DEATH


I was afraid of revealing me, the essence of me.  Who even, indeed, was I?  My mother told me, when I started dating, to hide the essence of me, boys wouldn’t like it.  Too smart; too aggressive; too full of myself; too intense; too serious; too burning inside strong; too adventuresome; too nasty a temper; too full of desire to feel, taste, see, learn; too much in love with a world of possibility.  I took her advice, married a genius scientist, safe, timid, disadventurous.  He liked me because I could shoot a bird off a wire hundreds of feet away.  I time, we all died, him, me, the bird.

 

 

 

This piece was a finalist in a flash memoir contest.

Chicken with poblano peppers, sun dried tomatoes and pasta


This recipe is posted as a tribute to Klara Kamper, from Austria.  Klara is an exchange student and nearly every week she has come over to ride my horse, Rosie.  After riding, I fix dinner.  Of all the different dinners I have fixed, this is Klara’s favorite.

4 pieces boneless chicken breasts, cut into bite sized pieces

2 large poblano peppers, deseeded and diced into bite sized pieces

1 large purple onion, chopped

5-6 pieces sun dried tomatoes, chopped into a large dice

Olive oil

Herbs de provence

Cover the bottom of a large skillet with olive oil.  Saute the onions until done.  Add chicken and more olive oil if necessary.  With your fingers sprinkle herbs de provence over the onion/chicken mixture.  When the chicken is nearly done, add the poblano peppers and sun dried tomatoes.  Saute until the poblano peppers are cooked but still a nice bright green.  You may also add mushrooms if you like.  Serve over your favorite pasta.  My daughter does not like herbs de provence so when I cook this for her, I use a  mixture of oregano, basil, and marjoram.

I am very, very picky about pasta.  My favorite is organic Montebello pasta produced by Monastero Di Montebello, Isola del Piano, Italy.  I especially like the conchiglie.  However, I use their spaghetti and other shapes as well.

This is Rosie.  She will really miss Klara who leaves for home on June 25.

 

 

 

 

Rosie, who "adopted" Star after Miracle died.

 

A friend joined us to see the horses and for dinner.  Apparently, she took this photo just before I served dinner.

Ten Little White Indians, Final Volume! (Spoilers Already Spoiled!)


This post by a fellow blogger says a lot about what I think regarding certain movies in which American Indians are portrayed or in which they act. It also relates in some ways to my own previous posted poem, “Blood Quanturm”.

danielwalldammit's avatarnorthierthanthou

Bet y’all didn’t notice!

I am one short on my promise of 10 Little White Indians. Well, it turns out that my three-part series on White Indians has four parts, and there is surely a good Monty Python reference in there somewhere, but maybe we’ll save that for another day

***

Let us start with a brief consideration of the near misses.

WIND TALKERS (2002): I remember when this movie was on its way to the theaters, rumor had it that the flick was about the Navajo Code Talkers. Working as I did then on the Navajo Nation, I was (like a lot of my students and colleagues) really excited to see this part of American history portrayed on screen. My enthusiasm waned considerably when I realized it wasn’t about a Code Talker so much as a white guy who might have to kill a Code Talker if things took…

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Marriage


The following poem was chosen to be published in the Story Circle Network’s annual Anthology this past autumn.   I submitted two flash memoir pieces, including the Spiders story on a previous post,  as well as this poem.  I was very surprised that this was the one chosen.

Marriage

                                               I remember the time he touched my face, melting me.

                                               I married him; my face slowly, inexorably froze.

