fictions

at the farmers’ market this weekend i bought lodi apples, the apples that used to grow in the trees in my grandparents’ yard. every summer my grandma would make applesauce from those tart apples, and making grandma’s applesauce in my apartment felt like a rite of passage. that sounds like a short story – the apples of my grandmother.

last night on a whim i danced in the rain, the thunder and lightning crashing around me and the other dancers. i stayed on that patio until my dress was soaked, my hair lashing across my face, the rain glistening on my skin. there are two ending to this story. in one i am pressed against the wall of the club, hands in my knotted hair, making out in the downpour. in another, i slip my shoes on and wake up the next morning with my feet aching and my body sore.

i spent two days in chicago this week/weekend, helping with a workshop and then wandering around. i think the city has been spoiled for me for a time by too many layers of memory, but i found new things to love, like my feet cooled by the lake after a squealing dash across burning sands, like eating ice cream at navy pier while watching the sea birds take roost.

there are endings to these stories but they lie somewhere between truth and fiction, between perception and reality, between the past and the future.

Home from ALA. Much on my mind, some things to be blogged about. Right now I’m hoping for a big ol’ storm and in need of a shower.

summer solstice

in conversation last night someone said that sometimes you just have to take an exacto knife and cut away your worries and just be for a while. i replied that dancing is my exacto knife. i’m not the best dancer and i’m not incredibly coordinated, especially in tall heels after a few vodka tonics – but there is something to be said for just getting lost in the music, letting your mind go and putting your body in control – or, no, control’s not even the right word. just letting go – like last night on the dance floor, like last week, like those sunday afternoons dancing barefoot in the mud and the dust at the renn faire. dancing til i’m out of breath, til my body aches, til i’ve reached a point of blissed out that even sex can hardly touch.

i have been in the habit of learning self-control for so long. i have had to control specific aspects of my life, my heart, and my schedule for the sake of self-preservation for so long. there are things i have to keep in just to keep it together. sometimes, though, you have to just let go.

and i would give anything to be in a place in my life where i could just let go and be and love and live because i know love can be like that drum circle, like that dance floor, like that exacto knife. because i have known love that leaves you out of breath, body aching, blissed out beyond reason. here i am writing this with pixels and characters for all to read: i want to let go

Basic Quiche Recipe

I put all sorts of strange stuff in my quiche, but here’s the basics:

9″ pie crust
1 1/3 C shredded cheese
3/4 C cream
1/2 C milk
3 eggs
salt & pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 375. Press pie crust in the bottom of a pie plate and bake, empty, for 10-15 minutes. This keeps the bottom crust from getting soggy. Beat the eggs, then stir together eggs, cheese, cream, milk, seasonings, and any other extras (meat, veggies, fruit, etc). Pour into empty pie shell. Alternately, beat together the eggs, cream, milk, then stir in the seasonings and cheese. In the bottom of the empty pie shell, make a layer of your veggies, meat, or fruit. Pour the egg mixture over the top. Bake 35-40 minutes at 375.

A few recommendations:
Granny Smith apples, onions, & swiss or mozzarella
red bell peppers, onions, & cheddar
roma tomatoes, peppers, onions, & a Mexican/taco cheese mix
ham, spinach, & swiss

Once (and just once) I had quiche with shrimp in it from Cafe Luna in Champaign. That violates the fish/cheese rule, but it was daring and fantastic. I think basically anything veggie that you can put on a pizza, you can also put in quiche. That may be bold and a misstatement, but it’s a good state of mind with which to approach quiche-making!

Pillsbury Pot Pie

Recipe courtesy of a Pillsbury pie crust box

2 9″ pie crusts
1/3 C butter
1/3 C chopped onion
1/3 C flour
1/2 t salt
1/4 t pepper
1/2 C chicken broth
2/3 C milk
2 1/2 – 3 C chicken or turkey
2 C vegetables

Heat oven to 425. Press one pie crust into an empty pie plate. It doesn’t hurt to bake the empty pie crust 5-15 minutes to prevent sogginess. In medium saucepan, melt butter. Add onion – cook 2 minutes or until tender. Stir in flour, salt, & pepper until well blended. Gradually stir in broth & milk, stirring constantly until bubbly & thickened. Add meat & vegetables. Remove from heat. Spoon mixture into empty pie shell & top with the second crust & flute edges. Cut slits in the top crust. Bake at 425 for 30-40 minutes or until golden brown.

There’s gotta be a good way to make this veggie. You can substitute veggie broth for the chicken broth, but, not having much experience with tofu, I’m not sure what to do with the meat. Any suggestions?

my body as god’s temple

right now there’s this hole inside of me and i feel like i’m trying everything to fill it – work, faith, friends, cooking, dancing, drinking, smoking, swimming, email, music, spending money, planning the future. but there’s still this hole.

i don’t need a relationship to be whole – and yet oh god i am so lonely. i have been alone for such a long time. my bed is empty, my heart is empty, and i feel like in every smile my need to be saved is incredibly evident. i want to take a lover just to remember what it is to be wanted again.

so many issues regarding faith have to do with my body. my body as god’s temple. it’s not a temple to me. it’s just a body. a body to inhabit, to use and enjoy before my organs start failing, one by one – before the cancers creep in, before old age and childbirth turn my skin and my flesh to something different. what’s the use of a body if it can’t be used to taste and dance and fuck and move and feel and experience? but if my body is a temple there is no fucking, no drinking, no excess, no hedonism, no pleasure.

but can there be a halfway between surrendering the spirit and retaining the body?