My morning.
Beneath yellow walls,
I sat cross-legged,
As the sun rose.
Motionless.
Only a glow shined,
Behind morning fog,
As steady she climbed.
My clock rings.
"Awaken, dear girl.
Your room is sunny,
When the world is cold"
Afternoon.
By the pond, I sit
Watching blueberries
Threatening to split.
New lilies,
Fight the mist to breathe.
Gasping new blossoms,
Await dew's reprieve.
A fish jumps.
Startling the bees,
They're instantly back
Buzzing through leaves.
Twilight. Dusk.
The crickets all cheer,
"Fuck all this dampness!
It's finally clear!"
Black night sky,
The fog a memory,
A satellite travels,
It's lone arc'ed journey.
My midnight
Cross-legged, yet again.
Alone in the grass
Gazing up at my friends.
Perseus,
Saturn in Leo,
Thin hazy half-moon,
Rising up behind me.
Believing, while...
Sunny days, I have known,
When yours starts out gray,
To end up in this place,
You just paint it yellow.
Believing, while
Sunny days I have known
When yours starts out gray
To end up in this place,
You just paint it yellow.
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label flowers. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
I Belong Among The Wildflowers
I'm somewhat infamous for my penchant for the dramatic...
I know it. I'm an introspective gal. I have this curious habit of marking places in my life that feel different, like a rough cuticle over smooth silk... snagging and catching along the otherwise even and unchanging landscape of my life. I passed another one today, and thankfully, for a few hours was stuck there.
I may have told you on our desert trip that at some point I switched my camera on full manual and never looked back, and the few times I have gone back to 'auto' I've been disappointed by the results. That was a big deal for me. I don't use a fancy camera, mine is 6 years old, I bought it well-used, and I'm using a kit lens that came with it. There have never been any smoke and mirrors involved in my photos, since I'm a 'tard at editing and can't afford a better rig. So the day I became happy with the photos I produce, without help, is a big deal. I am not a photographer. My husband is, and a very talented one, at that. I've been involved in the business as his event planner and organizer - sometimes backing him up at events. But today, I shot some things I'm proud of. And because I'm a 'tard at editing, you'll get to see them raw and untouched. I'm even too lazy to crop. Feel free to take a stab at cleaning them up for me. I said they were my best, not the best.
This weekend I had the opportunity to wear the right kind of eyes and experience the Texas Hill Country for its rugged magnificence. Most of the day on Saturday, I drove winding roads up and down hills through land adorned with wildflowers so beautiful they would make you cry. I cried a lot. Mostly at the fact that I had left my camera at home and couldn't look at them later. So today, I packed up my camera, waited for the end of the work day and fought Austin traffic out...
I only posted a few here, find the rest in the gallery.
P.S. Picasa is an asshole, so I can't organize the gallery... enjoy chronological order in the gallery. Grr.
I know it. I'm an introspective gal. I have this curious habit of marking places in my life that feel different, like a rough cuticle over smooth silk... snagging and catching along the otherwise even and unchanging landscape of my life. I passed another one today, and thankfully, for a few hours was stuck there.
I may have told you on our desert trip that at some point I switched my camera on full manual and never looked back, and the few times I have gone back to 'auto' I've been disappointed by the results. That was a big deal for me. I don't use a fancy camera, mine is 6 years old, I bought it well-used, and I'm using a kit lens that came with it. There have never been any smoke and mirrors involved in my photos, since I'm a 'tard at editing and can't afford a better rig. So the day I became happy with the photos I produce, without help, is a big deal. I am not a photographer. My husband is, and a very talented one, at that. I've been involved in the business as his event planner and organizer - sometimes backing him up at events. But today, I shot some things I'm proud of. And because I'm a 'tard at editing, you'll get to see them raw and untouched. I'm even too lazy to crop. Feel free to take a stab at cleaning them up for me. I said they were my best, not the best.
This weekend I had the opportunity to wear the right kind of eyes and experience the Texas Hill Country for its rugged magnificence. Most of the day on Saturday, I drove winding roads up and down hills through land adorned with wildflowers so beautiful they would make you cry. I cried a lot. Mostly at the fact that I had left my camera at home and couldn't look at them later. So today, I packed up my camera, waited for the end of the work day and fought Austin traffic out...
I only posted a few here, find the rest in the gallery.
P.S. Picasa is an asshole, so I can't organize the gallery... enjoy chronological order in the gallery. Grr.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Veteran's Day
To all who have served:
In Flanders Fields by John McRae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Eat, Cook, Travel
I promised myself I wouldn't write any more sad blog posts after such a rough summer, so I've neglected you a little. I think I owe you an apology, and something neutral, if not lighthearted.
