• Category Archives Cooking

  • It’s the Best Time of the Year

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Samain and the Moon of Growing Darkness

    Sunday gratefuls: Mark working his options. Mary. Turning cold and Snowy for Thanksgiving week. Thanksgiving at the Water Grill. Nexus, chilling and hopeful about A.I. Constitutional A.I. Anthropic’s Claude. ChatbotGPT. A.I.’s policing each other. Living. Cancer. Stable. Long tie guys quick appointments. Loyalty far and above competence.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Love

    Kavannah: Perseverance

    One brief shining: The coffee slides down my throat, the heavy mug with the Elk and the logo Evergreen reminds me of my current location as the caffeine hits my bloodstream and sleep begins to fall away, replaced by alertness, keystrokes and thoughts once again merge, another morning of Ancientrails under construction.

     

    Hitting the family Ellis in their various locations: Melbourne, K.L., Songtan. All from the top of Shadow Mountain. Thanksgiving week. Holiseason well underway. Diwali. Thanksgiving. Advent. Yule. Christmas. Hanukah. Kwanza.

    It’s that time of the year. My favorite. I love the lights, the music, the cheerfulness, the gatherings. The opportunity to celebrate life connections, to go deep into the psyche hunting for ohr, the light of creation. We’ve already had Divali and Samain both of which shared the same Gregorian dates this year. All Saints. Now Thanksgiving.

    I appreciate the layered ironies of all holidays. Light against the fading of Great Sol. The depth of learning available only in the darkness. The messy and ugly origins of Thanksgiving, yet its warmth and family focus now. Our need to see Native American stories. Christmas replacing the Roman blowout of Saturnalia with its too often ridiculous capitalist captivity. Hanukah and its noble martyrs who were far right Jews of their time and its gentler but still ridiculous capitalist captivity. Yule, its symbols taken over: The Christmas Tree. The Evergreen Holly and Ivy. The crackling Fire with the Yule Log. A wassail bowl. Singing and Feasting. Cultural appropriation of long ago.

    So much to appreciate, to probe.

    Then, less than a month from now, the least encumbered holiday of them all, the Winter Solstice. A celebration of life continuing in the darkest moments. The rich nurturing of nighttime, of a blanket of Snow, a bright Moon. The psyche free to roam in the oceans of the unconscious. A still turning point. Join me on that long night. Unless of course you live in the Southern Hemisphere where you’ll get naked and dance around the bonfires of the Summer Solstice. Looking at you, Australia. New Zealand. Africa. Most of Latin America.

     

    Just a moment: Reminded by all of the Thanksgiving recipes of my first attempt to cook a Thanksgiving meal. In my senior year of college, 1968-69, I worked as an 11 to 7 security guard at a factory that made magnalite cookware. For the Thanksgiving holiday they gave all employees a frozen Turkey.

    I dutifully took it home and put it in the freezer of the second story apartment I shared with John Belcher and Carter Fox. On Thanksgiving day I took it out and called my Aunt Marjorie to ask her what to do. She was a professional cook for the University.

    Imagine her surprise when I led with, “I have this frozen Turkey. What do I do with it?”

    As you could guess, my roommates and I went out for our Thanksgiving meal.


    Cooking Family Fourth Phase Holidays Memories

  • Cookin’

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Mabon (Fall) and the Sukkot Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Ruth. Dawn. Steel gray over Black Mountain. Cool. Dreams. Adults. UC Boulder. Transitional season. Mid-Fall. Drosophila brain. Europa Clipper. Uzbekistan. Diane’s trip. Mark and Mary in Malaysia. Mark headed to Saudi Arabia. The flyover from Israel to Iran. My son and Murdoch and Seoah, enjoying cooler weather at last. The Jang family planning a trip to Colorado. Next summer.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Ovid’s Metamorphosis

