Putting your life off until your deathbed

Did you know that I wanted to be a singer?  Yes, I did, and in the worst way.  I would keep my family up at night singing in my bed or waking early only to sing some more. My sister howled like a dog once while I was belting out a song. She thought she was being funny. I cried. I never thought that I was good enough to perform in front of an audience. I sang at church in the choir, but I've only sang solo twice. I remember one time when I was at choir practice and I was singing my little heart out, one of the guys walked past me. He heard me and asked who was singing.  I stood there in silence. That could have been my chance to exhibit my talent, yet, I cowered away from being noticed. What a shame!

 

I think that a lot of us never put our best foot forward when it comes to our lives. There is always a force pulling us back.  Especially when it comes to our "artistic" side.  Let's say that you are working with the poor people of Haiti (you are doing great work there) and then you have the not so brilliant idea of starting a new "career" in telemarketing. The universe will not try to pull you back from that decision. It is only when we are trying to use our God given talents that we have the most resistance.  It is like a sign that has been put out on the street to alert the negative patrol saying, "Come on boys, another one is trying to break free."

There are so many things that are left half finished in life.  We are excited when we start a new venture, but somehow we falter when it comes to reaching the goal. Jane Austen's writing is in a category all by itself. Vincent Van Gough's Starry Night cannot be duplicated. I feel that we have been put here to do something. If my DNA is unique, then so is my life.  And yet, we all procrastinate about moving upward, forward, or ahead. Why fight? It is easier to stay put. Have any of you felt this pull backwards when you want to move in a different direction, especially when it comes to the "artist" inside? 

Orange Shortbread Cookies

When I discovered orange flavored oil at the grocer, I felt like I was in bakers heaven.  There is so much you can do with flavored oils.  I found a recipe in a book by the "The two fat ladies" Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson called cooking with the two fat ladies to make orange shortbread. I used to watch their program many years ago and collected a number of their recipes to try.  I am really pleased with this recipe and shall be making it over and over again. 
  
Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups of flour
1/3 cup of sugar
1 1/3 cup of ground almonds
grated zest of 3 oranges
1 tsp vanilla extract
4-6 drops of orange oil if you don't have orange rind or use both, which is what I did
granulated sugar for sprinkling on top

Put all of the ingredients in a food processor and mix until it forms a dough.  Roll the dough into a ball and wrap in plastic wrap.  Place in the fridge and chill overnight. 

Take the dough out of the fridge and let it sit on the counter for about an hour to soften. When it is a little soft roll out the dough to about 1/2 inch thick.  Use a cookie cutter, I used a 2 1/2 inch cutter. Line a pan with parchment paper and arrange the cut out shapes.  Place back in the fridge for an hour.

Preheat oven to 275 degrees F. Place the pan in the oven and bake for about 40 minutes or until they are golden brown.  Remove and place on a rack to cool.  Store in air tight containers. 

Love and Rumi

From Coleman Barks book: The Essential Rumi

Expanding with Photography

Last year, I bought a Canon EOS 300D, I think it is about 7-8 years old.  I gave away my Canon Powershot because I just couldn't get the kind of results that I wanted to.  When one of my co-workers lent me her husband's camera, I was hooked.  I know that the camera doesn't have all of the bells and whistles that the latest models have, but it was at least a start until I can get the camera that I want.
 

I have my eye on the Canon 60D and if things go well I will have it at the beginning of the year.  On more than one occasion, I have had photographers tell me that it isn't really the camera itself, but the lens that is the most important factor in photography.  I think that she is right.  

So, a couple of weeks ago, I bought a zoom lens.  I was amazed how much better my pictures have been turning out. 

I read a magazine called Artful Blogging and I have seen a lot of inspirational works of art in their publication.  Digitally there is so much one can do to a photograph.  In this month's issue there is a blogger by the name of Jamie Jamison of ala Jamie does a unique technique of using digital scrapbook paper and photographs that I really like.  I know that I need to practice, but here is my first try. 

