Wednesday, March 28, 2012

Goulash

Both of my parents cook. My father is the 'follow the recipe' type cook, who's limit is the staples of my families diet. My mother is the 'fly by the seat of your pants' cook, who might follow a recipe or just throw something in a fry pan. When I was young, my mother would work late, so it was my father who had to get dinner on the table. Of course my sister and I would help. The helping then turned to me making full meals (my dad's a great at delegating). 

There are many one 'pot' meals that I grew up on. Chile, mac and cheese (old fashioned cream style), Tuna noodle (my least favorite), meat loaf, and of course goulash. I'm not really sure who first invented goulash. I think its a Hungarian dish (my family is not hungarian). However, it is one of my favorite family dishes. It is one of the few things that my dad didn't really need a recipe for. When ever I make this dish it reminds me of home. Of arguing with my sister about what to make for dessert. My dad 'testing' the food while we waited for mom to get home so we could eat. The way the dog would sit very attentive while we moved the food around, hoping that we would drop something for him to lap up.

It took me till junior year of college before I realized how many people didn't know how to cook. By that point I would just randomly throw things together like my mom, or find recipe's to follow like my dad. I thought most people knew the basics. That you put a little oil and salt in water your setting to cook noodles in. That biscuits are best if you don't fuss with them too much. And most importantly that butter makes everything taste amazing. How could it be that so many people didn't know how to make basic food?

Which leads me back to goulash. There is no one recipe. My families is simple: onions, ground beef, diced tomatoes, tomato paste, and mac noodles. But other recipes have potatoes, veggies, and a ton of others things. I normally do a spin off my families recipe to include some kind of green veggie, like spinach or peas. I also like mine spicy, with a lot of chili pepper. However how you make goulash is not really important. The important part is that there is no real recipe, that you can follow your instincts, change it up, and try something new. And yet I'm sure that with most recipes that vary from family to family, the recipe you start with is the most important. 

My family lives in the kitchen. We are a cook together, eat together, and laugh together group of ruffians. With all six of us at the dinner table, there is usually more laughter and talking then eating. Its not that the food is not important, believe me we love food, its that our family recipe is about just that. Family.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Posts, Poems, Novels, and Beat Up Journals

Its late night, or very early morning. And sometimes when I sit looking out at the half darkness of night in Philadelphia, I think a lot about writing. I seem to do a lot of writing. It started with journals or diaries as I called them when I was younger. In part, I think, I was influenced by Laura Ingalls Wilder, who wrote wonderful stories about her life, all from diaries that she had kept. I didn't really know how to write or for that matter how to read. But I understood what a story was. Most of the diaries I started, even those from high school, did not survive past a couple of weeks. Some barely made it past the first day.

There are several diaries with horrible large scratchy handwriting, which speak to the horrid ability of my youth to get my thoughts on paper. I could tell a story. I could tell wonderful stories. I could not write them. I still wonder if I am better suited for the oral tradition of story telling. The one were the words can't be on the page, because the story lives in the words spoken and in the voice that speaks them. There is something wonderful and strange and comforting about a story remembered and retold through the ages. One that can never really be written down, because it can not live on a page. It lives in the memory of those who are closest to it.

Nevertheless, I have always striven to put my thoughts onto paper. Partially out of a need to grow myself for school, partially out of a thirst to somehow find a solidity, an immortality, for my thoughts. Through high school I struggled, found my voice, lost it, found it again. I fell in love with poetry and the Bard. I spent hours struggling with my grandmother and mother, who tryed to tutor me. I spelled the simplest words wrong, but somehow understood and read novels far above the heads of most of classmates. Slowly, horridly so, I began to put story to page. Sometimes failing utterly to get my imagination to work towards anything coherent.

The summer after I graduated from high school, while working as I lifeguard, I started my first novel. It was not really to write a novel, it was a need to write. I was terrified of getting to college and not being able to write at the same level as my peers. The story is still unfinished, like so many stories I have started. But I still have the ragged note book filled with my chicken scratch. From this poor notebook, I moved onward to my first journal. The first journal that I would fill over time with pictures, thoughts, poems, ideas of stories, and a slowly growing sense of the power of written word. Various papers from classes joined my journal and my first tries at plays. My spelling got slowly better and I learned to use my thesaurus more then any other book.

Amongst plays, papers, poems, and my slowly filling journals, came a slowly growing understanding of my imagination. My dreams and wakeful right brain grew to be a strong part of my writing. Growing to the point of an annoying three year old that doesn't understand no and is always asking for candy. I feed it. Let it grow strong. Let myself get lost in dreams and stories. And slowly the ideas grew from short stories and poems, to novels. Epics. Stories formed, fed by my never ending imagination. And as college ending these stories had more time to grow, as my mind was left with no way to spend its creativity.