Another friend lost their battle to colorectal cancer this week, so I want everyone to take a minute to call their father, uncle, grandfather, brother, whomever and remind them to get a colon cancer screening. There is a test that can be done before an invasive colonoscopy (called InSure Quik Fit or fecal occult blood test), don't avoid going if you just don't like drinking the funky kool-aid and pooping for days.
On another note, here's what I've been eating, cooking and enjoying lately... I do this a lot in times of stress, part of the RnR theory.
Let's rewind a little... the day before the party of healing, when I gave everyone in my universe exactly 11 hours notice that they were expected at my house in a joyful mood (quite the success, actually) - I decided to embark on a new journey. I love cheese, I have an unhealthy relationship with it, and I always want it around. It was inevitable that I would try to make it at some point. So I googled my way to a recipe for paneer, an Indian farmer's cheese. Recipe adapted from at least 1 website - Food, and Other Musings (seems pretty standard so I didn't credit anyone):
You need milk to make cheese. I used a half gallon (2% or whole), heated in a heavy pan until just boiling. Don't scald it!
You want to bring it just to the boil, stirring occasionally over medium heat and once you're sure the whole thing is boiling, pour in 1/4 cup lemon juice and gently stir a couple of times.
The milk will curdle and separate, sit for a few minutes and let the acid work it's magic.
Meanwhile, in a colander, I laid 4 layers of coarse cheesecloth. You could use muslin or some other clean fabric for the draining, but I had cheesecloth, what better purpose for such a thing!?
With my colander ready, and curds fully separated from whey - you should see a distinct difference between the two now, but try not to stir too much because it cuts the curd - I went to the sink.
When you do this, pour the curds and whey over the cloth, and rinse well under cold water. The water will cool the curds and rinse off any remaining lemon juice. We don't want tart cheese.
Once fully rinsed, sprinkle generously with salt - 1/2 tsp and mix well. Now the fun part. fold over the edges and give the cheese a good pressing. You'll need to hang or press your cheese to make 'cheese' happen.
I let mine sit for a few hours under some serious weight, and voila! Paneer! All you need now is a pan with some olive oil or ghee (clarified butter) and brown your paneer, before mixing in a nice sauce. 
I cheated and used a store-bought sauce. C'mon, don't judge... I made the cheese! Plus it's a really tasty brand, available at Central Market.
Besides the indian extravaganza, I've been pretty busy traveling. I got to New York recently and had both 1. The best morsel of food I've ever eaten in my life, and 2. The best glass of wine I've ever tasted. It was by all accounts the most intense eating experience I've ever had.
The food... We were suggested a nearby Italian restaurant in Hell's Kitchen called Bocca di Bacco (9th Avenue between 54th and 55th). I walked in, looked for the only vegetarian offerings on the menu and ordered up. That's usually how my dining experience goes, unless I feel like fighting for something special made veggie-style. This selection was tomato chutneys and rustic italian bread, followed by porcini & truffle oil crostini. We ordered a bottle of sangiovese, ate our bread and drank in the people-watching. My expectations for the crostini were low, since I'm averse to mushrooms in general and this seemed to be a dish built entirely on their merit. I was pleasantly surprised. I picked off the offending squeaky porcini, and bit into the remaining parmesan truffle crostini.
Great Alton Brown's Glasses, this is the best thing I've ever tasted... The parmesan was rich, the truffle oil decadent, the bread - a perfect crusty outside with light pillowy interior waiting for your bite. You know something is good, so good that you will remember the deep breath it sucked in behind your first bite on it's own.. as if food were able to control your parasympathetic nervous system, simply because it was that good. Folks, I had before me 8 pieces of this deliciousness and I only managed to chew and swallow 1-1/2 because my senses were so saturated with umami and the savory decadence that only truffle can provide. After I could no longer chew, I sat gazing at the crostini in wonder. How could something be so perfect?
I decided to celebrate the moment, which before I could not define - what's the best thing you've ever eaten? I couldn't have told you before that hot night in New York City... How else to celebrate, let's order some expensive wine! I looked over the menu for a glass selection (after all, we'd been through one bottle already) that would be fitting of my victory. With help, I settled on a super tuscan, a raisin-y plum-toned chianti classico would turn out to be the best glass of wine I've ever tasted. It smelled like a rich socialite's lipstick, and actually made a strange noise as it swished around in the glass like taffeta, rustling against the inside until it slipped silently over my lips. I was overcome with the perfect food and drink... so much so that I forgot the name of the wine that took me an hour to drink because it was so exquisite I imbibed it in tiny bird sips. When I got home, I thought it was best that I had forgotten the name, actually because then it would be a mystery and I could never track down a bottle and try to recapture my perfect meal.
That is, until I looked through my phone and realized that, while I'm suffering a lot of memory loss lately, I'm compensating for it by taking photos when I'm out. I took a picture of the freaking wine list!!!