Flame Kissed Chicken and Lentil Salad


This week what I thought was going to be a culinary disaster resulted in the best chicken I have ever eaten.  Twelve people were coming for dinner–a teachers’ sorority.  One of the women gave me the chicken half frozen in marinade to take to my house–we work together.  She planned to come to my house early and grill the chicken.  Because she was unexpectedly late, I had to grill the chicken myself.  Now, to tell the truth, even though I cook a lot and blog about food, I had never grilled chicken before.  My daughter had grilled steaks several days earlier, but it never occurred to me to clean the drippings pan under the grill.  Here is what happened:

I heated the grill to about 450 degrees, took the still slightly frozen chicken out of the marinade and placed it on the grill.  It took only about 30 seconds and flames were shooting up about 6-8 inches and the chicken  was turning a grayish color.  I was concerned about two things:  the flames getting totally out of control and starting a real fire (my grill is propane) and the chicken being totally inedible.  I turned the heat down, pulled the grill farther away from the wall, turned the chicken over, and hoped it would be ok in the end.  After all this commotion, a half hour or so later, and after cooking the hamburgers as well, we tried the chicken.  It was the best chicken I have ever eaten.  It was even good left over cold out of the refrigerator–I normally refuse to eat leftover, cold chicken, reheated or otherwise, because I think it tastes dreadful.  People also told me the hamburgers were cook perfectly.

If anyone can tell me how to duplicate this delicious chicken result without all the flames and fire dangers, please comment on this post.

Several weeks ago a fellow food blogger, The Hungry Irishman, posted a lentil salad.  Here is my promise to him to post the lentil salad I make.  The original recipe is from one of my oldest and most favorite cookbooks, The Silver Palate.  However, like most everything I cook, I modify to suit myself and  never really follow the recipe, except maybe for cake, but I rarely bake cake so…

LENTIL SALAD

Cook two cups dried lentils in water with several carrots, 1 medium onion, chicken or vegetable stock, cloves, and 1 bay leaf.  Be sure not to over cook.

While the lentils are cooking, combine 3-4 garlic cloves, 1/2 cup olive oil, 1/4 cup white vinegar, 2 teaspoons dried thyme (you can use fresh also, but will require more thyme), and black pepper to taste in a blender and blend until creamy.  You may also add 2 teaspoons ground cumin for a slightly more  Middle Eastern taste.

When lentils are done, drain, and remove the carrots, etc.  Place in a serving bowl and stir in the blended  mixture.  Refrigerate overnight.  Just before serving add 1 cup scallions, chopped, and 1 cup chopped walnuts.  You may adjust vinegar and olive oil to suit your taste.

If you use regular onions chopped rather than scallions, this salad will keep well in the refrigerator for 4-5 days.

Horses in Heaven


Heaven for horses seems a bit far fetched, especially for someone who lacks certainty about heaven  even for people.  Nevertheless, it remains a comforting concept.  Yesterday, I buried Starry Miracle, less than two, an orphan I bottle fed every 3-4 hours day and night when his  mother, Miracle, died.  He not only survived, he thrived.

Around 4:30 Wednesday, friends went to my place to ride Rosie, a chunky, red roan mare.  They found Star dead.  It appeared he had been playing, jumping, and rearing, and freakily caught his ankle in a space between the pipe gate and fence, broke it and ruptured his femoral artery, then bled to death.  When they called to tell me, disbelief set in.  As a horse owner for many years, I know the common causes of horse deaths, colic mainly, from which Miracle died three days after his birth.  I have inspected fences and corrals for safety many times.  The possibility of such an accident never even entered my mind.

His body stiff, distorted,  his coat, lusterless, bore no resemblance to his burnished copper body, glinting in the sun, following me, nipping if I ignored him.  Often, I thought he thought I was a horse or he a human.

The two surviving horses spent hours standing in the spot where he died, licking the pipe fence from which I had hosed off his blood, smelling the ground, neighing.  They even failed to rush to their hay when I fed them.  Eventually, I opened their gates.  They ran across the rugged canyon land constantly for fifteen minutes, dream horses running in the wind.

 

 

Miracle, Star’s mother, deceased, July 2010.  Rosie who “adopted” Star after Miracle died, and Cool, the other orphaned horse I raised.

Miracle and Star as a newbornRosie, who "adopted" Star after Miracle died.