I can go weeks without writing a word. My mind is kept on reading books and watching movies. I take in information like a dry sponge. I soak up everything about me. Then slowly all of that information leaks out. It finds its way into stories, unfinished novels, poems, posts, and often in beaten up journals. And when I look over all of it, I find a few good pieces. Things that I find myself, feeling lucky to have written.  As if ever thousand or so words, I strike some kind of gold.

I know that there are others who write with more genius. Others who have better training, better grammar, and the ability to finish what they begin. Still I need to tell the stories. Find a way to put all that oral history, all my knowledge, creative, and longing, in some stoney eternal ink. Wether it is the virtual ink of this online blog or the soon to fade blue ink I scratch across the pages of my red journal. Words have a endless, eternal way about them. I guess I want part of myself to be left in with them eternal, meaning something, even if it is a fleeting glimpse of a whimsical, speratic mind.

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

The Cup

What does the wrath of G-d mean?
Destruction of life and earth?
Blood, death, and pain?

Hear the coming commotion?
the horse riding on wings?
Hear the sword, gun, bomb?
the cup over flowing?
Hear the hand stretched out?
ready to grab and crush?

What does the wrath of G-d mean?
Getting just what we asked for?
separation and divorce?

Feel the gulf, the rift?
the incalculable distance?
Feel the face turning?
the darkness falling?
Feel the hand withdrawing?
true 'freedom' at last?

What does the wrath of G-d mean?
a darkening sky? a turn of head?
a cup of pain and death?

See the tree, the crown?
the nails dug deep in flesh?
See the blood, the wine?
the dice rolling on the ground?
See the head drop, the chest fall?
the life ending, wrath ending?

What does the mercy of G-d mean?
getting just what we need?
a yoke, a easy burden?

Know the love reaching down
know the cross, the blood
know the one who 
took the cup,
took the wraith
took the death

Friday, March 2, 2012

Continuing the Story

Last night while I was walking home from small group (bible study), I was thinking about lies. Okay maybe not the most normal thing to be thinking about while walking home at night. Its just that this last week I've been thinking a lot about the lies I tell people. We all tell lies. Whether we embellish on the truth or lie to hide what we are shamed of. Lies are in some ways easier to tell then the truth. 

When I was in college I joked for a little while that I was studying to be a professional lier. In some ways it was the truth. Theatre can be seen as one big lie. You are telling a story, acting out something, playing a character, and all of it is not who you are or how you really act. Even if the story is based somehow in reality, it is embellished to be more dramatic. Part of learning how to act is getting inside of a character. Its almost like creating another personality within yourself.I know that stories have their place, because they can teach us about ourselves and comment on how we live. But there is something about getting inside of a character or inside a story that can change you. Sometimes this is a good thing. 

But I'm not talking about the good stories. The ones that teach you more about yourself and help you to better connect with what is around you. I'm not talking about the gooey, feel good stories. I'm talking about the other side. The stories that destroy.

So last night as I walked home, I thought about the stories I tell to gather attention. Not bad things in themselves. But they aren't always the full dirty truth. Because lets face it the truth is not always nice and huggable. So this lent I've decided that I'm going to try telling the truth more. To stop embellishing my stories (as much as that is fun) and start listening more to other people. We'll see how it goes.

Anyone else doing something for Lent?

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Etsy

Yesterday I spend most of the day setting up an Etsy Store. I have four things that I knit currently for sale and its a good if not tired feeling. One would not think that it is that difficult to set up an account to sell things. Well I never thought it would be that hard. But it took me most of yesterday to get the listings all set. Pictures of each item, descriptions, and tags so people can search for and find my items. Of course I was helped by the fact that the batteries in my camera died half way through the process. 

The thing that I found most helpful was figuring out the budget for everything before I actually set up the account. Money is the reason that I am putting this whole thing together. So I half to make sure that the money is not greedy or way more then the piece is worth, but it still has to cover my costs and my time making each piece. Because lets face there is another reason that I set up a shop. I want to knit more. Knitting is a great way to be both creative and to relax. 

Also I love making beautiful things. I love the way that different yarns feel. I like getting a project done and knowing its finished. Its just a great feeling. So is starting the next project (already a couple hours into a fun bright red scarf). Anyone have any suggestions for things I can knit for my shop or even suggestions on how to make my shop better? 


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