking further down, she could see the blackness of the back bedroom, its door slightly ajar.
She stepped out into the hall and spun around, pinning her shoulders against the wall and freezing motionless for a moment. When nothing grabbed her, she began inching toward the dark of bathroom doorway.
There was a light on in the kitchen; the glow was leaking out into the hall.
Her hair had flopped thickly into her eyes. She roughly shoved the curls away so she could see, then padded silently toward the kitchen door, hugging the opposite wall with her back just in case something decided to jump out at her.
Then, the scraping stopped completely.
She was perhaps a foot from the door, splayed tightly against the wall.
Suddenly, a round figure burst through the swinging dutch doors of the kitchen, blocking the glow.
"What in the world are you doin' out here pressed against the wall Kid?" Her grandmother asked her sternly, frowning down at the child over her apron.
The woman wasn't tall, just under five feet, with ample curves above and below her tiny waist. Her bunny-slipper covered feet were spread shoulder-width apart; a linebacker couldn't have knocked her off balance.
She had one hand propped on her hip, and the other waggling a wooden spoon covered in cookie dough at the girl's nose. Her curly silver hair was coiffed perfectly; framing her ruddy cheeks and head like an electric halo.
"Well, I heard a noise and---"
"Fair enough. You wanna' help? Lordy! You 'bout scared the bejeezus outta' me like that. I oughta' make you warsh' dishes, you little TURKEY!" she finished with emphasis, grabbing Emma by the back of her t-shirt and hustling her into the kitchen.
The yellow, orange, white and green plaid linoleum gleamed brightly in the stove light. The shades were drawn, but the first light of sunrise was shining pinkly through their translucent cotton eyelets. The cream coloured walls with 50's style stripes and daisies began to lighten as the sun came up.
"Wash your hands and bring that stool over t'me," the old woman bellowed, tossing the spoon back into an enormous metal bowl and scraping the dough into a large ball in the middle.
Well, that explains the scary sound, thought Emma as she smiled to herself.
Cookie pans were greased and ready on top of the gas stove, as she brought the stool to the counter beside her grandmother.
Winking and staring sternly down into her granddaughter's brown eyes, magnified by their red frames, she thrust two teaspoons in to her little hands.
"Scoop 'em and ball 'em and put 'em not more nor less'n 2 inches apart on those sheets, y'hear?"
"Yes Ma'am," came the proud reply.
Leave it to her grandmother to make cookies at 4:30 AM the morning of Halloween.
---------------------------------
I love food. I also love cooking.
I have been known to bake things "simply because," and lately my culinary creations have revolved around chocolate.
I bake every week for my choir companions (we rehearse fairly late in the evening) so this week it was double chocolate pecan cake and petit fours.
Fairly easy.
First take your favorite chocolate cake recipe (mine is gluten-free, vegan and has a bit of pumpkin and coconut oil in it) and add chocolate chunks/chips and pecans. Bake per usual.
Easy, huh? :-D
The petit fours I made were mocha cake with cinnamon coconut cream as the filling, and covered in dark chocolate-- again, all gf and v.
Having never made petit fours before, I owe my success to a petit-four pan-- I didn't have to fuss with baking sheet cake, freezing it and then carving or cutting out the little shapes with cookie cutters.
BAH to that I say! Not when there are pans with teensy little cake shapes that waste none of the precious batter! :-D
Anyway, I say the way to people's hearts is most definitely through their stomachs.
So, go show someone you love them.
Bake, cook, toss or just offer somebody a bite.
They'll love you for it. :-D
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Soon...
Ding-Ding-DIng-DINg- DING-DIIIIIIING!!!
My head felt like a black, ink-filled, fuzzy mess this morning as I awoke to the blaring of the alarm clock.
Trying to focus my bleary eyes, I realized that I didn't feel quite like my usual chipper self as I flipped out of bed. My feet were cool on the smooth wood floor of our bedroom.
Maybe it's because the heater is on now, and there's that strange musty, burning dust smell that always wafts out the first few days... I thought to myself.
The temperature has been hovering around freezing lately, and I would go so far as to say that "groggy," has become the word of the day.
Failing to suppress the shiver wriggling lightly over my shoulders and down my spine, I noticed that J had beat me to the bathroom by a few seconds.
Blast. I really had to go. Why is it that bodily functions feel so much more urgent when a body's cold?
As I hopped from toe to toe in an attempt at keeping warm and my mind off my necessaries, I practically burst through the bathroom door when I heard the slow creeeeeak of his exit.
Ahhhhhhh.....
Relieved, I waited for the tap to warm up before plunging my hands beneath it's steamy gushing; hoping to rush some heat back into my fingertips; noticing that my feet were warm in the designated spots where he'd stood moments before on the frigid tiles.
I quickly slipped into jeans and a heavy, oversized sweatshirt; feeling the cool fabric whoosh away my accumulated body heat. Again, a shiver crept over me; up my spine this time, so that I could feel the tickling, tingling hairs on my neck and head rising.
Stepping into the warmth of the kitchen just as J pressed down on the coffee grinder, I waited for its growl to subside before I said, stating the obvious:
"Jeebus it's cold this morning," with my teeth chattering slightly.
He grinned at me from the end of the counter, tapping the fresh coffee grounds into the brown of the recycled paper filter.
With a quick kiss on my forehead and a hasty hug, he started the percolator and zoomed about the house gathering his work things. As soon as the hissing coffee maker announced that it was possible to fill his mug, J was off with another kiss and quick squeeze.