    Kavannah: Yirah

    One brief shining: Got out the mirepoix vegetables Carrot, Red Onion, Celery and the dutch oven, the Olive oil and the Cornish Game Hen, diced the Celery, then the Carrots and Onions, poured the Olive oil in the dutch oven, clicked to 7 on the induction stove, waited a bit, then used the flat side of my cleaver to drop the vegetables into the hot oil, sizzling, cooking slowly, when the onion turned translucent and the celery, too, I placed the Cornish Game Hen in the pot and poured Chicken Bone Broth in, steam rising as it hit the already hot dutch oven’s bottom, added enough water to cover the small Chicken, waited for a hard boil, clicked down to 2 for simmer, put the lid on and went off to read Jennie’s Dead while the soup cooked.

     

    Two significant notes here. The celecoxib (generic Celebrex) allowed me to stand long enough to cook. Something I’ve been unable to do for months. Chicken soup using a Cornish Game Hen instead of a full Chicken. Slowly gaining ground on cooking for one. Soups. Smoothies with protein powder. Sardines. Fruit. Want to make my own food, but the pain was in the way. Somewhat better is enough. Will probably still rely on takeout on certain days.

    Second. I’m reading further and further into Jennie’s Dead. Some of it is wonderful. IMO. Some of it I wonder why I wrote it. I can see a path through it though. Rearranging. Cranking up the conflict from the first page. Letting plot and characters develop in a more organic way. This and the cooking? Teshuvah. Returning to the land of my soul. The who I am. I am not the pain or the cancer; or better said, I’m not only the pain and the cancer. The who I am does not have to lie in waiting.

     

    Just a moment. 30 days. One month. In this corner, the orange menace, that molester of women, that felonius candidate, the man from Mar-a-Lago! His opponent the woman from California, former prosecutor and current Vice-President of the United States of America, Kamala Harris! This is a fight to a knockout. No winning on points.

    Now candidates, here are the rules. One of you will get 270 electoral college votes or more. That person will be the winner. Even if they lost the popular vote as Republicans have in every election since 2000. 270 plus electoral college votes is a knockout. No crying. No temper tantrums. One person leaves the stage, does not pass go, does not get sworn in to office on January 20th, 2025.


    Cooking Politics Writing

  • Oh, my

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Lugnasa and the Full Harvest Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: New credit card. Tom in Omaha. At the Air and Space museum. Good workout. Isaac coming today. Possible personal trainer. Ginny and Janice today. Cooling nights. Gold popping up here and there on Black Mountain. My son. His commitment. Palliative care. Sharpe. Salisbury Steak. A vegetable smoothie. Bad dreams.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Protein

    Kavannah: Teshuvah   Returning to the land of my soul

    One brief shining: Geez, ever have a night where the dreams stuck with you and you wish they hadn’t; last night I bought a used Porsche that had bald tires and rust, tried to preach in a synagogue bare foot which they said was ok, but couldn’t find my sermon, woke up agitated, out of sorts.

     

    What dreams may come. Must have been feeling insecure last night. Perhaps because I got a Groveland UU e-wire announcing their dissolution. Kate and I were a part of Groveland from the beginning and I preached there off and on even after we moved to Andover, then the Rockies. I tried to help them grow. Didn’t have much luck. A feeling of failure. Though I never was their minister except for a brief period. Guess it is a feeling of failure. As I write this, I feel bad. Sad. Inadequate. Groveland was the place Kate and I landed after I left the Presbyterians.

    Moods. As I’ve written. Need to return to the land of my soul. Which is here, today, this September 19th life of 2024. Shadow Mountain. Seeing friends. Living. How do I feel? Down. How do I feel? Grounded. How do I feel? Anxious. How do I feel? Sad. How do I feel? Inadequate. How do I feel? In my body. How do I feel? Grateful. How do I feel? Gathered in. How do I feel? Anxious. How do I feel? Surprised. How do I feel? Glad. How do I feel? Here. How do I feel? Sad/OK. How do I feel? Ashamed. How do I feel? Oh, yeah. How do I feel? In myself. How do I feel? Knowing. How do I feel? Back. Mostly

    What I learned here was why I never served as a pastor. Not me. I’m a political activist, an organizer, but never a minister. Even though I tried on the role briefly. Twice. Kate told me it wasn’t me. She was right. I wanted to work. To mean something. Sure, that’s fine. But I couldn’t get to that being someone I wasn’t. I didn’t have the right skill set to help a congregation grow unless I was a consultant, not of the congregation. And I was not meant for a pastoral role.