I can barely read it, but there down in the reserve section, lies my perfect glass. The Super Tuscan 'Girifalco' La Colanica 2007.
Epic vino.
My next hotel was a happy find as well, walking to my room I found some flowers, left behind from the wedding a night before. I never get fresh flowers on the road, but require them when I'm home because I tend to stare at them and smile. Someone left behind some smiles in the vending room, and I enjoyed them for three more days. It was a lovely trip to the city.
Another friend lost their battle to colorectal cancer this week, so I want everyone to take a minute to call their father, uncle, grandfather, brother, whomever and remind them to get a colon cancer screening. There is a test that can be done before an invasive colonoscopy (called InSure Quik Fit or fecal occult blood test), don't avoid going if you just don't like drinking the funky kool-aid and pooping for days.
On another note, here's what I've been eating, cooking and enjoying lately... I do this a lot in times of stress, part of the RnR theory.
Let's rewind a little... the day before the party of healing, when I gave everyone in my universe exactly 11 hours notice that they were expected at my house in a joyful mood (quite the success, actually) - I decided to embark on a new journey. I love cheese, I have an unhealthy relationship with it, and I always want it around. It was inevitable that I would try to make it at some point. So I googled my way to a recipe for paneer, an Indian farmer's cheese. Recipe adapted from at least 1 website - Food, and Other Musings (seems pretty standard so I didn't credit anyone):
You need milk to make cheese. I used a half gallon (2% or whole), heated in a heavy pan until just boiling. Don't scald it!
The milk will curdle and separate, sit for a few minutes and let the acid work it's magic.
Meanwhile, in a colander, I laid 4 layers of coarse cheesecloth. You could use muslin or some other clean fabric for the draining, but I had cheesecloth, what better purpose for such a thing!?
With my colander ready, and curds fully separated from whey - you should see a distinct difference between the two now, but try not to stir too much because it cuts the curd - I went to the sink.
When you do this, pour the curds and whey over the cloth, and rinse well under cold water. The water will cool the curds and rinse off any remaining lemon juice. We don't want tart cheese.
Once fully rinsed, sprinkle generously with salt - 1/2 tsp and mix well. Now the fun part. fold over the edges and give the cheese a good pressing. You'll need to hang or press your cheese to make 'cheese' happen.
I cheated and used a store-bought sauce. C'mon, don't judge... I made the cheese! Plus it's a really tasty brand, available at Central Market.
Besides the indian extravaganza, I've been pretty busy traveling. I got to New York recently and had both 1. The best morsel of food I've ever eaten in my life, and 2. The best glass of wine I've ever tasted. It was by all accounts the most intense eating experience I've ever had.
The food... We were suggested a nearby Italian restaurant in Hell's Kitchen called Bocca di Bacco (9th Avenue between 54th and 55th). I walked in, looked for the only vegetarian offerings on the menu and ordered up. That's usually how my dining experience goes, unless I feel like fighting for something special made veggie-style. This selection was tomato chutneys and rustic italian bread, followed by porcini & truffle oil crostini. We ordered a bottle of sangiovese, ate our bread and drank in the people-watching. My expectations for the crostini were low, since I'm averse to mushrooms in general and this seemed to be a dish built entirely on their merit. I was pleasantly surprised. I picked off the offending squeaky porcini, and bit into the remaining parmesan truffle crostini.
Great Alton Brown's Glasses, this is the best thing I've ever tasted... The parmesan was rich, the truffle oil decadent, the bread - a perfect crusty outside with light pillowy interior waiting for your bite. You know something is good, so good that you will remember the deep breath it sucked in behind your first bite on it's own.. as if food were able to control your parasympathetic nervous system, simply because it was that good. Folks, I had before me 8 pieces of this deliciousness and I only managed to chew and swallow 1-1/2 because my senses were so saturated with umami and the savory decadence that only truffle can provide. After I could no longer chew, I sat gazing at the crostini in wonder. How could something be so perfect?
I decided to celebrate the moment, which before I could not define - what's the best thing you've ever eaten? I couldn't have told you before that hot night in New York City... How else to celebrate, let's order some expensive wine! I looked over the menu for a glass selection (after all, we'd been through one bottle already) that would be fitting of my victory. With help, I settled on a super tuscan, a raisin-y plum-toned chianti classico would turn out to be the best glass of wine I've ever tasted. It smelled like a rich socialite's lipstick, and actually made a strange noise as it swished around in the glass like taffeta, rustling against the inside until it slipped silently over my lips. I was overcome with the perfect food and drink... so much so that I forgot the name of the wine that took me an hour to drink because it was so exquisite I imbibed it in tiny bird sips. When I got home, I thought it was best that I had forgotten the name, actually because then it would be a mystery and I could never track down a bottle and try to recapture my perfect meal.