Waking around Salomon Farm

 

The other day a group of people met at this barn for a talk on health and then we took a long walk around the farm. Luckily, I had brought my camera along and took some really lovely shots.  I photo-shopped the above picture and converted it into a sketch.  I am really pleased with the results.

 

The farm is not far from where I work and located off of a busy road.  You would think that it  I was way out in the country some where, but it wasn't.  

 

Flowers in the middle of a field

 

As I was coming to the end of the walk, I photographed this picturesque view of the barn from the road.

 

A country garden 

 

There were sunflowers basking in the sun

 

 Cleome's  filling the garden with their bright purple blooms

And the windmill lite up the summer sky.  I enjoyed my time there walking and photographing.  Sometimes, I wish that everyday could be filled with this much beauty.

My Heart and Words...

 My Heart and Words

My heart is real.

It is not made of wood, paper, or stone.

Words cannot break a wooden heart.

Words bounce off the heart of stone.

Words are written on the heart of paper.

Words can pierce the heart of flesh, which cause it to tremble.

Words spoken in haste are the ones which linger long after the resolution.

Words can make or break the spirit of the person for whom they are directed.

Be careful with words, for in them is life and death.

Jeannie Smith

April 16, 2010

Fried Cream Corn

This recipe is Southern to the core.  I think that my mother would have really liked it.  The corn is fried and then a bit of cream is added for extra flavor.  However, it is not like the creamed corn in a can, which can be a runny mess. Of course, anything with bacon in it has to be good.  I really liked this recipe.

Ingredients:

2 -16 oz bags of frozen corn or 10-12 fresh corn, cut off the cob.
1 tsp salt
1 TBS sugar
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/2 cup heavy cream or half and half
6 TBS butter
2 TBS flour
6-8 slices of bacon, browned and crumpled

Brown the bacon in an iron skillet or heavy pan over medium to high heat; I used a large non-stick pan.  Drain on a paper towel and when cool crumple the bacon into small pieces then set aside. Leave the bacon drippings in the pan.  In a large mixing bowl, add the corn, salt, pepper, sugar, and flour. Mix well.

 
Add the butter to the pan along with the bacon drippings, once it is hot add the corn mixture.  Fry the corn mixture until the pieces that have flour begin to brown. Flip it occasionally so that it can brown as much as possible. This could take 15-20 minutes.

 Then add the cream and mix it through the corn mixture. 

Next add the crumpled bacon, mix well. Serve with chicken, beef or lamb, a green vegetable or salad and bread.  Enjoy!

A Tale about a Lady and Three Little Girls

 

As I was making my way home from my walk last night, three little girls started talking to me. I wanted to try out my new camera lens by taking some pictures of a vine growing on the side of a house in my neighborhood . I stopped to take a picture of some flowers in front of their house.  A little girl with very short hair was playing outside in a well worn party dress and bare feet. 

 

 

 When she saw me she ran over to show me a blue glass stone that she found. Immediately, I noticed her torn dress and short hair.  I assumed that she was sick. My heart went out to her.

 

 

The three girls showed me the beautiful sea shells that they found. I talked to them a little bit and then asked to take their pictures. I took a couple of shots and then told them goodbye as I turned towards home. 

 

 

 The little girl with the torn dress ran after me shouting, "Lady, she said, here this is for you for taking our picture." I looked down and in her tiny hand was a crumpled dollar bill. Tears came to my eyes. "No sweety, keep your money, I just wanted to take your picture." I said, trying hard to compose myself. I don't know their story, but I was touched with the little girl's generosity. 

Death: The Robber of Existence

My brother's longtime friend passed away early this morning. He had lung cancer. When my brother told me that his friend was in hospice, I insisted that he visit his friend as much as possible because his time was running out.  Jeff lived across the small drive from our apartment when we were living in the projects a long time ago.  I have memories of his family and mostly of Jeff and my brother.  

They spent lots of time together. Jeff was a very tall but kind and gentle soul.  When my brother decided to get married on Halloween, Jeff came as Frankenstein's monster to the reception.  This made me laugh.  He married and then had children, both are blessings.