    I found work that mattered, that was me, in Andover. Gardener. Bee Keeper. Dog wrangler. Lumberjack. Cook. Husband. Writing. Learning. Oh, the joy I felt. We felt. How much time I wasted trying to fit into square holes when I was a plant shaped peg. A lover of dogs, plants, bees, writing, Kate.

    Here in Colorado I have a new focus. The Mountains. Judaism. Friends and Family. Writing. Learning. All about love.

     

     


    Cooking Dogs Dreams Family Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Garden Great Wheel Judaism Memories Minnesota Mountains Plants Shadow Mountain

  • The Jurupa Oak

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    The Mountain Summer Moon

    Sunday gratefuls: Churros and xocolate. Ham and creamed cheese. Mandarin oranges. The Mediterranean diet. Aspirational. Coffee. Bunn High Altitude Coffee Maker. Espresso roast beans. Veronica’s bat mitzvah party. Rabbi Jamie. Parsha Korach. Numbers. Aviva Zornberg’s Bewilderment. Reading. Plant hormones: cytokinin, auxin, gibberellin.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Evolution

    One brief shining: Pulled back the blue wrapper on the bar of xocolate from La Tienda, put chunks from it in a small pan with some milk after I placed the churros in my toaster oven, hit the induction button and pressed it up to six slowly stirring with a fork as the milk turned first light brown, then a deep chocolate as it thickened, the churros finished with an appliance ding, I poured the xocalate in a wide coffee cup and began dipping the churros.

     

    One thing tasted like I hoped. Churros and melted chocolate. Definitely an only on rare occasions treat. But yum. The Spanish serve it at breakfast and as a dessert. This is something that will stay on my broad menu. Though I admit it doesn’t bring me closer to the fruits, vegetables, whole grains and fish my inner dietitian recommends.

     

    Spent shabbat reading and watching TV. Napping. Relaxing after a rigorous workout week. Eating good food. At least good tasting food. Tarot cards. Working the subconscious through Woodland Guardians and the Wildwood deck. Reading parsha Korach and Aviva Zornberg’s commentary. Which also works the subconscious.

    The inner world equivalent of those deep submersibles. Scrunching myself up in the five of vessels, diving with the archetype of a dancing anima holding a Baccahanalian thysrus, twirling among candles. How low can I go? Or following the lost generation of Jews and their trust/distrust of the power that led them out of Egypt only to wander in the desert. The bee and the pomegranate taking me back to the Andover bee hives, the evenings with seeds encased in red. Thinking of Persephone.

    Shabbat. Friends. Food. Learning. Relaxing. Reinforcing my Jewish identity.

     

    iNature page on the Jurupa Oak

    Just a moment: the Jurupa Oak*. I’d never heard of it until cousin Diane sent me an article about it. This tree has lived for 13,000 years. California’s housing crisis could doom it. WP, July 5, Shannon Osaka.

    It is a clonal colony like the more well known Pando, a colony of Aspen in Utah, estimated to be 14,000 years old.

    Trees and their lives. Bristlecones and Sequoias and Coastal Redwoods and Lodgepoles and Aspen. Maples. Oaks. Wollemi Pines. Dogwood. Ash. Elm. Ironwood. Willows. Ponderosa. Douglas Fir. Colorado Blue Spruce.

    We live such short lives though we may travel far. The Tree stays rooted, lets the world travel around it, dancing and reaching for the Sky.

