2 containers (5.3 oz) plain Greek yogurt
2 tablespoons olive oil
Juice of half a lemon
Pepper to taste
Garlic to taste (up to 3 cloves, minced)
Optional – 1 tablespoon chopped fresh dill.
Cucumber prep – Peel and then shred the cucumber (use a cheese grater for that part.) Put the results in a colander over a bowl. Add a little salt. Mix it in with your hands. Allow this to sit in the fridge for about 20 minutes. Then press the cucumber shreds down, even squeezing the mass with your hands. The goal is to get the majority of moisture out.
Concord foods reconstituted lemon juice instructions says that 3 Tablespoons equals the juice of on medium lemon – so for this recipe, use 1.5 Tablespoons.
Do not use flavored yogurt – even vanilla. The yogurt must be plain. Greek yogurt yields a better texture – regular yogurt will make this runny.
Mix all ingredients together. You can serve it immediately, but the flavors will be better if served the next day. Makes 5 generous servings.
1 can (15 oz) chick peas (also known as garbanzo beans)
2 Tablespoons za’atar spice blend (found in Middle-Eastern grocery stores)
1 ½ teaspoon salt
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 cup vegetable broth
Combine all ingredients in a glass bowl. Allow to marinate in the fridge at least 3 hours or up to overnight.
Drain the liquid away.
(A fine-mesh sieve works well, but you will have to scrape out the spices and add them back to the chick peas).
Spread the remaining mixture of chick peas and spices onto a large cookie sheet that you have put a layer of aluminum foil on.
Roast at 400 degrees for 40 minutes, turning half way through.
The result is crispy, crunchy, tasty chick peas. Serve with couscous and tzatziki sauce.
acrylic paint applied with fingers, buttons I bought in May in thrift and antique stores in North Carolina.
Inspired by this sight – a rust patina stained sidewalk, scattered with “helicopter” seeds, at the Monastery Immaculate Conception in Ferdinand, Indiana (April 2016)
And this sign at a craft store in Linville, NC, May 2016. It was a board, painted green, and the word “OPEN” was nailed on to it using soda-pop caps and nails. Allowed to rust outside in the rain.
And perhaps most importantly, my English grandmothers’ metal tin full of buttons.
I’m so sad that I’ve misplaced it. It had such a beautiful smell along with the sights of the buttons, the sound of them clinking together, the different textures (wooden, fabric, plastic, rubber, metal). I never met her, and I cherished those buttons. And now I can’t find the box. I’m sure it is in my craft room. More uncovering needs to happen. And I need to stop buying craft supplies and use what I have.
acrylic paint applied with fingers, “crushed glass” glitter, skeletons of leaves, canvas
Nothing makes sense anymore. All the things that used to work don’t. It is as if our teachers have left the room and we are now faced with a test and we can’t have our notes or books with us. It is as if we have been dropped into a deserted island and we have to figure things out on our own. All our old schedules and routines no longer apply.
I know that I am not alone in this feeling. It feels as if we all have gone through a week of our brains being stuck in molasses. It is very unsettling.
It is like we are at a strange stage of adolescence that we weren’t prepared for. Imagine how weird it is to be in the in-between state between being a inchworm and a butterfly. Have you seen how strange baby penguins look when they are getting their adult feathers? There’s that awkward part about maturing where our voices change and our body doesn’t seem to fit. But this evolution and growth is not something that we have seen before. We are not prepared for this. What are we growing into? What are we becoming?
And how do we navigate this new way of being? Who are our guides?
It isn’t just about cops killing black people. It isn’t just about cops being killed
It isn’t just all that which has gotten us all worried and concerned.
There is more. We forget all the incidences of mass murders that have happened in this country. We forget the incidences of rape that have occurred that have had no punishment for the rapist.
The issue at hand is all the various examples of random and unexpected violence that have occurred in the past several years. It doesn’t make any sense. It is violence that seems to come out of the blue. It is school shootings. It is shopping malls, it is movie theaters. It is anytime anyone out of the blue starts killing people who have done nothing to him. And that is the operative point. It seems that all of these incidences have involved single men acting alone, and often young white men. They’re angry at something in general but not someone in particular and they don’t know how to express their anger, so they kill the person in front of them. The thing that is most frightening about all of this is that it could happen to any one of us at any time. It is nothing that we can control or prevent.
We feel helpless and constantly on guard, but even being on guard won’t do us any good. It is as if we can do all the right things and still be victims. We haven’t angered anyone. We’ve done all that society expects us to do and still someone, randomly, on their own, can decide to kill us. It isn’t personal at all – it is as impersonal as it could possibly be.
We were terrified by Ebola and then the Zika virus. These two things are seemingly random and they can forever affect your life (if not end it). There was no way to avoid them. These incidents of random violence are the same. There is no way to prepare or prevent them from happening.
This is why we feel so helpless. We can’t legislate it away. We can’t do anything. Our “thoughts and prayers” seem to be falling on deaf ears.
To turn away from the newsfeed is to be accused of being indifferent. It is to be accused of “white privilege”. Tell us what we can do, and we will do it. Otherwise, to continue to drown in these stories is to be psychically attacked over and over.
It is difficult to get a good scan of my art in the spiral-bound art journal I use. But – it lays flat for working on. So I’m not sure how to fix this, or if I need to.
Created 7-10-16. Magazine images and words, fortune cookie message.
A meditation on how I need to break out of my comfort zone, and how I want to walk the Camino de Santiago de Compostella soon – next year is the goal. I cannot wait until I retire to start living my life. I may not have the energy or physical ability – or even be alive. Life is short and unpredictable. Better to start doing the “bucket list” things ASAP.
Let us approach the baptism font at the monastery of St. Meinrad’s Archabbey in Indiana. It is near the front doors, although almost nobody uses them because they are up three flights of stairs. Most use the side doors instead.
And now we look inside.
There is a constant bubbling of water in it. It is rather soothing to watch. It is big enough to put an infant inside.
Here is the base.
This next photo is very interesting. I was taking a picture of the altar, but with the light it looks like the font is the chalice on top of the altar. This is very appropriate, as the baptism font and the altar are connected symbolically. We enter the faith through our baptism. We are reminded of our redemption through communion.
I wonder what it is like for these priests to baptize, when they will never have children of their own (since they cannot marry or have sex)?
There is no reason from the Gospels why priests cannot marry. Peter, the “rock upon whom the church is built” was married before Jesus called him to be a disciple. (See MT 8:14-17, MK 1:29-34, or LK 4:38-41, when his mother-in-law was healed.) Jesus never said that his followers couldn’t be married. He also wanted us all to live communally and work together, sharing what we have with each other.