"Have a nice day J," I called after his long-legged form as he stepped off the back porch in one and a half strides.
"You too Darlin," he said beaming up at me, his eyes twinkling beneath his knit cap, all wicked and sparkly in the frost of his warm breath in the cold, cold air.
Closing the door behind him, I felt the rush of warmth return. The kitchen seemed glowing and golden around me even though the sun wasn't bright and fully shining as of yet.
I filled my own mug with hot steaming coffee and donning a down vest and mittens, I pulled on my snow sneakers and went to the front door. Thinking better of it, I attempted to trap my curls under a cotton-fleece hat, but my hair was having none of it, so with a sigh I grabbed a less warm, baseball cap.
I slipped my keys into my pocket and stepped out onto the front porch to begin my walk.
A curtain of icy air enveloped me as I turned to lock the front door.
I was instantly reminded of those aching, chilly and burningly cold mornings I spent as a child, waiting for the school bus.
Briskly walking down the steps and through the front gate, I felt my lungs protesting as the cold flowed in; my eyes pricking with tears as my nose went numb.
This feels just like Vermont, my brain said cheerfully and I began my round of the neighborhood.
-----------------------
There's something about the gray, icy cold that makes me want the smoky comfort of a wood burning fireplace or stove. The way that the warmth sizzles and dances as it rises and rushes to meet the cold air outside the flames.
Fire is magical in that manner. The basic need for our bodies to remain a comfortable temperature is a fundamental need. To be too cold or hot is to be instantly cranky and uncomfortable in one's own skin.
Occasionally I wake up expecting to see the forest out my bedroom window, or the rocky shore of the New England Sea.
I miss the ocean a lot. I also miss the smell of the snow on the maples and pines; the way your boots CRRRRRACK, CRUNCH, SHHHH, as you break through the glazed over blanket of white covering everything; the glinting of iced over budded branches after a sleet storm-- the silver reflecting off their sparkling skeletons of wood.
Winter is a time of mystery, enchantment and simple calculation. I always reach for Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, the Bronte sisters, Shakespeare's Tragedies... those words hit me when it's cold; when the harsh finality of winter creeps in, like a delightful melancholy that I can revel in.
I love the sense of Gothic Romance that I recapture every year, as autumn trips delicately and is caught in winter's icy grasp.
Fall is beautiful; like the last dance of the earth's beauty before she slips into the graceful, darkened, sleeping death that is winter.
The fall and snowy holidays have always been my favorite; perhaps because cheerfulness and fun are made more exciting by the dichotomy of the bleakness in which they reside.
Winter is beautiful and dangerous... some might say, like the wrong kind of partner. ;-)
Oh, how many of us have fallen for that mysterious, moody, sexy and seemingly 'wrong,' person? Love affairs are like the seasons; they change. Hopefully we find another person who has enough range (like the weather) to keep us interested, excited and appreciative.
We move through phases of attraction just as the earth moves through her wardrobe of color and thermostat--- if a person is lucky enough to meet up with someone who loves them back, however brief or lengthy the time; life is worth it.
Hopefully we learn from all our mistakes and follies... enjoy each season as it happens, passes and shifts... knowing that it will come again, whether we desire it or not, and that we must eventually prepare or be overtaken by the transition.
It is this changing of the seasons that acts as the anchor, the constant; the chapter headings in the book of being alive.
I am of the opinion that partners should be able to dance through the seasons; change with the tides and times; grow into and around each other and flex with the wind, rains, suns and snows.
Love should change and develop with the seasons; no autumn, summer, spring or winter is the same as the last--- so should love be different, dynamic and newly familiar each time.
My head felt like a black, ink-filled, fuzzy mess this morning as I awoke to the blaring of the alarm clock.
Trying to focus my bleary eyes, I realized that I didn't feel quite like my usual chipper self as I flipped out of bed. My feet were cool on the smooth wood floor of our bedroom.
Maybe it's because the heater is on now, and there's that strange musty, burning dust smell that always wafts out the first few days... I thought to myself.
The temperature has been hovering around freezing lately, and I would go so far as to say that "groggy," has become the word of the day.
Failing to suppress the shiver wriggling lightly over my shoulders and down my spine, I noticed that J had beat me to the bathroom by a few seconds.
Blast. I really had to go. Why is it that bodily functions feel so much more urgent when a body's cold?
As I hopped from toe to toe in an attempt at keeping warm and my mind off my necessaries, I practically burst through the bathroom door when I heard the slow creeeeeak of his exit.
Ahhhhhhh.....
Relieved, I waited for the tap to warm up before plunging my hands beneath it's steamy gushing; hoping to rush some heat back into my fingertips; noticing that my feet were warm in the designated spots where he'd stood moments before on the frigid tiles.
I quickly slipped into jeans and a heavy, oversized sweatshirt; feeling the cool fabric whoosh away my accumulated body heat. Again, a shiver crept over me; up my spine this time, so that I could feel the tickling, tingling hairs on my neck and head rising.
Stepping into the warmth of the kitchen just as J pressed down on the coffee grinder, I waited for its growl to subside before I said, stating the obvious:
"Jeebus it's cold this morning," with my teeth chattering slightly.
He grinned at me from the end of the counter, tapping the fresh coffee grounds into the brown of the recycled paper filter.
With a quick kiss on my forehead and a hasty hug, he started the percolator and zoomed about the house gathering his work things. As soon as the hissing coffee maker announced that it was possible to fill his mug, J was off with another kiss and quick squeeze.
"Have a nice day J," I called after his long-legged form as he stepped off the back porch in one and a half strides.
