Photo Share...this is one of my new thrift finds: blouse (Ann Taylor) $4, wool cardigan $3.50, wool skirt (Woolrich) $3...
Outlook...hopeful...and quiet about the reason
On My Mind...how can two people see the same property and see such opposite things? The owner called it a beach cottage. We call it an ancient, single-wide, moss-covered mobile with the doors hanging off the hinges without even a hint of ocean view much less on the beach.
Delish Kitch...since I've given up dairy for the time being, I'm modifying all the old favorites. Yes, I was allergic as a child, and it seems to be a big culprit in my struggles the last few decades. We even drank un-homogenized, raw milk, when I was a little girl. Weston Price and Adell Davis were right that it is better for you than homogenized, pasturized stuff from you local grocer. However, if you are allergic, you're allergic. They used to make glue with it, too. Hmmm...what's lining your colon?
Chile Rellenos with Black Beans
4 pablano chiles
1 c. cooked brown rice
1 c. cooked black beans
1/4 c. chopped red onion
1/4 c. cilantro
salt & pepper
sauce:
6-8 dried california chili pods
1-2 pasill-ancho chili pods
2 roma tomatoes
1/2 c. chopped onion
1 clove garlic
1 t. olive oil
1 T. flour
salt
water
Heat broiler. Coat pablanos with olive oil. Broil, watching closely and turning often. When they are evenly blackened, place them in a plastic bag. Mix rice, beans, onion, and cilantro in a small bowl. Peel blackened skin from pablanos. Make a small slit in the side of each pepper to pull out seeds. Try to keep them as intact as possible including stem. Stuff with rice/bean mixture. Heat 2-4 small plates in oven at 200F.
Pour boiling water over dried chiles in a bowl. Cover and set aside. Saute onion and salt in oil over low heat until very soft and beginning to brown. Add garlic and continue for 30 seconds. Add this to the blender. Add chiles and tomatoes. Blend until smooth, adding a bit of water as needed. Push the paste through a fine mesh strainer back into the saute pan, discarding the seeds and skin that remain. Heat sauce adding water as necessary.
Place 1-2 chilis on each plate seam side down. Pour sauce over middle of chili, leaving the two ends exposed. Put under the broiler until bubble. garnish with 1/4 avocado sliced thinly and fanned out plus a tiny bit of chopped cilantro. Serve with a crunchy, colorful green salad and oranges sprinkled with coconut for dessert.
Homemaking...just the usual nest sprucing and loving it.
Praying for..."a spirit of calm and peace among the people of Haiti" and the young people of the world that they might shed their feelings of entitlement and follow after God...
Appearance...navy floral dress (one of my new thrift finds), black cotton footless tights, wool socks, and birkies~same old long curls, retro glasses, and that's it.
Movement...same old firm/walk/stretch...I'd like to take a walk along Soos Creek some time this week.
Bibliophile Fix…LMU, SNH, and Great Books reading lists...
Blessings...inspiration for an herbal healing...
Scripture Meditations..."Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest" Ruth 1:16
Something New...going to try my hand at whole wheat sour dough bread by hand. I have no bread mixer here.
My week is looking...sweet...anticipating a visit with Princess Gracie and Nikki on Tuesday.
God has been teaching me...look for the good in people.
Devotions...Gospel Doctrine lesson 7, read a couple articles from the February Ensign and one from the Conference Report. Old Testament will be Ester this week. Spanish devotions remain with Polyglot Book of Mormon.
Simple Pleasure...a warm, comfortable home on down days.
Commitment to Loveliness...1) Sweet Monday~chocolate chip cake 2) learn a bit more about colored pencil technique 3) sea shore drawing for my journal 4) sew something 5) think more~speak less
Poetry I'm Enjoying... (rather long, but beautiful)
The Cloud
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,--
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aery nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun's throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon's with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,--
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Reading the scriptures and keeping this journal are my delight. I do not keep an online journal to preach to anyone but myself. I like this format, because I can add pictures and correct my writing easier. If you enjoy reading it, I am happy. If you feel offended, please, realize it is not my intention to offend but to teach myself. No negative comments will not be published.