Word Count Blogathon Day 11: Relaxed Morning Pages

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise.  The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. 

~ Sylvia Plath

The key to Morning Pages is to relax. 

There is no one looking over your shoulder but you.  The point is to free write and get the ink flowing.  I know I’ve said this before, but at least for me, my poor little brain [or psyche] cannot seem to remember!  It stubbornly reverts back to an impossibly high standard that not even Jane Austen could reach!

Writers are human too.  [Although I swear I have ink in my veins instead of blood.]  We hear voices.  Some are good: they are the voices of our characters. Or the voices of supportive friends and family encouraging us to keep writing.  Some are downright evil: the voices of non-supportive friends and family, editors with an axe to grind [thankfully I’ve found those to be a minority!].  But our single worst enemy? 

Ourselves.

Our own fears, doubts, negative [and false] self-image.  We are the only obstacle holding us back.  Having lived with this type of harsh self-criticism for much of my life, I have tried various methods to silence them.  And I’ve discovered that I can’t really shut them up.  I need to shut them out.  Hire a second, bigger chorus to sing louder and in more beautiful tones in order to drown them out. 

This is the only way I have attained any peace, any writing sanity.

The alternative is to end up with an office strewn with unfinished manuscripts, half-begun short stories and un-submitted poems.  Oh, we use all sorts of excuses to explain our unfinished business: fear of rejection, haven’t found the right editor, it’s already been said before, etc., etc.  Rejection is indeed difficult to take, and finding the right editor and publisher is key, but there is more than one editor/publisher out there and in this age of self-publishing and blogging, those two excuses fade like dandelions gone to seed.

As for the excuse that it’s already been said before [oh yes, writers think this sometimes!], perhaps it has.  Actually, yes, it has.  But it has never been said with your voice, your heart, your experience.  We are each unique and un-repeatable gifts, with something very valuable to offer the world.  Your voice, your pen – is very much needed.

So get out there and write!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Word Count Blogathon Day 10: Haiku

Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric;
out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry. 
~ W.B. Yeats

The theme for today's Blogathon post is to pen a haiku.  According to Wikipedia, a haiku "is a very short form of Japanese poetry typically characterised by three qualities:

• The essence of haiku is "cutting" (kiru).^[1] This is often represented by the juxtaposition of two images or ideas^[2] and a kireji or 'cutting word' between them, a kind of verbal punctuation mark which signals the moment of separation and colours the manner in which the juxtaposed elements are related.^[3]
• Traditional haiku consist of 17 on (also known as morae), in three phrases of 5, 7, and 5 on respectively.^[4] Any one of the three phrases may end with the kireji. Although haiku are often stated to have 17 syllables,^[5] this is inaccurate as syllables and on are not the same.
• A kigo (seasonal reference), usually drawn from a saijiki (歳時記), an extensive but defined list of such words. The majority of kigo, but not all, are drawn from the natural world. This, combined with the origins of haiku in pre-industrial Japan, has led to the inaccurate impression that haiku are necessarily nature poems."

But of course I like to colour outside of the lines.  So my haiku is 5-6-5.  Enjoy!

Within the circle
Freedom to fly away
Attached, love's anchor.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Word Count Blogathon Day 9: Staring Down the Page

So often is the virgin sheet of paper more real than what one has to say,

and so often one regrets having marred it. 

~ Harold Acton, Memoirs of an Aesthete

The urge to write is always with me ~ a slow, agonizing burn just below the skin.  Unfortunately, the only times I attempt to cool the flames is when I am supposed to be doing something else!  Then I write, scribble, and underline like one gone mad.

Give me a whole day: ten or twelve pristine and unblemished hours and I can write. . . .nothing.  Not.  One.  Bloody.  Word.  No coherent thoughts, useable imagery or discernable feelings.  Nothing except the overwhelming urge to do anything but write!  I stare at the huge expanse of white paper and have a sudden urge to cook.  Or call up a friend.  Or go for a walk.  Or sleep.  Argh!  Why is that? 

A good writer needs not only raw talent, but plenty of self-discipline.  And good writing habits.  The number one of which is writing every day.  Hence my joining the Blogathon.  And yet here I am, three blank days haunting me!  And that only partly due to the imbibing of good alcohol over the weekend  ~ Saturday was the Kentucky Derby.