"You too Darlin," he said beaming up at me, his eyes twinkling beneath his knit cap, all wicked and sparkly in the frost of his warm breath in the cold, cold air.
Closing the door behind him, I felt the rush of warmth return. The kitchen seemed glowing and golden around me even though the sun wasn't bright and fully shining as of yet.
I filled my own mug with hot steaming coffee and donning a down vest and mittens, I pulled on my snow sneakers and went to the front door. Thinking better of it, I attempted to trap my curls under a cotton-fleece hat, but my hair was having none of it, so with a sigh I grabbed a less warm, baseball cap.
I slipped my keys into my pocket and stepped out onto the front porch to begin my walk.
A curtain of icy air enveloped me as I turned to lock the front door.
I was instantly reminded of those aching, chilly and burningly cold mornings I spent as a child, waiting for the school bus.
Briskly walking down the steps and through the front gate, I felt my lungs protesting as the cold flowed in; my eyes pricking with tears as my nose went numb.
This feels just like Vermont, my brain said cheerfully and I began my round of the neighborhood.
-----------------------
There's something about the gray, icy cold that makes me want the smoky comfort of a wood burning fireplace or stove. The way that the warmth sizzles and dances as it rises and rushes to meet the cold air outside the flames.
Fire is magical in that manner. The basic need for our bodies to remain a comfortable temperature is a fundamental need. To be too cold or hot is to be instantly cranky and uncomfortable in one's own skin.
Occasionally I wake up expecting to see the forest out my bedroom window, or the rocky shore of the New England Sea.
I miss the ocean a lot. I also miss the smell of the snow on the maples and pines; the way your boots CRRRRRACK, CRUNCH, SHHHH, as you break through the glazed over blanket of white covering everything; the glinting of iced over budded branches after a sleet storm-- the silver reflecting off their sparkling skeletons of wood.
Winter is a time of mystery, enchantment and simple calculation. I always reach for Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe, the Bronte sisters, Shakespeare's Tragedies... those words hit me when it's cold; when the harsh finality of winter creeps in, like a delightful melancholy that I can revel in.
I love the sense of Gothic Romance that I recapture every year, as autumn trips delicately and is caught in winter's icy grasp.
Fall is beautiful; like the last dance of the earth's beauty before she slips into the graceful, darkened, sleeping death that is winter.
The fall and snowy holidays have always been my favorite; perhaps because cheerfulness and fun are made more exciting by the dichotomy of the bleakness in which they reside.
Winter is beautiful and dangerous... some might say, like the wrong kind of partner. ;-)
Oh, how many of us have fallen for that mysterious, moody, sexy and seemingly 'wrong,' person? Love affairs are like the seasons; they change. Hopefully we find another person who has enough range (like the weather) to keep us interested, excited and appreciative.
We move through phases of attraction just as the earth moves through her wardrobe of color and thermostat--- if a person is lucky enough to meet up with someone who loves them back, however brief or lengthy the time; life is worth it.
Hopefully we learn from all our mistakes and follies... enjoy each season as it happens, passes and shifts... knowing that it will come again, whether we desire it or not, and that we must eventually prepare or be overtaken by the transition.
It is this changing of the seasons that acts as the anchor, the constant; the chapter headings in the book of being alive.
I am of the opinion that partners should be able to dance through the seasons; change with the tides and times; grow into and around each other and flex with the wind, rains, suns and snows.
Love should change and develop with the seasons; no autumn, summer, spring or winter is the same as the last--- so should love be different, dynamic and newly familiar each time.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
The Smell of Snow!
A purple glow invaded my consciousness as I opened my eyes. My nose felt cold... in fact, my whole face felt cold above the warm cloud of comforter. Slowly twisting to glance at the clock, it read 5:50 AM.
Strangely, this did not elicit groaning from my sleepy brain.
I felt my system rapidly buzzing, my whole body was waking up very quickly. I knew that any attempt at sleeping further would be entirely futile.The realization that my cheeks and skin were flushing in the cold early morning air was certainly strange though... isn't our bedroom still inside the house?
Carefully and gently, I extricated myself from the steaming warmth of the blankets and padded into the bathroom.
The tiles felt freezing.
I grabbed my robe and tip-toed into the kitchen. Opening the side door I peeked out into the blue gray air. Frost had covered the grass and trees like a transparent white glaze; mist was floating and rolling around the yard.
I took a deep breath in and sensed something else in the fresh air... something besides the crisp early morning dew, besides the musty smell of dry leaves and earth and beyond the clean smell of the night's rainfall.
I was inhaling the scent of snow.
Today was going to be an exciting day.
----------------
There's something magical about the smell of the sky when snow is building inside the fluffy, silver depths of the clouds.
That smell makes me long for fall in Vermont.
I want to see the cascading flush of crimson, gold, orange, yellow and brown leaves again, hear the morning silence as the fog falls in billows down to the meadow, chased away by the pink and glowing gold of dawn.
I want to breathe in the fragrance of maple syrup warming on the stove as it mingles with the scent of freshly ground coffee and biscuits; spreading out from the kitchen like buttery fingers wafting through the entire house, both upstairs and down.
I want to see the frost on the trees and the first large flakes that fall in slow-motion; fat and outlined against the street-light lit blue evening.
I can almost feel the first, gentle winter winds pricking my cheeks and tickling my eyes with tears as my scarf is blown about.
--------------
Winter is coming and I know because this morning, I scented snow.
----------------
Strangely, this did not elicit groaning from my sleepy brain.
