Pink Sands?

darn. this sounded like such a good excuse for my long lapse in blogging if it were true! shall make amends and effort to return dear friends! lovu. 

He Was Our Hero

TIME magazine

He was our hero. He is still the President of our

country’s collective idealism. A man for all seasons.

I was in first grade when he was killed. We lived in France

and had no television so my Father was planted

in front of the radio. My sister and I were not to

make any noise as he and Mother listened intently.

The memory of those critical days remains vivid. I am never

 to forget - nor would I want to. 

(The radio still has a mythic

significance to me as I tend to experience historic events

without television – like 9/11. It was two days before

I saw images of the Towers going down…)

Strangely enough, November 22 is anniversary to the

only time I have been legally married. We looked askew at the

interesting numbers 11 and 22 and did not want to wait too long,

plus I liked Sagittarius Sun for the union of me, Sag, and he, Aries.

(Well that is another story for another day.)

I am pleased that the media's coverage and citizen discussion of JFK’s

life and times is very saturated this year. We need to not

forget him and his influence on our national psyche. R.I.P.

Jacques-Au-Lantern Compote

1 perfect small pumpkin
2 cups tart apples, peeled and diced
1 cup raisins
1 cup pecans, chopped
1/3 cup water
1/3 cup sugar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg

Wash and dry pumpkin. Cut off top, leaving a generous slice for lid. Clean out and place on a  pie pan. Combine all other ingredients in a saucepan and bring just to a boil. Pour apple mixture into pumpkin and cover with lid. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 to 60 minutes, until apples are tender. Serve as a accompaniment to savory meal. Scoop out some pumpkin with each spoonful of fruit. Delicious hot or cold. 
Serves 8
recipe by Elizabeth Gullander excerpted from "Bach for More - Fireside Classics"  

pumpkin courtesy of...

Autumn Is Not Timid

I shan't be nostalgic for the summer sun.
I shan't morn the aphelion of July, the warm lazy hours of August.
September has a long sweet kiss-off to summer, then October
makes you want to cry with its beauty as you remember each moment
you shared under the sky. Tangling fushia clouds in the
lingering sunset, streaked pink and orange and full of a cold promise,
the Autumn
grabs you with cooling fingers as scarves are pulled tighter.
I will respect the turning. I will not doubt the cold and dark.
I will keep the candles burning and watch the birds fly south
in the gray parade of atmosphere.

The Witches of Karres

"And all because those harmless-looking little girls were in fact three of the notorious and universally feared Witches of Karres"
Amazon

The Joy of Manifesting Good Things

photo credit

Blog:  hey it is so much fun to be turning 4 today! 

I love birthdays.

Me:  you are such a pretty little thing I really enjoy

every minute I have known you.

Blog:  did you make me a cake?

Me:  well you know I don’t eat grain any more but

we’ll have a super pot of pumpkin baked with some

pure maple syrup, cinnamon spice and coconut milk.

October really does offer up

so many delicious offerings. 

Would you like candles on that?

Blog:  oh yes please! Small brightnesses at the turning of the year,

mine and the seasons of Earth, candles remind me of hope and love.

I know you love astrology, does this make me a

Libra?

Me:  why yes little blog dearest, I never realized 

that before,

consciously anyway. Many of the most wonderful 

people I know are Libras. 

I think of beautiful and lovely things around you

and tend to try and balance my Sagittarian 

feisty opinions.

And I know you like to look your best - I promise 

we will

try and do a little spiffing up very soon. I am so happy 

you have many

friends to play with in the blogosphere and some come and visit you often.

Blog:  I am so happy to be here, life is so exciting. 

So many wonders and

blessings. I will try not to be afraid to look at everything,

good and not so much,

and to say what is in my heart. 

Thank you for your Birthday wishes  - lets be friends forever!

Gusto

note                           

straw, feathers, dust –

little things

but if they all go one way,

that’s the way the wind goes.

~Wm. Stafford

vortices far away

Storm at the Coast

What moves on, moves far,

here. What holds, holds long.

But it is the wind and water will stay,

after the cliffs are gone.

~Wm. Stafford

Learning to Live in the World

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Einstein Said

one cannot simultaneously prevent and prepare for war

Mollusk Smoothie Anyone?

Last week a lady asked me what was in the smoothie I had brought to work with me. I replied banana, almond milk, coconut milk and orange juice. She wrinkled her nose up and said, "it sounded good until the last ingredient". I looked at her funny because I thought that was nearly rude the way she said it. Today I found out she thought I said oysters, not orange juice. Yeah, I too would of wrinkled my nose at that combo. We had a laugh. I said it would be good to put oysters, celery and Bloody Mary mix (vodka too) in a smoothie. Breakfast of champions I say! Will have to give it a try. I do like oyster shooters so this would be not too far off, oh and I like Bloody Mary's - spicy and fresh - also.

photo credit

Morning Glory

ten thousand years I have been sleeping
   and now I am being wakened.
my heavy eyelashes are the woods;
they are beckoning
my heart the clouds are surprised
   because they are calling me, calling me...

- Masika Szlagyi from the Holy Book of Women's Mysteries 
© 1986 Budapest

Miles To Roam, Fresh Air, No Cares

photo by Glen Weaver

photo by Steve Power

Daddy Redux

The Father In Me

Flowers call to me and the blossoming
trees call to me especially the fruit
trees the apple and cherry and pear call
to me and the young spruce calls to me and 
and the lovesick dove mistakes my moans for a 
kindred spirit and calls to me but I
can't hear because the unappreciated
raking of clawed feet across one's face to 
avoid the ambush of vultures returning
to the city by the lake fed by a 
burning river or else face not the reckoning
you might imagine. Children call to me,
mostly for money.

from The Abundance of Nothing 
by BRUCE WEIGL

red aloud, forschizzle

tweeked  version of original by Charles Willson Peale

Earth, You Win

How strange and wonderful is our home, the earth,
With its swirling vaporous atmosphere,
It flowing and frozen climbing creatures,
The croaking things with wings that hang on rocks
And soar through fog, the furry grass. the scaly seas...
How utterly rich and wild
Yet some among us have the nerve,
The insolence, the brass, the gall to whine
About the limitations of our earthbound fate
And yearn for some more PERFECT world beyond the sky.
We are none of US good enough 
For the world we have. 
EDWARD ABBEY
••••••
**All is well my dearies. April the beautiful young month of pink spring cheeks and mocking laughter is almost gone, to be replaced in turn by the green and plump May flowering. I spend my days between action and daydream. I want to be very productive but often despair if such is ephemeral and visible only to the inside of my soul. I feel I have to have something to show at the end of my day. Is a few forget-me-knots in a blue teacup enough to show for the effort of my day, or perhaps the quirky sonata of some randomly recalled days of childhood, that tuck their small feet up on the cushions of my placid memories? Do we ever think it is enough to show for the glory of being an earthling, hugging earth to our bosoms, sweeter than hydrogen and oxygen?  Earth, don't let me fall off and go flying into space - I have already been there.

Russ Mills, "Pleiades"

Queen of the Air

"We will take the bird first. It is little more than a drift of air brought into form by plumes; the air is in all its quills, it breathes through its whole frame and flesh and glows with air in its flying, like blown flame: it rests upon the air, subdues it, surpasses it, outraces it - it is the air, conscious of itself, conquering itself, ruling itself."
JOHN RUSKIN
THE QUEEN OF THE AIR
hedgerow bird - from an original beeswax collage