Friday I had two great ideas to blog about; Saturday the same.  But two late nights in a row went by with nary a word dripped upon the page.  When Sunday rolled around, I had lost all four ideas.  Mourn.  Weep. Gnashing of teeth.

Lucky for me, I had been doing my Morning Pages for enough time that I had the threads of other thoughts, lines of poetry, and snippets of ideas for other posts just waiting to be woven into a completely new idea.

So write every day, whether you post or not.  It may save writing face in the near future!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Word Count Blogathon Day 5: Once Upon a Time. . .Where Stories Come From

Writing is a kind of double living.  The writer experiences everything twice. 

Once in reality and once in that mirror which waits always before or behind. 

~ Catherine Drinker Bowen

“This must a pleasant commute home for you tonight!”** 

The woman’s smile was rueful yet cheerful, her elongated “As” making me think of Michigan or Wisconsin.  “Where are y’all from,” I asked.  A small Wisconsin town [bingo!], population 1,800. 

Or was it 18,000?

I don’t remember.  Nor do I remember the name of the town.  We only struck up a conversation as I got off with their group of about eighty excited kids and cheerful adults at the same metro stop.  Too late to find out any really interesting details ~ why they were in D.C., was it their first trip, which school were they from, whether any of them were dairy farmers, etc.

Which is a shame.  Because that is one way stories are born.  By keeping ones eyes and ears open, observing the people, events, and landscape right in front of us.  Colourful regional expressions: y’all, yous guys, ya dair. Facial expressions: usually the metro ride consists of worn, exhausted, bored, and full out asleep.  Snippets of conversation ~ like I had with the Wisconsinites ~ that can be used as dialogue.  Or problems and issues discussed that can be worked into a story or poem. 

All writers use “prompts” ~ devices to get the grey cells brewing and the ink flowing.  But some of the best prompts are all around us.  We just have to stay awake long enough to pick them up.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

**My commute actually was pleasant for once. Their group was better behaved than most of the adult commuters I usually ride with!

Word Count Blogathon Day 4: Five Favorite Books

Except a living man there is nothing more wonderful than a book!  A message to us from the dead, - from human souls whom we never saw, who lived perhaps thousands of miles away; and yet these, on those little sheets of paper, speak to us, teach us, comfort us, open their hearts to us as brothers. 

~ Charles Kingsley

I love having lines ~ so I can colour outside them.  Today’s suggested Blogathon Theme: The Five Favorite Books on Writing.  A wonderful idea, except that I do not have five favorite books on writing.  I do not think I even have five books on writing at all!  I read a lot of writer-ly blogs and have taken a couple of creative writing courses.  And I do own a couple of books on the craft of writing.

But mostly I just read.

And great readers become good authors.  [Or so I’m told.]

It was a difficult choice, but here is a list of my Five Favorite Books of All Time in no particular order:

Brideshead Revisited [Evelyn Waugh] – A modern classic about faith, friendship and wine that “is heaven with strawberries.”  When I was an undergrad, about four or five of us would sit around in the evening after class, drinking tea and reading everything from England’s Literary Golden Years – both 18^th and 20^th century.  Oh to have that much free time to read again!  [By the way, Jeremy Irons is Charles Ryder and Anthony Andrews is Sebastian Flyte.  Any other movie version is dross next to their exquisitely acted piece.]

Pride and Prejudice [Jane Austen] – Do I really need to say anything here?  I wish more men would read Austen.  Her works are classic literature, written with style, grace and razor-edged wit.

Lord of the Rings [J.R.R. Tolkein] – The man created his own language. What more can I say?  It is an incredible work, which I read as a child and had no problem understanding or “getting into.”  I have encountered more than a couple of people who “didn’t get it” or thought it was boring.  Poor things.  I do not think they have any imagination at all!

Anne of Green Gables Series [L.M. Montgomery] – I was Anne, although my hair is  brown with auburn highlights.  During my junior high days, those books were a balm and an escape like no other books.  I have not re-read them in awhile ~ maybe it’s time to dust them off!

Room with a View [E.M. Forester] – I confess, I did not read the book until after I had seen the movie.  But I love them both!  And reading about Lucy Honeychurch’s adventures in Italy led me to read Under the Tuscan Sun by Frances Mayes [that movie was nothing like that book!] and dream of owning and renovating my own villa someday.  And that is part of what reading is for ~ to dream even bigger than we thought possible. 

