Vegetarian Spaghetti Sauce

/ Juliana Lightle / 1 Comment

This recipe is dedicated to my grandson, D’mitri, who recently became a very serious vegetarian.

1 lb. soy “hamburger” (I used Gimme Lean Ground Beef Style Veggie Protein)

1 15 oz. can salt free chopped tomatoes

I medium onion, chopped

1 can tomato paste

1/2 -1 cup olive oil

1/2 cup red wine

1 heaping Tbls. each of basil, oregano, and marjoram

Saute the onion in large skillet or sauce pan in 1/4-1/2 cup olive oil.  Place sautéed onion in blender with the chopped tomatoes and spices.  Blend.

In the meantime, in the same saucepan or skillet, place broken pieces of the hamburger in heated olive oil.  Use a wooden spoon to break up the “hamburger” into small pieces and brown.  Pour the onion/tomato/spices mixture over the browned “hamburger”.  Cook on medium low heat for 5-10 min.  Add one can tomato paste and the red wine.  Stir thoroughly.  Cook on low heat for a minimum of one hour.  Serve over organic, Italian pasta of your choice.  Serves four.

This is very delicious.  It is almost impossible to tell the difference between this and spaghetti sauce made from meat and it is considerably cheaper.  It is yummy leftover because the spices blend.  I use Egyptian basil because I prefer it.  Any type of basil will work.

Writer’s Block

/ Juliana Lightle / 4 Comments

A wall of black, oozy, Missouri River mud looms in front of me,

sticky, impossible to even walk through.

When I push, it gives only a little.

Then it creeps into my nostrils, suffocating.

I back off, walk this way and that way, trying to find an entrance.

None!

I push again; the mud engulfs.

So I back off, play it safe, read a book, play the piano,

go boutique shopping, sing, hike, brush the horses.

I walk back; the mud wall looms still.

I write up to the mud wall.

It starts to ooze onto the paper, into my brain.

Wolves

/ Juliana Lightle / 8 Comments

I own a wolf dog.  I did not set out to get a wolf dog.  In 2004, I went to PetSmart to buy a fish for my grandson.  The Humane Society had puppies there.  My daughter said to me, “Mom, you just have to look at these puppies.  They are gorgeous.”  I looked; I was smitten.  Isabella is ¼ wolf.  She was seven weeks old when I took her home.  She is smart, loves people, guards my 15 or so acres, and was incredibly easy to train.  She weighs 80 pounds.  Sometimes people think she is a German Shepard, but she is taller and heavier even though she is also ¼ German Shepard.  Even people who do not like dogs love her.  When I first got her, I researched wolf dogs on the Internet.  The information seemed incredibly complex and sometimes contradictory.  I trained her the way that seemed right to me.  She will not live forever and on the rare occasions I think about this, I realize I will never be able to find another Isabella or even come close.

Isabella leads me to the topic of wolves.  One of my long term goals is to research and study why so many people feel such an intense hatred of wolves.  This intensity is lacking in the way people view other big predators in the US, e.g. pumas, bears.  Why wolves??  What is it that makes ranchers and hunters in states where wolves still exist so intent on destroying them?  As a one time rancher who raised cattle and horses and a person who still owns a farm and grew up on one, I know it is not only because wolves occasionally kill a calf or two.  Something else drives this hatred.  What is it??

Recently, I had the occasion to have a discussion on this topic with a biologist friend.  He said, “People hate wolves because they are so very human.  Wolves remind them of themselves, especially the willingness to kill, the survival instinct, the wild.”  He also told me that he had read a research article on ancient hunters and the domestication of wolves, the precursor to all dogs.  Some researchers believe that ancient humans and wolves hunted together to maximize their hunting success.

Strangely, I came home, opened a book of essays, and there lay Sherry Simpson’s essay, Killing Wolves.  I read it.  I read some of it twice.  I have reread parts a third time.  She says, “The unknowable wolf hunts along the edge of our vision, never allowing a clear view of himself.  Imagination, fear, and longing fulfill what experience cannot.  And so a wolf is no longer just a wolf.  It’s a vicious, wasteful predator.  Or it’s the poster child of the charismatic mammals, the creature that stands for all that’s noble, wild, and free.  A wolf is social, family-oriented, intelligent, and communicative—like humans.  A wolf kills because it can—like humans.  It’s either-or, the sacred or the profane.  Inevitably, the wolf becomes a distorted reflection of the human psyche, a heavy burden for one species to carry.  We can hardly bear the burden of being human ourselves.”

Garlic Cream Sauce for Tamales

/ Juliana Lightle / 5 Comments

This recipe is posted especially for Tania Pryputniewicz who teaches blogging for the Story Circle Network.  She inspired me to take blogging seriously.  This is also for

Jesus Daniel Hernandez, the opera singer, who told me this is the best tamale sauce he had ever tasted.

Pour enough olive oil into a medium sized sauce pan to cover the bottom about 1/4  inch.  Saute 1/2 chopped medium onion, and two cloves chopped garlic

in the olive oil.  When onion appears translucent, pour the onion mixture and 1 1/2 cups half and half into a blender.  Add 2 Tablespoons of flour and

1 teaspoon ground chipotle chili pepper.  Blend until onions and garlic are pureed.  Return mixture to sauce pan and cook over low heat until thickened.

Pour over tamales and warm thoroughly in an oven.  To increase or decrease the amount of spicyness, increase or decrease the amount of chili powder.

The photograph is the courtesy of Anabel McMillen, who comes to my house and photographs everything.