I felt my system rapidly buzzing, my whole body was waking up very quickly. I knew that any attempt at sleeping further would be entirely futile.The realization that my cheeks and skin were flushing in the cold early morning air was certainly strange though... isn't our bedroom still inside the house?
Carefully and gently, I extricated myself from the steaming warmth of the blankets and padded into the bathroom.
The tiles felt freezing.
I grabbed my robe and tip-toed into the kitchen. Opening the side door I peeked out into the blue gray air. Frost had covered the grass and trees like a transparent white glaze; mist was floating and rolling around the yard.
I took a deep breath in and sensed something else in the fresh air... something besides the crisp early morning dew, besides the musty smell of dry leaves and earth and beyond the clean smell of the night's rainfall.
I was inhaling the scent of snow.
Today was going to be an exciting day.
----------------
There's something magical about the smell of the sky when snow is building inside the fluffy, silver depths of the clouds.
That smell makes me long for fall in Vermont.
I want to see the cascading flush of crimson, gold, orange, yellow and brown leaves again, hear the morning silence as the fog falls in billows down to the meadow, chased away by the pink and glowing gold of dawn.
I want to breathe in the fragrance of maple syrup warming on the stove as it mingles with the scent of freshly ground coffee and biscuits; spreading out from the kitchen like buttery fingers wafting through the entire house, both upstairs and down.
I want to see the frost on the trees and the first large flakes that fall in slow-motion; fat and outlined against the street-light lit blue evening.
I can almost feel the first, gentle winter winds pricking my cheeks and tickling my eyes with tears as my scarf is blown about.
--------------
Winter is coming and I know because this morning, I scented snow.
----------------
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Updates, Cupcakes, Sleeping Lates and Syncopates...
I've been absent a while. I've been making things like pumpkin chocolate chip cupcakes, applesauce cookies, chocolate oatmeal blueberry plumb crumble bread, and pumpkin pie bites. J and I have also been sleeping in as much as we can because of his crazy work/school schedule.
Sorry about that. I didn't intend to neglect my blog, I promise.
I've been baking every week for my choir: they're perhaps not aware that they've been eating vegan, gluten-free, entirely organic, low-sweetner treats for the past few weeks.
WOOT!
However, today I am going to make chocolate chip cookies: Gf flour, dark chocolate chunks, bananas, cinnamon, brown sugar, raw sugar, baking soda, a pinch of sea salt, coconut oil and LOVE.
I may even put some oatmeal and molasses in; just for something new.
Baking and cooking (I've been IN LOVE with casseroles.. more on that later) this past month has been very important to me.
I've been editing, writing letters of recommendation, and finding MORE and MORE things that need to be done. Such as thank you notes and wedding preparation.
I've been writing a lot in my head, going over and over my novels and making changes and adjustments---- something I've got to do on the page very soon.
For today, I'll leave you with a casserole recipe. I vary it a lot, but here's what I usually do. It's completely organic, vegan and EASY. It tastes cheesy and warm and gooey delicious.
1) Mise en Place:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees; you may want it slightly warmer if you live at altitude (as I do).
1 casserole dish,
1 sautee pan,
1 bag frozen vegetables of your choice (I've been using half spinach and half broccoli),
1 quarter grated squash (been using 1/4 acorn squash or 1/2 to 1 zucchini),
a pinch of salt; pepper; cajun spices or chili powder,
2 tablespoons flour (I use gf oat or bob's red mill)
3 tablespoons (or a bit more) fat (I use coconut oil, but butter would work too)
Approximately 3/4 to 1 Cup liquid (I use almond milk, but any dairy or unsweetened/flavored milk substitute would work)
1 can pumpkin (NOT pie mix please),
1 fork,
1 wooden spoon,
1 handful slivered almonds and sunflower seeds, OR the savory breadcrumb topping of your choice (heck, use fried onions if you want, I don't care).
2) Dump frozen veggies and shredded squash/zuchinni in casserole (you can grease or NOT grease the casserole dish with fat, it doesn't really matter). Sprinkle with a pinch of salt, pepper and chili spices. Set aside.
3) Place the sautee pan on the stove on medium low. Add 3 tablespoons of coconut oil/butter. When melted, add the 2 table spoons of flour and stir continuously with a wooden spoon so that it does not burn. This is called making a rue. You want to cook the flour until it smells nutty and darkens in color (it should smell buttery, like rolls baking in the oven) -- my grandmother would say at LEAST 3 to 5 minutes. If the mixture in the pan is more watery than gooey, add a bit more flour and cook another few minutes.
4) Then, gently season the rue with salt, pepper, chili powder, and slowly add your almond milk (or other liquid dairy/milk substitute). KEEP stirring and turn the heat to medium. The mixture should hiss a bit when you add the liquid, and begin to form blobs. It will keep thickening to the consistency of gravy! This was our GOAL! :-D You may want to add more liquid if it's too thick. If it's too runny, don't worry, this next step will solve that. When the gravy has reached the desired thickness, turn the heat back to low.
5) Open the can of pumpkin and stir it up inside the can with a fork. You want it to look whipped, not chunky. Add by the forkful to the gravy in the pan a little at a time, stirring with the fork to prevent lumps and incorporate the pumpkin smoothly into the sauce.
6) When the pumpkin is all mixed into the gravy, it should be a nice brown orange color. Taste it (carefully, it's HOT) and adjust seasoning-- you can add herbs or a little worcestershire sauce if you like to make it less pumpkiny and more cheesy. MMMM.....