     

    *The Jurupa Oak, or Hurungna Oak,[1][2] is a clonal colony of Quercus palmeri (Palmer’s oak) trees in the Jurupa Mountains in Crestmore Heights, Riverside County, California. The colony has survived an estimated 13,000 years through clonal reproduction,[3][4][5] making it one of the world’s oldest living trees.[5] Wiki

     


    Cooking Plants Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant.

  • Transitioned

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Summer and the Mountain Summer Moon

    Shabbat gratefuls: Lengthening nights. Warm days. Spanish food for the Fourth. Judy Sherman. Kate. All those who suffer, yet are strong. Resilience. Workout yesterday. Joanne. Responsibility. Seeing, being responsive. Kavod. Honor. Teshuvah. Botany. Cambium. Phloem and xylem. Heartwood. Photosynthesis. Carbon Dioxide in. Oxygen out. Creating food for us all.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Energy into matter

    One brief shining: Got a thick cardboard box, heavy, filled first with crenelated paper, opened the larger box inside and removed the slices of acorn fed Iberian Jamon ham, of chorizo, of other ham slices, churros and xocalate, then the smaller box which contained Olives, grilled Peppers, nuts greeting my Fourth of July feast.

     

    Every once in a bit. I’ll see some food offering. In a grocery store, especially one like Tony’s. Or, online, maybe Wild Alaska or at the Spanish food site, La Tienda. The Store. My imagination gets caught by the marketer’s guile and visions of a scrumptious meal dance before my inner eye. Not real often. But on occasion.

    Less often, my eye’s dance, my inner tongue tastes the delicacies on offer and I reach for my money. The anticipation never matches the reality. Oh, if it only could. Sure the Jamon ham is tasty, but not in a lift off, send me to the moon way. The Olives are good as are the Peppers. Good, not amazing. I know. You’d think at 77 I would have learned. And mostly I have. But on occasion…

     

    Still no word from Rocky Mountain Cancer Care. Not sure why getting in to see these radiation oncologists is taking so long. Kristie put me on the Orgovyx to tamp down the cancer while I wait to get in, but it’s been almost three weeks and I don’t even have an appointment. I’ve jiggled Kristie and Rocky Mountain. Nada. I’m a bit frustrated. Ready to have these metastases radiated.

    I’m assertive about my care. In general and especially so with cancer, yet moving medical bureaucracies is no easier than moving corporate or governmental bureaucracies. Sometimes you have to wait.

     

    Back to the tarot deck. Pulling cards each day. Tarot tickles my inner compass, puts a probe down below my consciousness. Yesterday from the Wildwood Deck I turned over a five of vessels for the second time in three days. Ecstasy. Happiness. Realization of a dream. And from the Woodland Guardian deck, the Bee and the Pomegranate. Productivity. Hard work.

    Herme’s Pilgrimage has legs. Learning botany basics in a Coursera class from Tel Aviv University. Finished the Tree communication class from the New York Botanical Garden. Am reading my way through a book on Tree myths and one on old growth forests. Did a Google arts and culture search on Trees and got thousands of hits. This pilgrimage has a wandering path with Trees as a lodestar. For now. Plants, too.

    I have transitioned from the days of learning for my conversion and bar mitzvah to a new field of knowledge.

     

     

     

     


    Cooking Health Reimagine. Reconstruct. Reenchant. Reimaging revelation Tarot Writing

  • A day with texture

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Imbolc and the Cold Moon

    Shabbat gratefuls: New candle holders. Memorizing the prayer. Alan. Joe Mama’s. Rocket Bar. Wild Mountain Ranch. A dozen eggs and two beef tenderloins. New blinds. John Ellis. Evergreen Shutter and Blind. Shabbat. Parsha Yitro. Snow. Maybe in feet! Good sleeping. Israel. Hamas. U.S. Iran. Hezbollah. Saudi Arabia. Korea: South and North. Japan. Taiwan. Ukraine. Russia. U.S.A.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Wild Mountain Ranch, regenerative farming in Conifer

    One brief shining: Wouldn’t have found Joe Mama’s, again, if I hadn’t seen Alan sitting at a table near the window, and wouldn’t have thought it was a breakfast place anyhow since it had a pool table, not to mention the bar where three Wheatridge stalwarts sat each with a drink in front of them, one a yellow mug of beer, the others I couldn’t tell, at 9 am.