Teriyaki Salmon with Crystallized Ginger


4 4-6 oz. salmon filets

Enough teriyaki sauce to cover the salmon in a shallow dish

1 medium sized onion, chopped

1/3 cup chopped crystallized ginger

Olive oil

Marinate the salmon in the teriyaki sauce while you prepare the remainder of the ingredients.  You may marinate the salmon longer if you wish it to taste less fishy.  Saute the onions in enough olive oil to cover the bottom of your skillet.  Place the salmon and the teriyaki sauce in the skillet with the onions and sauté until the salmon is nearly done.  Add the crystallized ginger and cook until salmon is done.  Optional additions:  1 large poblano pepper chopped, chopped mushrooms, chopped garlic.  The photo below includes poblano peppers which I use in many dishes.  They have a unique flavor and little heat.  Serve with Jasmine rice with golden raisins and a green salad.

My son is the originator of the basic recipe.  I modified it to suit my own taste. He wraps all the ingredients in foil and cooks it on a cookie sheet on  the grill.  Sometimes I put it all together and bake it in the oven.  These latter methods are the easiest with company because it cooks while you entertain.

Blood Quantum


This poem is dedicated to Sherman Alexie whose poem, “13/16” begins with:

“I cut my self into sixteen equal pieces…”

My grandson cuts himself into 16 equal pieces:

4/16 Urhobo from Africa

4/16 Spanish from Spain

4/16 other European—two Swiss

German great great-grandfathers

(Werth and Kaiser), Irish, English

and who knows what

3/16 Mexican—whatever  mixtures that may be

1/16 Navaho

 

Who am I?  What am I?

Who are you? What are you?

Do we really know?

Who sets the rules?

-white men

-black

-Indian

-Native American

-Irish

-English

-German

from where and for whom?

He looks Navaho:

-blue black straight hair,

-pale brown skin,

-obsidian eyes.

One four year old girl asks him,

“Are you an American Indian?”

His six your old self says nothing.

She repeats,

“Are you an American Indian?”

He says, “It’s complicated.

The Navaho won’t claim him, too little blood.

He needs ¼ , not 1/16.

Caddo and Fort Sill Apache allow 1/16, not Navahos.

¼ blood is for

-Sioux

-Cheyenne

-Kiowa

-Navaho

1/8 works for Comanche and Pawnee.

Some Cherokees only want a Cherokee ancestor.

 

But he is none of those.

Is he Navaho?

Is he white?

The Old South goes by the one drop rule:

one drop of Negro…

Is a person with 99/100 percent white

and 1/100 black , black?

Who says?

Kids at school ask, What are you?”

He tells them.

They say, “You’re lying!”

 

I only know specifically about two ancestors,

the Swiss Germans.

Another great grandfather disappeared during the Civil War.

I don’t even know his name.

Who am I?

Who are you?

I think I’ll get a DNA test.

Then I’ll know how many pieces I need to cut myself into.

 

 

 

Pie: A Story of Mothers and Daughters


My mother usually viewed the world from a black and white perspective.  She had a lot of guidelines for how to live a productive and “good” life.   Neighbors and friends saw her as a “good” woman who cared for and did “good” in the rural community in which we lived.  Above all she was a good cook!!

I rarely think about her “rules” for life.  Suddenly I realize I actually “follow” a substantial number of these rules and have passed many on to my own daughter:

This is how you make butter with an electric mixer.

This is how you make a cake:

-grease and flour the cake pan(s)

-cut our circles of waxed paper to put on top of the greased and floured surface–you

do not want the cake to stick

-sift the flour

-soften the butter

-mix the ingredients in exactly this order.

This is what you wear.  You want to look presentable!!

-clean underwear in case you are in a car wreck

-matched clothes

-polished shoes

-purse and shoes that match

-no white anything before May 1 or after September 1.

This is how you present yourself to the world:

-well groomed

-clean fingernails

-self assured

-nice, but not too nice

-polite

-brushed teeth

-lotioned body

-clean hair.

This is how you wash your clothes:

-separate whites and colored items–you want the whites to stay white.