7) Turn off burner. Pour gravy over veggies in casserole dish and carefully stir. Or don't. It doesn't really matter, but it will cook more quickly if you stir because remember, we used some frozen veggies.
8) Sprinkle with the almond/sunflower seed mix OR your breadcrumb mix.
9) Place in oven and bake for approximately 40 minutes, or until an inserted fork comes out warm all the way down the tines, and the top of the casserole is brown and crunchy.
10) A good way to know if it's done is if you can smell the DELICIOUSNESS from the living room/throughout the rest of the house.
11) Remove casserole from the oven and set to cool for 10 minutes. Then EAT. I like to sprinkle nutritional yeast on top of mine because it adds to the cheesy flavor.
------------------------
More narrative later. I just felt like sharing some COOKING with you today.
Be Kind and HAPPY OCTOBER!
Fall is my FAVORITE!
:-D
~Love
Sorry about that. I didn't intend to neglect my blog, I promise.
I've been baking every week for my choir: they're perhaps not aware that they've been eating vegan, gluten-free, entirely organic, low-sweetner treats for the past few weeks.
WOOT!
However, today I am going to make chocolate chip cookies: Gf flour, dark chocolate chunks, bananas, cinnamon, brown sugar, raw sugar, baking soda, a pinch of sea salt, coconut oil and LOVE.
I may even put some oatmeal and molasses in; just for something new.
Baking and cooking (I've been IN LOVE with casseroles.. more on that later) this past month has been very important to me.
I've been editing, writing letters of recommendation, and finding MORE and MORE things that need to be done. Such as thank you notes and wedding preparation.
I've been writing a lot in my head, going over and over my novels and making changes and adjustments---- something I've got to do on the page very soon.
For today, I'll leave you with a casserole recipe. I vary it a lot, but here's what I usually do. It's completely organic, vegan and EASY. It tastes cheesy and warm and gooey delicious.
1) Mise en Place:
Preheat oven to 375 degrees; you may want it slightly warmer if you live at altitude (as I do).
1 casserole dish,
1 sautee pan,
1 bag frozen vegetables of your choice (I've been using half spinach and half broccoli),
1 quarter grated squash (been using 1/4 acorn squash or 1/2 to 1 zucchini),
a pinch of salt; pepper; cajun spices or chili powder,
2 tablespoons flour (I use gf oat or bob's red mill)
3 tablespoons (or a bit more) fat (I use coconut oil, but butter would work too)
Approximately 3/4 to 1 Cup liquid (I use almond milk, but any dairy or unsweetened/flavored milk substitute would work)
1 can pumpkin (NOT pie mix please),
1 fork,
1 wooden spoon,
1 handful slivered almonds and sunflower seeds, OR the savory breadcrumb topping of your choice (heck, use fried onions if you want, I don't care).
2) Dump frozen veggies and shredded squash/zuchinni in casserole (you can grease or NOT grease the casserole dish with fat, it doesn't really matter). Sprinkle with a pinch of salt, pepper and chili spices. Set aside.
3) Place the sautee pan on the stove on medium low. Add 3 tablespoons of coconut oil/butter. When melted, add the 2 table spoons of flour and stir continuously with a wooden spoon so that it does not burn. This is called making a rue. You want to cook the flour until it smells nutty and darkens in color (it should smell buttery, like rolls baking in the oven) -- my grandmother would say at LEAST 3 to 5 minutes. If the mixture in the pan is more watery than gooey, add a bit more flour and cook another few minutes.
4) Then, gently season the rue with salt, pepper, chili powder, and slowly add your almond milk (or other liquid dairy/milk substitute). KEEP stirring and turn the heat to medium. The mixture should hiss a bit when you add the liquid, and begin to form blobs. It will keep thickening to the consistency of gravy! This was our GOAL! :-D You may want to add more liquid if it's too thick. If it's too runny, don't worry, this next step will solve that. When the gravy has reached the desired thickness, turn the heat back to low.
5) Open the can of pumpkin and stir it up inside the can with a fork. You want it to look whipped, not chunky. Add by the forkful to the gravy in the pan a little at a time, stirring with the fork to prevent lumps and incorporate the pumpkin smoothly into the sauce.
6) When the pumpkin is all mixed into the gravy, it should be a nice brown orange color. Taste it (carefully, it's HOT) and adjust seasoning-- you can add herbs or a little worcestershire sauce if you like to make it less pumpkiny and more cheesy. MMMM.....
7) Turn off burner. Pour gravy over veggies in casserole dish and carefully stir. Or don't. It doesn't really matter, but it will cook more quickly if you stir because remember, we used some frozen veggies.
8) Sprinkle with the almond/sunflower seed mix OR your breadcrumb mix.
9) Place in oven and bake for approximately 40 minutes, or until an inserted fork comes out warm all the way down the tines, and the top of the casserole is brown and crunchy.
10) A good way to know if it's done is if you can smell the DELICIOUSNESS from the living room/throughout the rest of the house.
11) Remove casserole from the oven and set to cool for 10 minutes. Then EAT. I like to sprinkle nutritional yeast on top of mine because it adds to the cheesy flavor.
------------------------
More narrative later. I just felt like sharing some COOKING with you today.
Be Kind and HAPPY OCTOBER!
Fall is my FAVORITE!
:-D
~Love
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The Air is Changing...
The air is changing most certainly now.
I'm quite sure my heart can hear words.
I think that the breezes that slip through the boughs are whispering softly in thirds.
There's a shift on the wind, in the trees and the sea,
All the plants and the earth changing too.