     

    Don’t usually go to bars. At all. Certainly not at 9 in the morning. But Joe Mama’s had moved from its ten foot wide spot on west Colfax to a new place in Wheatridge. Alan and I liked it, the food was good. We decided to try the new spot.

    They’ve become, I think, the kitchen staff for the Rocket Bar. A no frills spot which looks like the owner took over a small building that maybe housed a barbershop and a small bodega like grocery store. Four separate rooms. Pool table room. The room where Alan and I sat, larger and with tables, the bar room, a narrow area that might have been a wide hallway, and a fourth room with tables. The latter two rooms seemed to constitute the main working spaces for the Rocket Bar.

    Alan and I will not be going back. For one thing the politics of the place had a certain MAGA like feel. For another this alcoholic doesn’t like to eat breakfast while old guys belly up for their first shots of the day. Their choice, not disputing that. But my choice is not to be with them when they do that.

    Always good though to spend time with Alan. We discussed his and Cheri’s first in-home concert. Cheri floated after the morning. She loves music, loves playing, and arranging for others to hear music. And this time, at home. We also dissected the current state of Israel, Hamas, Gaza, the West Bank. Way complicated. But perhaps with a solid solution if Biden stays in office.

     

    Came home to be here when John Ellis, no apparent relation, came with my new blinds. They’re double honeycombed and have a slight green tint. The ones in my office will allow me to work in the morning without Great Sol in my face. The new blinds on the living room/kitchen floor improve on the faded ones that were there before. The blinds downstairs will reduce glare in the afternoons and early evening. It took John less than hour to install all of them. I paid him the balance due.

     

    After John finished, I hopped in Ruby to go find Wild Mountain Ranch, a local regenerative farm I discovered a week or so ago. Not an easy find. Had to turn left on a downhill slope of 285 onto a narrow dirt road. I needed to find Red Hawk Trail. Found it but it didn’t look like it went very far. Just behind Tucker’s horse training and riding facility. Drove past it, then noticed that it took a sharp right that I hadn’t seen. Turned around and went back. Down a steep slope on a muddy narrow road to the right hand turn.

    Drove a long ways on a one lane dirt road muddy from thawed Snow. All the while going up, a gentle rise. No signs for Wild Mountain Ranch. I had an address but I hadn’t paid attention since I imagined there would be a sign. The road ended in the driveway of the last house on Redhawk Trail. A man roughly my age came outside to see what I was up to. We chatted and he said,”Oh, yeah. You’re buying beef?” I nodded. “Turn around and go back down. It’s on the right and you’ll see some cattle, some big ones. A radical right hand turn.” Thanks, dude.

    Sure enough maybe a half mile further back from his small orange home I saw some Highland Cattle lounging in mud. I took a radical right turn, maybe 240 degrees, and found the parking lot. Rang the bell. Nothing happened. Rang it again. Still nothing. I went back to the car, found my phone and called. No answer. As I wondered what to do next, Brittany came out. “Have you been out here long?” No, not that long. She got my name went back in the house, got my dozen eggs and two tenderloins.

    Marketing and customer service are not Wild Mountain Ranch’s strong suit. At least not yet. I wanted to talk about their farm but Brittany seemed distracted. I’ll wait.

    Gonna go downstairs now and have a couple of their eggs before I workout.