I am going to be 53 in a couple of weeks.  At this point in my life, more and more friends and family members will be passing away. This causes me to think more often about death. We really have no idea about the next life, if there is one. Death is something that everyone experiences only once, at least that we know of.  We are given promises of heaven if we are good and hell if we are bad, according to the Bible.  But no one ever comes back to say what really happens. If you believe in psychics, then lots of people speak to us from the other side. However, not everyone holds this belief. We all hope for something better than what we have lived, I know that I do.

 

Is the essence of all that we are lost in the grave? The headstone lists our name, date of birth, and our date of death.  There was a life lived in between those two dates.  Sometimes, I feel guilty when researching my family history.  I get excited when I find an obituary, forgetting about the man or woman to whom those dates pertained. I don't do this knowingly, but subconsciously.  As I gather facts, I often wonder what that person was like.  What did they look like? What were their interests? Were they good or bad? The personal things that are not written about a life within an obituary. Often, our lives are summed up in a paragraph or less.

 

Not long ago, one of my memoir classmates read a poem written by his wife.  The poem spoke of a man's life.  Over the years he had accumulated a lot of "things", but in the end all of his "stuff" fit into a garbage bag.  I cried as he read the poem.  We cannot take our things with us to the nursing home, much less the grave.  And yet, we try. 

It is not the "stuff" that I worry so much about, but me.  I know this sounds selfish. But will I be remembered?  I, too, was here. Have I made my mark on this world? There are no children calling me Mommy, nor a husband whispering sweet words of love in my ear.  Will my life/existence vanish like the morning mist? To be honest, it will piss me off if this life is all there is. 

 

Our lives don't really belong to us, just like our things.  In a moments notice, we are no longer here, but there, wherever that may be. All I really want is to be remembered.  Is that too much to ask?

Women Majlis Painters in Saudi Arabia: Making the Center of their Homes Beautiful

In Asir, Saudi Arabia there are women who paint the majlis (the parlor of a Saudi home, the room where the guests are taken) with beautiful patterns of lines, squares, figures, triangles, and numerous oddities on the walls around the entire room.  At first glance, I thought that I was looking at something that would have been created by Native Americans, they used many of the same designs in their artisic creations.  I am mesmorized with the intricate geometric patterns and bright colors which are used in the Arab home.  They speak to me about the inhabitants of the place and it should. Women in general thrive being surrounded by beauty. About 40 years ago the women didn't veil that much and many made a living as a majalis, going from home to home making each one beautiful.   Can you imagine doning an abaya, hijab, and gloves to be able to express yourself artistically?  Yet many women do and I say a "big" bravo to them.  The Arabic term for these kinds of paintings are called nagash in Asir, Saudi Arabia.

Before commercial paint arrived in the area about 75 years ago, the women used natural sources for their colors.  Brown came from the sap of the somgha tree, which in spring the color was light brown and in summer and winter it turned dark brown. Rocks were crushed and the dust was used for various colors and certain mountains in the area have yellow stones to make a yellow-gold color.  I can almost bet that spices and vegetables were used for colors as well, such as turmeric for yellow and beet juice for a berry color. 

According to Wikipedia,  “Some of the large triangles represent mountains. Zigzag lines stand for water and also for lightning. Small triangles, especially when the widest area is at the top, are found in pre-Islamic representations of female figures. That the small triangles found in the wall paintings in ‘Asir are called banat may be a cultural remnant of a long-forgotten past.” In a recent article from Saudi Aramco World,  Fatima Abou Gahas and Um Abdullah are two women who are famous for their Nagash paintings.  Fatima passed away a couple of years ago, she was believed to have been close to 100 years old.

Preservation of this wonderful art is currently being attempted. A Cooperative of about 20 women has opened and the nagash paintings are being revived for future generations to enjoy.  Personally, I really love art and I am all for it being kept alive. 


Abha Palace Hotel, Saudia Arabia, One of Fatima Abou Gahas Final Works of Art



The Photographs come from aljsad.net