It's a soft storm that grows with the dance of the leaves; if you listen you may hear it too.
It's the season, the time for the reason and rhyme,
All the planets align for the fall.
Soon the birds and the bees and the creatures shall sleep, and the sky; she shall weep for it all.
Slowly curling in swirls fall the leaves as they whorl,
To the ground is the end of their trip.
With the red and the gold, orange autumn takes hold and the warmth of the world slips a shift.
It's a moving transition. Quiet now, sit and listen.
All the music of seasons will sing.
There's no trick to the measure; time signature's pleasure. Undertake to endeavor this thing.
Chill and cold on the cusp; warmth and fire burn lust,
Winter creeps in the dust of the end.
Soon the grey-white rolls in on the tails of the wind; a new time will begin at the bend.
Bring your heart to the hearth; sip the cool of the dark,
Breathe the air with a spark bittersweet.
All the lives lay to rest with the beat in your chest, snow will silence the rest until spring.
I'm quite sure my heart can hear words.
I think that the breezes that slip through the boughs are whispering softly in thirds.
There's a shift on the wind, in the trees and the sea,
All the plants and the earth changing too.
It's a soft storm that grows with the dance of the leaves; if you listen you may hear it too.
It's the season, the time for the reason and rhyme,
All the planets align for the fall.
Soon the birds and the bees and the creatures shall sleep, and the sky; she shall weep for it all.
Slowly curling in swirls fall the leaves as they whorl,
To the ground is the end of their trip.
With the red and the gold, orange autumn takes hold and the warmth of the world slips a shift.
It's a moving transition. Quiet now, sit and listen.
All the music of seasons will sing.
There's no trick to the measure; time signature's pleasure. Undertake to endeavor this thing.
Chill and cold on the cusp; warmth and fire burn lust,
Winter creeps in the dust of the end.
Soon the grey-white rolls in on the tails of the wind; a new time will begin at the bend.
Bring your heart to the hearth; sip the cool of the dark,
Breathe the air with a spark bittersweet.
All the lives lay to rest with the beat in your chest, snow will silence the rest until spring.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Speaking of Souls Lately...
Today I Haiku for You:
In Other News:
I recently discovered something amazing...
It's called SoulPancake.
It's a website.
Rainn Wilson helped create it.
Normally I am skeptical of joiney-uppey-websites.
I'm only on facebook to make my friends and family happy...
However....
I LOVE. THIS. WEBSITE.
It's mind-opening, heart-opening, discussion-oriented, question-asking AWESOME.
You should check it out: Soul Pancake
Love, Hugs and PUMPKINS!
i.
Poems represent
Inner depths inside ourselves
Exposed to the world.
ii.
Hug someone today.
Share your spirit freely now
Take the time to give.
iii.
Sing my soul, and dance
Twirl, dip, leap, arc, die and fall
Partnering the silent cry.
iv.
Hold my hand right now.
Kiss me softly on the lips.
Love can rule the world.
v.
Change the way you think
Alter your perceptions stilled
Step back from the brink.
vi.
Autumn leaves deep hues
Cascading cold window panes
Brisk air breathes us too.
vii.
February waits.
Valentines entwine heart lines.
We have set our date.
I recently discovered something amazing...
It's called SoulPancake.
It's a website.
Rainn Wilson helped create it.
Normally I am skeptical of joiney-uppey-websites.
I'm only on facebook to make my friends and family happy...
However....
I LOVE. THIS. WEBSITE.
It's mind-opening, heart-opening, discussion-oriented, question-asking AWESOME.
You should check it out: Soul Pancake
Love, Hugs and PUMPKINS!
Sunday, September 9, 2012
How Old Are You?
The air was crisp this morning.
Not crisp like a packet of crisps, but bright, cold, clear and fresh.
There's just something about fall that makes it my favorite. The spicy smells, the wind, the rain, the gray skies and growing early darkness in the evenings... the early morning sun.
Fall is like spring, but reverse.
You start with the lovely earthy, fresh smells and progress through the sun warming the chilled frost on the blades of grass and the bark of trees, to the dry peppery smell of crunching leaves which cascade into winter.
I need a scarf, I thought to myself as I sprinted through open front door.
Seuss had escaped to the front yard by pawing the door open and it was only because I heard the screen gently bang shut behind him that I knew he'd gotten out.
He was rolling delightedly on the pavement, and then, at my approach, he strolled daintily (if you can call a giant black Maine Coon Tabby dainty) around to the car, winking at me and rubbing his chin and body against the yellow paint of our vehicle.
Sighing to myself and smiling at him, I calmly walked behind until he looked over his shoulder up at me, and sat down.
I scooped the large cat up and his fur was cool, then warm in my arms. He immediately began to purr fiercely, his eyes widening and then closing to satisfied green slits.
He was covered in twigs, leaves and dirt from his little roll.
Why the pavement feels so good to him, I'll never know!
Humming to myself, we strode back into the house.
Plopping him down, I grabbed a light and soft scarf and wrapped it loosely around my neck. My black cap was slipped onto my crazy hair and coffee in hand, I slipped out the door for a second time, turning the lock behind me.
Walking through the neighborhood, I ran into a fellow and his dog, whom I'd met before on my morning excursions.
We smiled and exchanged pleasantries. I was struck by the briskness of the morning air; noticing he was wearing only a t-shirt and shorts.
Walking down the block and across, I paused by the corner to admire my favorite big old house with the mature trees and wrap around porch. Inhaling deeply I felt the minty, cleansing, frigid air whoosh in and out of my lungs.