Spiders

/ Juliana Lightle / 4 Comments

Spiders crawled everywhere.  In my hair, on my arms, across my mouth.  Tiny, baby spiders.  I screamed, ran to the school restroom without permission.  In the mirror I could see them, running everywhere.  I washed my arms and hands,  shook my hair over and over and over, trying to get them out, tore my blouse, frantically brushing them off my body.  Still they crawled.  I ran to the teacher and begged to call  my mother.  She said, “No, just go back to the restroom and get them off the best you can.  Lunch is almost over.”  I started crying, trying hard not to become hysterical.  Baby spiders skittered everywhere across my arms, my belly, even my face.  I would think I had most of them off me and more appeared.

Sixth grade had not been too bad, at least not compared to the other years.  Often if I could convince the teacher, I stayed in at lunch to read because I did not want to swing and get sick or play softball.  As I quietly read, two boys, whose names I cannot recall, ran into the classroom with a bag that houses baby spiders, broke it open, and dumped it on my head.  They ran back outside, laughing, leaving the bag of baby spiders on my desk. Lunch ended, I sat at my desk, tried to be good and do my work.  Plop, another baby spider on the desk.  The day drug on, endless.

Still years later,  spiders cause goose bumps on my skin.  But I am getting braver.  Recently, I rescued a brown and black tarantula, using a long stick to lift her away from the road to safety.  When tarantulas appear on my patio, I brush them off with the broom. I kill black  widows even though I feel I shouldn’t.  I spray them from a distance.  Bullies from my childhood will not control me.

 

 

 

 

When I first posted this, apparently some people thought it was a joke, e.g. untrue.  This definitely happened to me; it is true, sadly.  However, it no longer affects my life very much, except perhaps for the fact that I could not bring myself to allow my grandson to keep a pet tarantula in my house.

Choose

/ Juliana Lightle / 3 Comments

Last night I planned to reblog this, my very first blog post from over three years ago.  However, a big lightning and hail storm arrived; I turned off my computer.  I did not want a lightning strike to ruin it.  Lightning struck my house twice in the six and one-half years I have lived here; once it destroyed my TV.

Abraham Lincoln said we choose–or do not choose–happiness.  When I was twenty something, I chose happiness, not the sappy, syrupy, cheery, but the deeper joy of cherishing the small, the unique, the everyday, smiling with sunsets, the song of the mockingbird in the spring, my horses running free, the nearly invisible bobcat climbing the canyon wall, the taste of fine coffee at the first wakeful moments in the morning, cooking for friends, taking a “property walk” with my grandson, laughing with the teenagers I teach.  I am driven to do very little; obsessions, compulsions do not run me.  I choose.  Choose life, choose joy or choose whining, choose lamenting.  But choose!!  Be who you want to be; do what you want to do.  Be YOU!!

Photograph is copyright of Anabel McMillen.

Pumas are going to prey

/ Juliana Lightle / 1 Comment

Yesterday I opened the latest issue of “Sierra”to find an article about someone who encountered a puma.  Here is some advice on what to do if you discover a puma stalking you:

-do not run

-turn and face her

-raise your arms and do whatever you can to look fierce

-scream as loud as you can

-if you know you are in puma country, carry a loud horn with you

-do not walk quietly–surprising a puma is not good

-remember they are more afraid of you than you are of them–really!!

Of course, the big problem with making a lot of noise as you hike is this:  you won’t see any wildlife at all.

 

The photo is the copyright of E.J. Peiker.

Puma Passion

/ Juliana Lightle / 2 Comments

I am a daughter of the moon.

Night wild, free.

I run with puma;

I scream; I howl,

Moonstruck, blood borne.

My neighbor walked out her door to find a female puma lying in her lawn.  The puma arose and ambled away.   At night when I stop my vehicle to open my drive gate, I wonder if she lurks behind the juniper tree, pounce ready.  My daughter dreams puma dreams:  a puma chases her up a tree.  It does not matter that there are no trees here big enough to climb.  When I hike the canyon or stoll around the house, I search for puma tracks.  I find none.  A Zuni puma fetish crouches, guarding my sleep.  I would rather die by puma than in a car wreck.

Photo copyright of E.J. Peiker.

Writing on the Rim

/ Juliana Lightle / 11 Comments

The canyon edge looms out my bedroom windows,

pale adobe, stark.

Fall to death or serious injury!

I will not fall; I love living on the edge.

Rain brings a one hundred foot deluge,

a roar of water, cascading, screaming.

Someone said my house is pink; it is not pink!

It is the color of the canyon, the worldwide color,

Moroccan, pueblo, Saudi, Mali, Navaho, Timbuktu,

Desert, alive and lovely.

Three bucks watch me through my bedroom windows.

They see me move; they stare.

Isabella stands rigid, watching.

I kneel to her level; follow her eyes.

The bobcat casually climbs the canyon wall, impervious.

He marks the cedar tree, walks a deer path, disappears.

He is a secret, rarely seen.

The huge hoot owl’s voice echoes down the canyon,

drifting through my dreams.

A young road runner calls, scratchy,

running across the patio–on the edge.

In the spring the mocking bird sings all night,

“This is my territory.”

I sing all year, full of joy.

I live in beauty on the rim.

I decided to reblog this because it is the season for giving thanks, and I am eternally grateful for the privilege of living in such a beautiful place.  Yesterday, my family and I took a hike here, saw deer, lovely colorful rocks, bunnies, and native plants the names of which I do not know.  I live in beauty on the rim of wonder!!  I feel blessed!!