     


    Cooking Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Jefferson County Judaism Mountains Shadow Mountain

  • Music to My Ears

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Winter and the Cold Moon

    Monday gratefuls: Names. Old names and new ones. Yisrael. Adonai. Names and concealment. Lobster pots. Humor. Hazel Miller. Her band. That parking ticket. Alan and Cheri. Their condo concerts. The 38th floor. Their balcony. Where are all the green roofs? The Front Range in the distance. Snow covered Blue Sky Mountain. The couple I met whose names I don’t recall. Surrender. Music.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Driving down the hill and back up again. With Joanne.

    One brief shining: Joanne gave me a precooked Rock Cornish Game Hen and revealed something that shook me; there are no such things as Rock Cornish Game Hens, instead we buy immature chickens of a cross between two breeds, the Cornish and the White Plymouth Rock, so you can think of them as the veal or the lamb of poultry.

     

    You probably knew that. I didn’t. Not sure why it shocked me but it did. In spite of an interesting day that news will stick me.

     

    Over to Joanne’s place and picked her up at 10 for a trip down the hill to Alan and Cheri’s condo smack in downtown Denver. Joanne’s driveway is well known at Congregation Beth Evergreen due to its one way, curvy final approach to her house. You drive up and back down a fair way to a turn around. Alan got hung up in the snow there three weeks ago and had to call a tow truck. Marilyn Saltzman has implored Joanne to make it a turn around. Joanne told me yesterday, “I’m going to fix this.” Many people will be happy, including, I imagine Joanne.

    We drove down I-70 and took 6th into the belly of the Denver urban jungle. Turned left on Santa Fe and drove through the arts district where I sometimes go on the first Friday of the month. Food trucks. All the galleries are open. Up to Speer Avenue, left toward the Convention center with its iconic blue Bear poised against it, then right on 14th to the Spire.

    Joanne is a delight to be with. So quick. And funny. We both laughed at the same time when, just as I finished grousing about I-25, my GPS said, “Take I-25 north on your right.” Her husband of many years, Allen, died a year and some months ago. May I reach 92 and be as with it as she is.

    The in-home concert, first in a monthly series, featured Hazel Miller. She’s in the Colorado Jazz Hall of Fame and a friend of Alan and Cheri’s. Cheri booked the Evergreen Jazz Festival for many years. Thirty people attended. Met some interesting folks.

    Back on Shadow Mountain after coffee at Joanne’s. Not till 2:30 pm. Out of the house at 9:15. One tired puppy when I got home. Also had my required maximum of human interaction for the week. But the week’s just gotten started.

     

    Ancient Brothers this morning. Workout. Acupuncture appointment this afternoon.

    When Kate and I went on cruises, my appreciation for the days at sea surprised me. Restful, focused on the Ocean. Realized this morning that I now have the same appreciation for days alone on my calendar. Restful, focused on being in the Mountains. Surrender.

                                                                                  Yisrael

     

     

     

     

     


    Cooking Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Judaism Music

  • Clever Business Model

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Winter and the Cold Moon with Snow

    Friday gratefuls: Marilyn and Irv. Irv’s resilience. Snow. Black Mountain gone. Alan. The jazz concert in his and Cheri’s condo on Sunday. Going with Joanne. Jazz. Mozart. That new CD player. Late night sessions with Coltrane and Miles Davis. (Late night for me, around 8 pm) Phone calls. Email. Text. A Snow day. A Fire later. While practicing my Hebrew. Tara. Rabbi Jamie. Janet. Anshel.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Irv

    One brief shining: Dr. Timothy O’Leary has tortoise shell glasses, a mask, and a kind heart as he takes his magnifying glass to this spot on my arm, then to another on my chest, oh this one we’ll freeze so it doesn’t become precancerous; taking the blue nitrogen pump off its spot on the table, he shields my eye, then sprays liquid nitrogen on my cheekbone which hurts a bit but not for long, that will scab over, otherwise everything looks good, make an appointment for a year from now, ah, I thought, an optimist.