I continued on.
Down the sidewalk path, past the old trucks lining the street, across to the big white house with the placard, onto my favorite street.
The one where all the houses seem bright and cheerful; somehow reminding me simultaneously of the old ranch style stone places from my early childhood, as well as the New England victorians. All brightly colored and muted too; beautiful gardens, sunshine filtering through the trees.... I love this street.
As I walked through the cool, I thought... I wonder why I feel old sometimes.
You see, I'm not talking about stiff joints and muscles old (though that happens too); I'm talking about my soul.
My soul feels old.
I don't mean simply the familiar fact that it's been inhabiting my living, eating, breathing cells for almost 29 years now; I'm stating the fact that my SOUL is OLDER than my body.
It just has to be; I can feel it.
Things aren't surprising to my soul.
The way it feels when music of any kind is playing; it likes to vibrate and swell and respond.
The way it feels when I dance or sing.
My soul lives in the center of my being, but sometimes it creeps itself up into my heart and like a warm and furry critter curling up, circling around before bed, it snuggles and wraps around.
This is why I cannot deny my heart anything. Believe me, I've tried.
Any time I attempt to ignore how my heart feels, it completely bites me in the behind -- every, single, time.
My brain occasionally thinks that it can override my heart; that in fact, it is logically in control-- NOT so.
When I think I must go against my heart, I learn the HARD way that it is futile to resist; the heart knows better than the brain speculates.
My heart is willing to entertain ideas from my brain, but never, NEVER will my heart relinquish control.
The heart has more power, you see.
The brain is simply an extension of the heart at the center.
Ever heard of those wild stories about transplant patients? I remember reading one about a fella' who had a heart transplant. Before the procedure, he eschewed red meat and certain types of music, and several other things. After the surgery, he found himself using phrases that he never used to use, craving steak, and liking genres he'd never thought possible.
One of the phrases he used was, "We're copasetic," and I think he said it to the wife of the heart donor, or something, and she gasped, because that was a sentence used by her heart-donor-late-husband.
Muscle memory indeed.
SOUL memory.
Ok, here, I found the story about the Heart Transplant fellow.
Anywho, I'm not sure why that popped into my head just now, but it makes PERFECT sense to me.
Echoes are real --- energy echoes --- traces of everything that's happened; past, present and future.
Circles are profound for a reason.
Ok, I'm waxing ridiculous here.... but I mean it.
Music, words, touches, smells, tastes, memories, deja-vu, intuition, dreams, reminders, feelings... all of it has meaning when it needs to, and sometimes when it doesn't.
I know because my soul tingles inside my cells every day; and it's OLD.
It's compassionate and it has lived through more than my body has--- it identifies with things that I have never experienced, but which feel true as though I had.
It's one of the reasons I love people of all ages; they're funny, familiar, interesting and my heart reaches out to them of it's own volition --- my body must follow.
My soul is very old, and I'm quite glad it's retained some of the wisdom it had before settling into my body.
Physically I'm pretty young: 29 this November.
However, as my body grows in age, my soul begins to delight because it is OLD, though I am not... yet.
My red-hair has some bright white unicorn strands in it's coppery blend;
my hyper-mobile joints give me more grief than they used to after hyper-extension;
my system wants more raw veggies, fruit and nuts-- less alcohol, sugar and grease;
my stomach argues against caffeine and processed foods;
my system longs for the ocean --- not the pool;
my skin must have it's moisturizer and goodly doses of water all the time;
my muscles must work and stretch-- they have to move to stay toned as they used to have time before-- now they do not;
my elimination system cannot wait or be ignored for long;
my allergies are both worse and better;
and yet....
I am excited to be growing older-- this is a journey that everyone must make, no matter what else they'd like to do.
I want to be the kind of Grandma who has a nickname that isn't Gramma' or Grandmother or Grandma, but more along the lines of Mimi, Gran, Baba or some other hybrid cute old lady label.
Next time, I'll post about the midnight cookies. Halloween is coming up, so it'll be perfect.
For now, I simply know that my body is slowly, but surely catching up to my soul. Certainly my soul will outlive my cells; it's already far older than I think I will ever live to be.
I think there's a joy in life that apexes; I try to live each moment as though it were the time of my life, the continuous and flowing BEST moment of my life.
Sometimes it is and sometimes not.
All I know is that I'm not scared of being old; I'm looking forward to it.
I'm in no hurry of course. It's about the journey, not the destination, but the age of my soul gives me glimpses of what is to be.
I hope it happens.
My soul is old, and I'm sure it has more wisdom than the youth of my body.
My soul is old; and I am thankful.
Not crisp like a packet of crisps, but bright, cold, clear and fresh.
There's just something about fall that makes it my favorite. The spicy smells, the wind, the rain, the gray skies and growing early darkness in the evenings... the early morning sun.
Fall is like spring, but reverse.
You start with the lovely earthy, fresh smells and progress through the sun warming the chilled frost on the blades of grass and the bark of trees, to the dry peppery smell of crunching leaves which cascade into winter.
I need a scarf, I thought to myself as I sprinted through open front door.
Seuss had escaped to the front yard by pawing the door open and it was only because I heard the screen gently bang shut behind him that I knew he'd gotten out.
He was rolling delightedly on the pavement, and then, at my approach, he strolled daintily (if you can call a giant black Maine Coon Tabby dainty) around to the car, winking at me and rubbing his chin and body against the yellow paint of our vehicle.
Sighing to myself and smiling at him, I calmly walked behind until he looked over his shoulder up at me, and sat down.