Who knows, maybe those dreams will turn into words, and words into actions, and actions into habits and habits into our destiny.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

What are your five favorite books of all time and why do you love them? Have they inspired you to dream big and follow your destiny?  Email me or drop a note in the comm box!

Word Count Blogathon Day 3: Morning Pages

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say. 

~ Anaïs Nin

I am not a morning person.  So the idea of Morning Pages: getting up in the morning and filling up three pages with the first things that come to mind in long-hand is daunting.  Not that I mind writing long-hand ~ I have over fifteen pen pals that I write long-hand letters to and most of my blog posts begin in long-hand.

But filling up three pages?!  In the morning?!

I have tried it once.  It was a freeing experience.  But then I forgot about it, didn’t feel well, needed to meet a work deadline, blah, blah, blah.    So I plan to write them tomorrow  morning.  Every writing blog I follow that mentions Morning Pages swears by them: for emptying the mind, getting into the flow of writing [especially writing every day] and for putting on paper all those ideas for characters, poetry, articles, etc. that have been floating around in your head.

Wish me luck!

Oremuc pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Word Count Blogathon Day 2: Fighting Fear

I don't do the good things I want to do. I keep on doing the evil things I don't want to do. 
~ St. Paul, Romans 7:19

In this case, the good I want to do and do not do is write.  The evil thing I do not want to do but do anyway is procrastinate.  And yet, if I do not write, I suffer.  All those words, lines of poetry, lyrical sentences, article topics ~ they frolic around in my head, kick up a ruckus and clamour to get out and make a good night's rest practically impossible until I do so!

Writing is as natural as breathing to me. Why then do I continue to suffocate myself?

Fear.

Fear of being imperfect.

Fear of being rejected.

Fear of being misunderstood.

Fear of being ignored.

As I have mentioned before, fear of being imperfect is a lie that blocks the real from taking root and blossoming.  How can we hope to become better writers, singers, painters, chefs, architects, etc., unless we write, sing, paint, cook, draw, etc.? 

We are such strange creatures.  We would rather stay in a wretched spot that is familiar then move to a Paradise we do not know.  An almost insane desire to stay in our comfort zone.  Don't get me wrong.  I understand change is difficult.  But that is why we have each other ~ for support, for encouragement, and for the unconditional acceptance.  Not just for the changes we are making, but for who we are right now.  And therein lies the secret. 

First I must accept who I am right now ~ a talented but procrastinating writer. And second, I must let go of fear.  It has been a familiar companion, but it is time we parted ways.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

Are you still holding on to fear?  In what ways have you overcome your fears?  I love hearing from you!

May 2011 Blogathon!

A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket. 

~ Charles Peguy

It is official!  I have joined Word Count's Blogathon for May!  30 days, 30 posts. Whew!  Two reasons I joined up:

1. To develop the habit of writing every day.

2. To become a better writer.

And of course, here I am getting it in at the last minute.  But it counts and we begin with small steps!

Write on!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

The End of One Journey. . .

Trouble is a part of your life, and if you don't share it, you don't give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough.
~ Dinah Shore

Christ is Risen!  Alleluia!  He is truly risen!  Alleluia!

Well, dear readers, I did it.  I made it through forty [almost] days of macrobiotic eating.  In the home stretch I fell off the wagon.  Make that I fell off, got my foot caught in the reins and was dragged kicking and screaming into the Easter Triduum.  But I made it!  And I have to say, I've grown quite fond of brown rice and I shall continue to eat as macro as much as I can [with an occasional loaf of rosemary olive oil bread thrown in here and there] as well as avoiding eating out [the other thing I gave up] unless out with friends.

So why haven't you heard from me in over a month?

No one treads more lightly in revealing personal items then a writer or a lyricist.  Sometimes it helps to connect with the reader/listener.  Other times it gets in the way of the message.  In this instance, est quid est.

My father, God bless him, is eighty-seven.  Once the strongest man in the world, he inches across the floor with a cane.  More than once, his legs have just given up and he winds up bruised.  My mother is much younger than he is and does her best to take care of him and hold down a full time job.  I spend as many weekends with them as I can, but each time I leave, I wonder if it will be last time I see him.

Every phone call from home stops my heart.  Every unanswered ring fills me with agony.  I am consumed with Death, yet am a coward when it comes to talking about the practical matters that must be settled before the inevitable happens.

