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| Our newest gluten-free corn muffin recipe- with a hint of chile. |
Steve whipped up these chile studded golden morsels of corny goodness this week to have on hand for the Crock Pot stew and soup we planned to make. These would also be perfection with this chili.
My heart is often tugged in multiple directions. Yanked this way, and pulled that way. Like one long, drunken walk of contradiction. Opposing strategies, assumptions, and intentions collide and churn and grip my emotional little pump like a fist- far more often than I care to admit. For all kinds of reasons. If I was a believer in astrology I would now confess my Gemini imprint. Which allegedly explains my dual nature and divergent tendencies. I have always pursued two paths at once, and wrangled opposites like the celestial twins I supposedly embody. But the only current subscription card I carry is not to the stars above in any connect-the-dot sense, but to the Big Kahuna. The Mother of All. That's right.
Come Together
My heart is often tugged in multiple directions. Yanked this way, and pulled that way. Like one long, drunken walk of contradiction. Opposing strategies, assumptions, and intentions collide and churn and grip my emotional little pump like a fist- far more often than I care to admit. For all kinds of reasons. If I was a believer in astrology I would now confess my Gemini imprint. Which allegedly explains my dual nature and divergent tendencies. I have always pursued two paths at once, and wrangled opposites like the celestial twins I supposedly embody. But the only current subscription card I carry is not to the stars above in any connect-the-dot sense, but to the Big Kahuna. The Mother of All. That's right.
Love.
And that's why the media we are inundated with- hour after hour- is so tough, Babycakes. So much snark and cynicism. Lies disguised as information. Opinions disguised as news. So much shrill and snide. And divisiveness. So much finger pointing. And blame. So much collective denial. So much hurt and incredulity for anyone who has a heart. Or tenders a tendency to listen rather than rail. To read rather than twerk.
I am tired of our culture of death and war. I am weary of our appetite for power and violence. I am numb from the ugliness of greed that poses as success. As a woman of a certain age I recoil from the soul-killing projection of plasticized beauty, anti-aging, and the (boring!) focus on the superficial.
I tell you this because I must. I have no choice. I gotta talk about it. If you visit for the recipes only, or stop by for encouragement and celiac support, you may be raising an eyebrow right about now. You might prefer fun and perky chit chat. Not all this complicated feeling stuff.
Recipes, inspiration- Darling, it's all here for you. My family and I knit our love of good food and gluten-free support for you. We have for eight years. And will continue to do so.
But you should know- goddess status aside- I struggle with this stuff every day.
Just like you.
I know you do, too, because you are here right now. Reading these words.
You care.
You love.
You worry.
You are tired of the half-truths, the superficial, the weak reasoning, the shrugging dull acceptance that this is the way it has to be. Because you know- like I do- it doesn't.
Just like you.
I know you do, too, because you are here right now. Reading these words.
You care.
You love.
You worry.
You are tired of the half-truths, the superficial, the weak reasoning, the shrugging dull acceptance that this is the way it has to be. Because you know- like I do- it doesn't.
Love can win.
Light can penetrate the darkest hour. Denial can be pinched and slapped and prodded awake. Common sense values, maturity, and compassion can be sexy. Golden Rule ethics are hawt. The still small voice within can be excavated. And heard. And sung.
Light can penetrate the darkest hour. Denial can be pinched and slapped and prodded awake. Common sense values, maturity, and compassion can be sexy. Golden Rule ethics are hawt. The still small voice within can be excavated. And heard. And sung.
I am turning to the new year ahead with hope for a better one. Where not one single child is riddled with bullets (is this really too much to hope for?). Where our political process is governed by doing the right thing (of the people, by the people, for the people) and not by money and its corporate culture of greed. Where guns are not sexy. And our appetites are hungry for knowledge, art, culture, beauty, and truth.
I know, I know. My Age of Aquarius hippie artist inclusive proclivities are showing.
And if I could?
I would invite you all over for cocoa and muffins. I would make you a big bowl of mulligatawny and hand you my favorite spoon, and play some Yo Yo Ma and James Taylor on the HiFi. We could watch the deer outside the kitchen window as snowflakes spin their magic just before dark. The recipe I would make would be this new corn muffin recipe spiked with spicy green chiles and golden pumpkin.
A match made in heaven.
Or hatched by a Gemini goddess wrestling with light and dark (and rainbows!).
You decide.
And if I could?
I would invite you all over for cocoa and muffins. I would make you a big bowl of mulligatawny and hand you my favorite spoon, and play some Yo Yo Ma and James Taylor on the HiFi. We could watch the deer outside the kitchen window as snowflakes spin their magic just before dark. The recipe I would make would be this new corn muffin recipe spiked with spicy green chiles and golden pumpkin.
A match made in heaven.
Or hatched by a Gemini goddess wrestling with light and dark (and rainbows!).
You decide.
sneaky excursions into Mr. McGregor's garden (that mischievous little rabbit- or as we like to say in my house... BUNNY!- close to my own greens adoring heart).
.
and Sunday. Brad and Angie. Milk and cookies. I was imagining a tea bread that might work for gluten-free French toast, you see. The sort of breakfast you'd like to wake up to on Christmas morning. Something warm with melting butter and cozy cinnamon. Something festive. Special. Not your average grab-on-the-go with coffee nosh. A gluten-free bread worthy of a holiday.
- er, I mean, quinoa. Studded with nutty, buttery chick peas and crunchy toasted pecans and succulent jewels of ripe, juicy pears. And did I mention, in a bowl licking maple vinaigrette?