pen rainbow

Friday, September 19, 2014

Friday—Happy Birthday Dream 2014

Birthday dreams do come true!

A pecan-praline bundtlet for two from Nothing Bundt Cakes bakery in Walnut Creek...

My 57th favorite birthday cake!  

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Tuesday's Cupboard—Favorite Bottled Salad Dressing

Tessemae's Italian salad dressing from Whole Foods—My everyday go-to fave!

Click HERE to check out all of their wonderful flavors!  

Oh, and by the way, the Italian vinaigrette has zero-calories.  That's right, ZERO cal-o-ries!  And, it's super yummy.  I have a hard time keeping this stuff in the house because I use it on everything...baked potatoes instead of butter, marinade for chicken & beef, and an extra zap of flavor on green beans and other steamed veggies.

Delicious on spinach salad

Available at Whole Foods

All good sugar, no fat & low on salt_Yay!

Friday, September 12, 2014

Friday—The Photoshop Gallery: Vintage 1980

A vintage pic from my photo library

I was sorting through my iPhoto library today and found this good one of Steve, Brooke, Gussie (jumping on Steve's leg) & a neighborhood orange tabby.

Brooke & Steve appear to be saving the cat from Gus whose favorite thing was chasing kitty cats.

Boulder City 1980

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Monday—The Poetry Corner: Linda Hogan, Native American Author

Linda Hogan, former Writer in Residence for The Chickasaw Nation and Prefessor Emerita from University of Colorado is an internationally recognized public speaker and writer of poetry, fiction, and essays.  

Click HERE to read more about this inspirational writer & speaker.  

martis meadow_northstar
photo by dsmp

deer dance
(from rounding the human corners)

This morning
when the chill that rises up from the ground is warmed,
the snow is melted
where the small deer slept.
See how the bodies leave their mark.
The snow reveals their paths on the hillsides,
the white overcrossing pathways into the upper meadows
where water comes forth and streams begin.
With a new snow the unseen becomes seen.
Rivers begin this way.

At the deer dance last year,
after the clashing forces of human good and evil,
the men dressed in black,
the human women mourning for what was gone,
the evergreen sprigs carried in a circle
to show the return of spring.
That night, after everything human was resolved,
a young man, the chosen, became the deer.
In the white skin of its ancestors,
wearing the head of the deer
above the human head
with flowers in his antlers, he danced,
beautiful and tireless,
until he was more than human,
until he, too, was deer.

Of all those who were transformed into animals,
the travelers Circe turned into pigs,
the woman who became the bear,
the girl who always remained the child of wolves,
none of them wanted to go back
to being human. And I would do it, too, leave off being human
and become what it was that slept outside my door last night.

One evening I hid in the bush south of here
and watched at the place where they shed their antlers
and where the deer danced, it was true,
as my old grandmother said,
water came up from the ground
and I could hear them breathing at the crooked river.
The road there I know, I live here,
and always when I walk it
they are not quite sure of me,
looking back now and then to see that I am still
far enough away, their gray-brown bodies,
the scars of fences,
the fur never quite straight,
as if they'd just stepped into it.