They say worrying doesn't add one year to your life; in truth, I think it subtracts them.  It certainly takes over conscious and unconscious thought and that does not always leave room for coming up with upbeat and artsy topics or essays. However, since writing is therapeutic for me, I will try to weave the two together, especially since May is Blog-Every-Day Month.

In the meantime, I hope you will understand if sometimes there is radio silence.  Some suffering just can't be expressed in black and white.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

P.S. Prayers for my family are always appreciated!

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 17

Strength is the capacity to break a chocolate bar into four pieces with your bare hands - and then eat just one of the pieces. 

~ Judith Viorst
Well, dear readers, I have no strength.  When faced with the daunting task of walking away from a jar of chocolate-covered salted caramels, I walked away ~ with three caramels.  What can I say?  The spirit is willing to eat rice, but the flesh is used to wearing chocolate.* 

The last couple of days have not been uber great days, macro wise.  Although I must say that after dinner last night, I found myself craving more brown rice.  What is more likely is that I was dehydrated from the salted caramels.  So I promptly ate some pita chips and drank a 1/2 liter of water.

Macrobiotics ~ at least the way Jessica Porter puts it ~ is a forgiving way of eating.  And I have to learn to forgive myself and see food in a different light.  Food is not an evil enemy that blocks me from fitting into that sexy little black dress.  Trans fats, refined sugar, white flour ~ they are not sitting on the shelf with long fangs, laughing maniacally at me, or running after me in the grocery store and jumping into my shopping basket.  Saying no is a viable option.  And if sometimes I fall off the grocery cart, I can get back up and head straight to the produce section and the bulk whole grains section and re-center my body. 

This isn't about eating perfectly.  It's about eating harmoniously and in balance ~ with what the body actually needs [not what the psyche ~ like a spoiled five year old brat ~ wants] and with what is in season.

How relaxing and forgiving is that?!

Today I am heading out of town and into the country for some much needed R&R and time with my parents, who as you know are getting older and less able to manage things.  One of the great things about being back at the homestead is that there is no internet and my cell phone gets a sporadic signal.  It is very peaceful to unplug, unwind and just enjoy being.  If I were more organized, I would have written up some posts for you to enjoy while I am away, but I am still working on writing every day period!

May your weekend be filled with harmony, peace, mounds of brown rice and the strength to get back to center.

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

*Well, where else do you think all that yummy fat goes!? ;)

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 14

Eating rice cakes is like chewing on a foam coffee cup, only less filling.

~ Dave Barry

Did I really say I would turn macro for 40 days?!?  What was I thinking!?  I need to be locked up ~ preferably in a kitchen stocked with more than brown rice, leafy greens and colourful, cruciferous veggies.  Argh!!

What!?  Did you think that the life of newbie macro was as easy as pie?  [Oh no, do not think of pie!  Especially crust made with lard and white flour ~ Gah!]  Deep breathes.  Why are we doing this, Mikaela?  To strip away our addictions [caffeine, sugar, white flour].  To obtain balanced energy.  To re-center our energy and bring our focus back on the essentials of life: faith, creativity, relationships.

I am not doing a pure brown rice fast ~ that would be madness when I have a full social schedule.  But the past two days I’ve eaten nothing but brown rice with leftover pesto and some brown rice bread with honey.  Woo!  Time for some more greens, mushrooms and onions to go with it!

And some extra sleep ~ I am still trying to get back my lost “spring” hour!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 12

When baking, follow directions.

When cooking, go by your own taste.

~ Laiko Bahrs

Saturday presented an interesting challenge to my new macro cooking.  I hosted a dinner for about ten friends and since it was St. Joseph's feast day ~ a solemn feast day ~ there was an abundance of good Virginia wine, rich food and gourmet ice cream for dessert.  One of the great foundations of macrobiotics is balance and moderation, so I used that as an excuse to treat my guests [and myself, hee!] to scallops  sauteed in butter and garlic and served on beds of fresh made spinach and basil pesto, chicken breasts stuffed with crabmeat, green onions and garlic and baked in white wine and butter, creamy mash potatoes and steamed asparagus.

