Monday, August 15, 2011
New Week Ramblings & Subliminal Recipe
I noticed that I have a total of six followers to the Mystical Gypsy Blog. In the beginning, I had the intention of creating a blog that would allow me to enhance and generate my on-line writing skills. Part of the intention included learning to use the various tools that make one's blog interesting, interactive and inviting. To this day, I feel negligent with achieving my intended goal. But maybe I'm just slow at coming around to making it happen.
I've been following some spectacular blogs here at Google's Blogger. Most are highly creative in content including writing, photography, links, blogging resources and the other followers who have their own blogs. If I do not control myself, I can be lost in reading blogs for more than four hours. Like others who surf the net, I can begin reading a blog about natural healing in rural Vermont, and end up looking at a blog related to weasel fighting in Ireland. Don't ask; it just happens.
Just as I can wander reading the blogs of others', I wander with where I am going with this particular entry. My intention was to confess that I have little to offer and not much worth following. I noticed I have a difficult time writing in a public manner. I feel slightly shy, much like Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon character. I want to open each blog with, " It was a quiet week here at the hermitage in Stevens Point."
I've been back to my hermitage for less than two weeks. I came here because I've been suffering with facial eczema and a severe physical reaction to the sun. I asked Michael if I could abandon him in Montana while I returned to Santa Fe. After three weeks in Santa Fe, I felt I a magnetic pull to return to Wisconsin. Somehow, I thought I could manage my condition easier if I had some solitude, very little sun, easy access to my acupuncturist and minor distractions to my yoga, pranayama and chanting practices.
When I returned to Wisconsin, everything seemed so loud and annoying. After a strong storm with heavy rain and straight-line winds, the sound of chainsaws can be heard in most yards in this college town. Last week's approaching full moon inspired our newest neighborhood couple to loudly argue with foul and abusive language. Most everyone on this block was disturbed by their nightly physical and verbal fights. For me, I had to endure their disregard for my backyard, which they used as their personal parking space. When I requested that they no longer use my yard for their cars, they were upset and abusive to me that I would suggest such an inconvenience to them, since I have no car of my own.
I love to cook. Seasonal produce from Central Wisconsin is coming into incredible abundance. On Saturday, I made a paella over a dung and twig fire. One of my neighbors could smell the fire and said that my yard smelled like household cooking in India. My dinner guest, who just returned from a SEVA-inspired trip to Liberia, was intrigued with my resolve to cook with a non-traditional cooking fuel. I reminded him that dung and a handful of twigs is a traditional cooking fuel, but as Americans, we are quite removed from what is traditional and practical.
On Sunday, I made moussaka from my CSA box. It was loaded with eggplant, Yukon Golds, bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, celery, parsley, oregano, basil and too many zucchini. Using as much as possible, I made an enormous pan of moussaka. The red sauce created without recipe, but only with the inspiration of the contents of the CSA box. The white sauce created from cooked and pureed cannellini beans with sauteed onions and too much garlic. As I am trying to stay away from dairy, I used about two ounces of cheese at the end of baking, letting the cheese melt into the top of the layered potatoes, eggplant and zucchini bake. Eggs were omitted. It was good and well worth the time it took to prepare and finally assemble the various layers. My friend Mark, who shares the CSA box with me, brought over a bottle of Rose` that went well with eating, conversation and sitting on the porch on a Sunday evening.
It is a quiet start to the week. The abusive neighbors moved out between Saturday and Sunday. The Mourning Doves are cooing with renewed contentment. The dogs around the block are relieved of their nervous barking. My kitchen door opens to a peaceful and wildly growing backyard green space. The moon is waning while autumn sneaks a kiss with summer.