This is how you ride your pony:

-keep your heels down

-don’t lean too far back.

This is how you neck rein.

This is how you hold the reins.

This is how you get your pony to trot.

This is how you get your pony to canter.

This is how you get your pony to stop.

This is how you clean the house:

-vacuum first, dust second

-if you don’t do it right the first time, you will have to do it over.

This is how you work:

-hard

-persistent–never ever give up

-smart.

This is how you breathe to sing

This is how you practice well.

My mom could barely sew and only could play the piano by ear–two lifelong regrets.  I had to learn these things no matter what.  I do not like to sew much, but still play the piano and I love, love, love to sing!

She could cook, especially pie.  Her crusts were tasty works of art.  At potlucks people would get her pie first to make sure they got some.  At potlucks now, people get my pie first to make sure they get some.  My daughter does not even eat pie, but people love her pie and get a piece to make sure they get some.

Raisin Walnut Pie

This is not my mother’s recipe.  She mostly made black raspberry and other fruit pies and coconut chiffon pies.  This is the pie I make every time there is a potluck.  If I do not make it, people ask me about it so I gave up and just usually bring this pie.

3 eggs

3/4 cup corn syrup

1/2 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup butter or margarine, melted

1 tsp. vanilla

3/4 cup raisins, golden or dark

3/4 cup walnuts, broken

1 unbaked pie shell

Stir corn syrup and brown sugar into melted butter.  Beat eggs slightly and stir into the butter/sugar mixture.  Add vanilla.  Mix raisins and walnuts and sprinkle into the pie shell.  Pour the butter/sugar mixture over the walnuts and raisins.  Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes or until pie crust is golden and mixture is set.  Cool.

If you goof and do not have vanilla, stir in 1 tsp. of cinnamon instead.

Enjoy!!

The Journey versus the Destination


Until yesterday, I always thought I was a destination person.  Set goals, act, get it all done quickly and efficiently, achieve!!  Suddenly, while driving home from Austin, realization struck in  the form  of wild flowers.  Traveling to Austin, I oohed and awed so much over the blue bonnets, daisies, gaillardia, and others I did not recognize that my daughter finally exclaimed, “Mom, you have said that over and over, really!”  I asked, “Don’t you think they are beautiful?!”  I could hardly believe her response, “Yes, but they’re just flowers,”  Just flowers!!!!  I wanted to stop and look closely at them, to take photos, to touch them.  Instead I said to myself, “You can do that on then way home.” But I didn’t. From Austin to Marble Falls, the road was too winding with no adequate place to stop.  Besides my daughter slept blissfully beside me on the passenger side; I didn’t want to awaken her.  Furthermore, she had previously emphasized the point that we needed to get home buy a certain tine.  Tomorrow, my grandson had school and I had to go to work.  It was a nine hour drive. For hours from just east of Llano past San Angelo, I kept thinking I’d stop.  The flower species and colors changed.  I saw other people stopped, taking photos and touching the flowers.  As I drove it hit me:  my personally preferred form of travel involves wandering.  Yes, I know the destination, but I want to see the places, the people along the way, to stop, to explore what holds my interests.  It is the journey, the process, that truly enthralls me.  This is the reason, too, why without a lot of thought, I chose one route to Austin and another back.  Curiosity, a love of differences, of change, of variety. I never stopped. I kept driving until my daughter awakened just before Sterling City and we switched drivers.  By then the flowers were fewer and farther between. And it hit me that this too was my father’s preferred form of travel.  He lived on the same farm for 90 years and in the same house for 80, but he loved trips.  Every year we took at least one.  We always had a destination, well, sort of, but we stopped whenever and wherever we found something fascinating and wonderful.  As he would have put it, “You never know.  You might find something in an expected place and want to stay there longer.” Since I took no photos on this trip, I decided to share photos of the flowers I found blooming in my xeroscape garden at home when I arrived.  Yes, they are lovely and I love them, but I will wonder for weeks what I missed along the road.