     

    Annual skin checkup. Never a worshiper of Great Sol in the let this body bake on the beach as a tender sacrifice kind of guy I have less likelihood of skin cancer but you never know. Annual skin checks take about five minutes. And cost $10 with my current insurance. Cheap for the peace it gives.

     

    Went to Fountain Barbecue afterward. A new place located close to the medical building where I was already. An interesting setup. You come in and there are three computer screens. Like ordering from home online. You decide what you want, tap on it and add that item, 3 ribs for me. Then, mac and cheese. Oh, and Aunt Polly’s Pecan dessert. Swipe or insert your card on the right side of the screen.

    Part of the same business but up a couple of steps to the right as you come in is the Lazy Butcher. Not sure what the Lazy part means, but their cases are not pristine and carefully laid out. Maybe that’s it. Not dirty or haphazard just not that almost clinical look you find at the grocery store meat department. Didn’t look too closely but they have uncured bacon, perhaps I’ll get some later on for my next Hoppin’ John batch, steaks of various kinds. No fish. Just beef and pork. After I did a quick scan of the Lazy Butcher, I walked down the wheelchair ramp back to the barbecue.

    My name with #103 showed up on an l.e.d. screen under in process. Other names and numbers were in a column to the left.  Ready. A somewhat husky guy with a lazy or blind eye called out names. Charlie. When I got mine, it felt a little bit like encountering someone from the underworld offering you food.

    This is a clever setup. There was a hostess. The kitchen. And the guy handing out the food who probably works in the kitchen. No waitresses. The hostess cleaned tables and helped anyone who needed it with the computer ordering. About as low overhead as a restaurant can be. And, with the Lazy Butcher money can be made after processing the meat that comes in for the restaurant. One backroom feeding two businesses. Smart.

     


    Cooking Health

  • The American Day of Atonement

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Winter and the Cold Moon

    Thursday gratefuls: Marilyn and Irv. Rabbi Jamie and the American Day of Atonement. Black-eyed Peas. Hoppin’ John. A cold snap. The Winter Carnival. St. Paul. Irvine Park. The Aurora. Great Sol. Journeys around Great Sol. Birthdays. 77 for me next month. Minnesota. Up North. Lake Superior. Duluth. Ely. The Boundary Waters. Andover and its time in Kate and mine’s life. Kate, my sweet Kate.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Long journeys (77 x 584 million = 44 968 000 000 miles around the sun by age 77)

    One brief shining: About ten days late I have the ingredients for Hoppin’ John Black-Eyed Peas, Salt Pork, Hot Peppers, Garlic, Onion, Black Pepper, Chicken Stock, Ham, Kosher Salt and when I get back from seeing Irv I’m going to make it in the Dutch Oven now clean of hard Water scales and shiny like the day I bought it so Happy New Year!

    Looking forward to cooking up the Hoppin’ John. I also got Corn bread mix. Famous Dave’s. Gonna cook up some frozen Collard Greens, make Corn bread. Have myself a Southern Happy New Year’s meal tonight.

     

    Going over to see Irv in rehab. He’s been there since he left St. Joe’s after his surgery. An odd fact. His rehab place requires a left turn on Lone Tree’s Lincoln Avenue. When I went to have my prostate removed and for all my radiation sessions, I turned right on Lincoln. Old folks pathway I guess.

     

    Got my beard trimmed yesterday at Jackie’s. It never got bushy, just scraggly. Decided to give up on it. I think she was relieved.

     

    Attended by zoom the American Day of Atonement at CBE. Luke worked on it along with Rabbi Jamie. The concept comes from Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. Doing it on the 10th of January puts it close to Martin Luther King Day while duplicating the ten days after the Jewish New Year of Rosh Hashanah. Wanted to be there in person but I find going out at night something I don’t want to do. Especially in Winter. I feel bad about not showing up yet I also honor my reluctance.