I scooped the large cat up and his fur was cool, then warm in my arms. He immediately began to purr fiercely, his eyes widening and then closing to satisfied green slits.
He was covered in twigs, leaves and dirt from his little roll.
Why the pavement feels so good to him, I'll never know!
Humming to myself, we strode back into the house.
Plopping him down, I grabbed a light and soft scarf and wrapped it loosely around my neck. My black cap was slipped onto my crazy hair and coffee in hand, I slipped out the door for a second time, turning the lock behind me.
Walking through the neighborhood, I ran into a fellow and his dog, whom I'd met before on my morning excursions.
We smiled and exchanged pleasantries. I was struck by the briskness of the morning air; noticing he was wearing only a t-shirt and shorts.
Walking down the block and across, I paused by the corner to admire my favorite big old house with the mature trees and wrap around porch. Inhaling deeply I felt the minty, cleansing, frigid air whoosh in and out of my lungs.
I continued on.
Down the sidewalk path, past the old trucks lining the street, across to the big white house with the placard, onto my favorite street.
The one where all the houses seem bright and cheerful; somehow reminding me simultaneously of the old ranch style stone places from my early childhood, as well as the New England victorians. All brightly colored and muted too; beautiful gardens, sunshine filtering through the trees.... I love this street.
As I walked through the cool, I thought... I wonder why I feel old sometimes.
You see, I'm not talking about stiff joints and muscles old (though that happens too); I'm talking about my soul.
My soul feels old.
I don't mean simply the familiar fact that it's been inhabiting my living, eating, breathing cells for almost 29 years now; I'm stating the fact that my SOUL is OLDER than my body.
It just has to be; I can feel it.
Things aren't surprising to my soul.
The way it feels when music of any kind is playing; it likes to vibrate and swell and respond.
The way it feels when I dance or sing.
My soul lives in the center of my being, but sometimes it creeps itself up into my heart and like a warm and furry critter curling up, circling around before bed, it snuggles and wraps around.
This is why I cannot deny my heart anything. Believe me, I've tried.
Any time I attempt to ignore how my heart feels, it completely bites me in the behind -- every, single, time.
My brain occasionally thinks that it can override my heart; that in fact, it is logically in control-- NOT so.
When I think I must go against my heart, I learn the HARD way that it is futile to resist; the heart knows better than the brain speculates.
My heart is willing to entertain ideas from my brain, but never, NEVER will my heart relinquish control.
The heart has more power, you see.
The brain is simply an extension of the heart at the center.
Ever heard of those wild stories about transplant patients? I remember reading one about a fella' who had a heart transplant. Before the procedure, he eschewed red meat and certain types of music, and several other things. After the surgery, he found himself using phrases that he never used to use, craving steak, and liking genres he'd never thought possible.
One of the phrases he used was, "We're copasetic," and I think he said it to the wife of the heart donor, or something, and she gasped, because that was a sentence used by her heart-donor-late-husband.
Muscle memory indeed.
SOUL memory.
Ok, here, I found the story about the Heart Transplant fellow.
Anywho, I'm not sure why that popped into my head just now, but it makes PERFECT sense to me.
Echoes are real --- energy echoes --- traces of everything that's happened; past, present and future.
Circles are profound for a reason.
Ok, I'm waxing ridiculous here.... but I mean it.
Music, words, touches, smells, tastes, memories, deja-vu, intuition, dreams, reminders, feelings... all of it has meaning when it needs to, and sometimes when it doesn't.
I know because my soul tingles inside my cells every day; and it's OLD.
It's compassionate and it has lived through more than my body has--- it identifies with things that I have never experienced, but which feel true as though I had.
It's one of the reasons I love people of all ages; they're funny, familiar, interesting and my heart reaches out to them of it's own volition --- my body must follow.
My soul is very old, and I'm quite glad it's retained some of the wisdom it had before settling into my body.
Physically I'm pretty young: 29 this November.
However, as my body grows in age, my soul begins to delight because it is OLD, though I am not... yet.
My red-hair has some bright white unicorn strands in it's coppery blend;
my hyper-mobile joints give me more grief than they used to after hyper-extension;
my system wants more raw veggies, fruit and nuts-- less alcohol, sugar and grease;
my stomach argues against caffeine and processed foods;
my system longs for the ocean --- not the pool;
my skin must have it's moisturizer and goodly doses of water all the time;
my muscles must work and stretch-- they have to move to stay toned as they used to have time before-- now they do not;
my elimination system cannot wait or be ignored for long;
my allergies are both worse and better;
and yet....
I am excited to be growing older-- this is a journey that everyone must make, no matter what else they'd like to do.
I want to be the kind of Grandma who has a nickname that isn't Gramma' or Grandmother or Grandma, but more along the lines of Mimi, Gran, Baba or some other hybrid cute old lady label.
Next time, I'll post about the midnight cookies. Halloween is coming up, so it'll be perfect.
For now, I simply know that my body is slowly, but surely catching up to my soul. Certainly my soul will outlive my cells; it's already far older than I think I will ever live to be.
I think there's a joy in life that apexes; I try to live each moment as though it were the time of my life, the continuous and flowing BEST moment of my life.
Sometimes it is and sometimes not.
All I know is that I'm not scared of being old; I'm looking forward to it.
I'm in no hurry of course. It's about the journey, not the destination, but the age of my soul gives me glimpses of what is to be.
I hope it happens.
My soul is old, and I'm sure it has more wisdom than the youth of my body.
My soul is old; and I am thankful.
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