That is, until I looked through my phone and realized that, while I'm suffering a lot of memory loss lately, I'm compensating for it by taking photos when I'm out. I took a picture of the freaking wine list!!!
I can barely read it, but there down in the reserve section, lies my perfect glass. The Super Tuscan 'Girifalco' La Colanica 2007.
Epic vino.
My next hotel was a happy find as well, walking to my room I found some flowers, left behind from the wedding a night before. I never get fresh flowers on the road, but require them when I'm home because I tend to stare at them and smile. Someone left behind some smiles in the vending room, and I enjoyed them for three more days. It was a lovely trip to the city.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Shrinking Violet
The longer I'm on this Earth, the bigger it becomes. Of course the mass of the rock I sit on doesn't change, and it certainly doesn't become any more important... maybe I just slip further from words like 'seminal' and 'pivotal' every day. Some of that distance is admittedly because both of those words sound like some kind of sexual reference.
I really enjoy cut flowers. I stare at them unabashedly, taking in their beauty - snipped from the bush at their most beautiful moment. They only dry up and grey a little, reserving a ghost of what magnificence once held your attention. I like them much more than the flowers who bloom on the plant and stay there to wither away and give rise to seeds, even though it's a fantastic and interesting process. No one wants to deadhead a daisy. It's a reminder of what happens to all beautiful things... and much harder than tossing an old bouquet in the compost.
I might actually be shrinking as I age. It's a consequence of life that the real atmospheric pressure we feel compresses our weak little bodies in spite of how tall we stand. We grow to a nice height in our late teens and then struggle to stand tall for the rest of our lives. Literally! How outrageous! I want to realize JUST ONE GOAL in this life that is mine forever. Height would be nice.
It's not only smallness that greets you in your thirties... fortunately there is a little shred of wisdom you gain as you lose inches of confidence. Pride, boastfulness, and even anger (for me) have gradually given way to patience, resolve and forgiveness. If I get to hang out here another 30 years, I'll be much happier with myself, albeit utterly alone and unable to share the feeling.
Today, I bled honesty. I opened my mouth to stifle the truth, and found it singing past my lips... joyful, vibrant... vindicated. It's becoming less important to be 'right' and far more vital to be 'me'. That kind of honesty is impossible to rush. It only shows up when you've carried your metaphoric umbrella under your arm every day in a yearlong drought. Eventually, you'll be wrong, and it will inevitably rain. This kind of bloodletting is the most healing type.
I'll sleep [eventually] tonight knowing that tomorrow I might just wake up a little less anxious, a little more willing, and a little closer to living honestly than I did today. I'm not proud that my body betrays my mind and makes me tell my secrets, but I'll enjoy the consequences and resulting unburdening of my soul.
Shit, I'm complicated. And tired. I'm even bothered to read this.
I really enjoy cut flowers. I stare at them unabashedly, taking in their beauty - snipped from the bush at their most beautiful moment. They only dry up and grey a little, reserving a ghost of what magnificence once held your attention. I like them much more than the flowers who bloom on the plant and stay there to wither away and give rise to seeds, even though it's a fantastic and interesting process. No one wants to deadhead a daisy. It's a reminder of what happens to all beautiful things... and much harder than tossing an old bouquet in the compost.
I might actually be shrinking as I age. It's a consequence of life that the real atmospheric pressure we feel compresses our weak little bodies in spite of how tall we stand. We grow to a nice height in our late teens and then struggle to stand tall for the rest of our lives. Literally! How outrageous! I want to realize JUST ONE GOAL in this life that is mine forever. Height would be nice.
It's not only smallness that greets you in your thirties... fortunately there is a little shred of wisdom you gain as you lose inches of confidence. Pride, boastfulness, and even anger (for me) have gradually given way to patience, resolve and forgiveness. If I get to hang out here another 30 years, I'll be much happier with myself, albeit utterly alone and unable to share the feeling.
Today, I bled honesty. I opened my mouth to stifle the truth, and found it singing past my lips... joyful, vibrant... vindicated. It's becoming less important to be 'right' and far more vital to be 'me'. That kind of honesty is impossible to rush. It only shows up when you've carried your metaphoric umbrella under your arm every day in a yearlong drought. Eventually, you'll be wrong, and it will inevitably rain. This kind of bloodletting is the most healing type.
I'll sleep [eventually] tonight knowing that tomorrow I might just wake up a little less anxious, a little more willing, and a little closer to living honestly than I did today. I'm not proud that my body betrays my mind and makes me tell my secrets, but I'll enjoy the consequences and resulting unburdening of my soul.
Shit, I'm complicated. And tired. I'm even bothered to read this.
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