    So. Zoom. Which has its difficulties. Last night speakers who zoomed in were loud and clear. Bishop Robert Martin talked about working together to give each other the internal strength to face racism and anti-semitism. Rabbi Jamie invoked Abraham Lincoln. Attorney General Phil Weiser gave what I considered the best speech of the evening calling on us to embrace the American Dream of a diverse nation of citizens equal before the law. We can and we will, he said, overcome our divisions. May it happen soon.

    If the American Day of Atonement could catch on in other cities, focused on at least bringing together African-American and Jewish activists, it could have a major impact. This is the third one. The weather timing is against it. Not many folks showed up at CBE. Not sure how to overcome that. I appreciate all the energy Luke and Rabbi Jamie have put into it so far.

     

     


    Colorado Cooking Feelings Fourth Phase Friends Holidays Judaism Politics

  • Coffee in my Vinegar

    Posted on by Charles Comment

    Winter and the 1% crescent of the Winter Solstice Moon

    Wednesday gratefuls: Getting things done. Fixing (mostly) my casement window. Self-limiting talk. Great Sol. Black Mountain. Irv. Marilyn. Tara. Alan. Tom and his lev. The Zen calendar. Bill. Paul. Mark. Ruby. Kate on brightening up a room. Jon. His art. His quick mind. My son and Seoah and Murdoch. Shemot. Exodus. Ruth and Gabe and Mia. Domo on Sunday. Applewood Village. Friday.

    Sparks of Joy and Awe: Sardines

    One brief shining: The way it goes quiet then a rush with the American Day of Atonement tonight, Thursday a trip to Parker to see Irv, Friday Wheatridge for breakfast with Alan, Sunday Domo with Ruth, Gabe, and Mia in between sleeping and cooking and reading up on Jewish classical texts for my conversion session with Rabbi Jamie and learning my Bar Mitzvah Hebrew portion.

     

    Yeah life went from will I go upstairs or downstairs to I will go all over the place, down the hill and back up the hill. Nice to have variety. All of it good, rich, significant in my tiny universe. Life on the Mountain of Shadows.

     

    While much of the U.S. encounters wild and dangerous weather, those of us on the Front Range have had a real Minnesota January. Temps below zero tomorrow. In the single digits at night for over a week. Some Snow.

    My casement window in my bedroom wouldn’t shut. And it was cold outside. I googled casement windows, found a screwdriver, trekked out in the Snow. As you might expect, none of the information on the internet helped. Frustrating. Until. What’s that gouge? Looked under the window. Yep, a screw had worked its way loose and impeded the window on its way to full closure. A few turns of the screw et voilá. All fixed except for the gouge which will require a file. Which I don’t have. But I will.

    Agency. Yes.

    I have a high altitude coffee maker. It keeps a reservoir of hot water so coffee brews quickly rather than waiting on the slow boil of 8,800 feet. In cleaning it I ran a coffee pot full of vinegar through it, then a pot full of fresh water. Done. So I thought. Made a pot of coffee, took the cup up to a zoom call with the Ancient Brothers. Took a sip. Yep. I had coffee brewed not with water but vinegar! Another fresh water pot through the system. Still vinegary. It took yet another fresh water pot to get the vinegar calmed down.

    Those things we do to keep life managed to some extent.

     

    Meanwhile in the alternate universe of U.S. politics. Iowa votes. Then, New Hampshire. 45 sits in at his appeals court hearing. Yesterday Lauren Bobert did not punch or grope anyone. At least so far as the news knows. Colorado continues its quirky political path with no sitting Republican Representatives running in this next election.

    Also. News I’ve not shared before. We have terrible mail service in the Mountains. I don’t, but most of my nearby neighbors do. Mark, my mail carrier, is a pro and has been consistently good since we got here. Elsewhere packages don’t come, mail gets delivered to the wrong address or not at all. The post offices have high staff turnovers and face closure to consolidate operations. Our entire congressional delegation is on this, but the pace is soooo slow.

     

     

     

     


    Cooking Politics Shadow Mountain