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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!!
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.
Yesterday, I attended the memorial service for an extraordinary woman, Paula Porterfield. As a young woman she exhibited remarkable intelligence and leadership skills. She attended college and became a nurse. Then without warming, schizophrenia struck. She kept on going and attained a second degree. She never gave up. Her generosity and kindness remain legendary. She both loved and wrote poetry, created hand made gifts for friends, and gave endlessly, never complaining no matter how bad her health, how distressing her living conditions, or how badly her hands shook. She never spoke ill of others. She modeled how to live life well in spite of awful odds. Here is her recipe for life:
3 c. Love
1 c. Understanding
2 tbsp. Concern
2 tsp. Emotional Security
2 tbsp. Joy
4 tbsp. Hope
1 c. Loyalty
3/4 c. Committment
Pinch of Support
Cream Love and Understanding. Mix Concern and Emotional Security. Fold in Joy and Hope. Sift Loyalty and then blend in pinch of Support and Commitment. Sprinkle with Humor and cover with Dreams.
Put into a beautiful Being and share with the world.
Paula will be missed.
Last night 12 people were at my house for dinner, including a friend who is Muslim so no pork. I created this dish in order to feed both my Muslim and vegetarian friends. You could use regular chorizo, but after trying soyrizo, I quit using anything else and even my Mexican friends love it. Tastes the same, but not so greasy so probably healthier.
I package soy chorizo, removed from casing
Enough small red potatoes to cover the bottom of a 13 X 9 casserole dish when thinly sliced
3 large poblano peppers, deseeded and sliced
1 medium purple onion, chopped
10 cherry tomatoes
2 cups half and half
4 TBS flour
1 TBS chili mild chili powder
Several TBS olive oil
Cover the bottom of the casserole with olive oil. Layer the sliced potatoes so that they totally cover the bottom of the dish. Remove the soy chorizo from its casing and crumble it over the potatoes. Layer the sliced poblanos over the chorizo. Sprinkle the chopped onions over the top of the peppers. Scatter the cherry tomatoes on top of the onions. In a blender, combine the half and half, the flour, and the chili powder. Pour evenly over the casserole. Cover with aluminum foil and bake at 350 degrees until the potatoes are tender. You may uncover the casserole and continue baking for the last ten to fifteen minutes if you would like the top a bit browned.
I served this with roasted vegetables seasoned with cumin and ground coriander and Egyptian basil:
Cover the bottom of a heavy casserole with olive oil. Place thinly sliced potatoes–I used purple ones–to cover the bottom of the pan. Continue layering your choice of vegetables, spices, and olive oil. Bake at 400 degrees until the potatoes on done, stirring occasionally. About ten minutes before the casserole is done, add kale leaves. The potatoes take longer to cook than any other vegetables I have ever used. Last night I used these vegetables: purple potatoes, yams, baby carrots, brussel sprouts, chopped onions, beets, kale, red jalapeños (seeded and halved), and whole garlic cloves. This is also good with garbanzo beans added just before the kale.
I was going to take photos but was too busy entertaining to take them.
Recently, I took a writing class about finding your voice. Mostly, I took it not because I needed to find my “voice”, but rather to force me to really get serious and write. One assignment was about firsts in our lives, e.g. first kiss, first love, first…You get the idea. It was difficult for me because suddenly I realized I neither remembered nor even cared much about firsts. My response to the assignment is this.
Memories of the future.
These are the memories that matter,
These and memories of the present.
Bold, fearless, fun, beautiful, wild,
Dancing, singing, writing, loving, laughing
memories now and tomorrow.
The past—gone, dead.
Fly free and clean!!
I don’t remember many firsts. First dance, first communion, first love, first hand holding, first lie, first kiss. Nothing. I am not all that fond of kissing anyway. I do remember first sex as a rather boring disappointment. Good sex requires experience.
I have never been lost in my life. I have never thought I really might die, not soon, but when I do I would rather die by puma than in a car wreck.
Travel the World 4 Less
A Glimpse into My Life & Passions
Ceto-Magoism, the Whale-guided Way of WE in S/HE
Exploring the F-word in religion at the intersection of scholarship, activism, and community.
ANCESTRAL FOOD. HERBAL WISDOM. MAGICAL COOKERY. SEASONAL CELEBRATION.
inesemjphotography
politics, engineering, parenting, relevant things over coffee.
Food is the best expression of every emotion. Explore through my reviews, recipes, events and more.
Smile! A Site for Friends Wherever You Are!
inspiring personal growth through poetry and writing
Combining atheism with whimsy. This is a Fair and Balanced blog based on opinion unencumbered by fact.
Odds and ends ~ My Life
Original poetry, commentary, and fiction. All copyrights reserved.
bripike@gmail.com
A wildlife filmmaker in Africa
A Geeky Feminist's Musings On Pop Culture
"5 minute walks"