There was not a speck of brown rice to be found on the table and that made me sad actually.  I missed its nutty, chewy comfort.  I did partake of the chicken and scallops, but kept to my fast from the potatoes [which in addition to being a deadly nightshade, also had heavy cream] and of course, the ice cream.  When I first gave up dairy, it was a real sacrifice.  But now that I am healthier without it, I only get a twinge of dairy-envy once in a blue moon.  Goat cheese ice cream with cognac figs is one of those times when I curse the gods of lactose intolerance.  Sigh.

This morning I sauteed some mushrooms, garlic, leftover asparagus and onion and added some brown rice.  It was good to be back to center.

Now off to get a good night's sleep!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 9

The beet is the most intense of vegetables. The radish, admittedly, is more feverish, but the fire of the radish is a cold fire, the fire of discontent, not of passion. Tomatoes are lusty enough, yet there runs through tomatoes an undercurrent of frivolity. Beets are deadly serious.
~ Tom Robbins

Tonight's macro dinner brought to you by the lowly beet.  Actually, tonight's dinner was three shades of  purple now that I think about it.  Purple cabbage, red onion [which is really purple], and beets [which are red, I know, but purple-y red].  I mixed in spinach, garlic, the ever present yellow curry, and a couple pinches of salt.  The result was a lush, earthy mix that was also quite heavenly. 

Last night I soaked about 4 cups of black beans.  The ebony lovelies cooked up well in vegetable broth and spring water and a few cloves of garlic.  Once they were tender, I added them to a pan of brown rice ~ which I had cooked last night, and lightly stir-fried them.  With the purple veggie mix on top, it was just what the macro doctor ordered ~ and I didn't miss the meat this time.  Yay me!

I felt so great I hopped on the treadmill for a bit.  I have not developed the runner's high yet, so when I work out, I still get pleasantly stretched and sleepy.  Which is good, because I'm still adjusting to "springing forward!"

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

An Abbey Poetry Party

The act of putting pen to paper encourages pause for thought,

this in turn makes us think more deeply about life,

which helps us regain our equilibrium. 

~ Norbet Platt

It's a poetry party and you're inivited!  Christine Valters Painter at Abbey of the Arts is hosting a poetry party and you're invited!  I just discovered Christine's beautiful and peaceful blog.  It is like a virtual meditation garden!  Thank you for hosting, Christine!

My contribution to the party:

Green blades, tiny

Strong from the struggle,

the primal desire

to catch the caress of the sun

if only for a few hours,

finally push their way through earth’s jealous heart.

© March 2011 Mikaela D’Eigh

Happy [almost] spring writing!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 8

What most moved him was a certain meal on beans.

~  Robert Browning

I have been seduced by the bean. 

Sitting at my desk with my lunch of last night’s brown rice, catfish and other various bits of macro edibles, I wondered why the passion was gone after only eight days.  I have no intention of leaving brown rice ~ I am fully committed to this relationship.  But for some reason, the catfish creation thang ain’t got that swing ~ at least not today.



photo from Indra at http://www.scribblingpad.com/

And then it struck me like a kitchen cabinet door left open.  No beans in this dish.  When I made dinner on Monday night, it was sublime.  There was no hesitation, no dutiful must-eat-to-stay-alive grimace ~ you dove right in for seconds.  And the only difference is that little dish had kidney beans and this little dish has none. Waah! So tonight’s dinner will have to include beans, most definitely.

And my CSA box is being delivered tonight ~ a fresh box of culinary possibilities.  Fresh squeezed orange and grapefruit juice for breakfast tomorrow ~ hurrah!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 7

The trick is making memory a blessing,
To learn by loss the cool subtraction of desire,
Of wanting nothing more than what has been,
To know the past forever lost, yet seeing
Behind the wall a garden still in blossom.
~ Dana Gioia

Maybe it is the amount of brown rice I have been eating the past seven days. Or perhaps it is the act of writing about eating brown rice for the past seven days. Whichever it is, my writerly Muse is on a roll.  Today I followed some tips from my virtual mentors over at Write to Done and re-worked a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. 

My first exercise was to highlight all the nouns and verbs in any poem and replace them with synonyms.  I chose Dana Gioia's The Lost Garden because it is a favorite of mine.  It was a strange but interesting exercise.  It made me more aware of word choice and how important an extensive vocabulary is to a writer.  Then Sullivan suggested I change something in each line that shifted the focus of the poem.  By the time I was finished, I had a very cool poem about loss and decay [what can I say, I am a melancholic at heart] and also had several original lines and word couplings that I saved for future creative use.

So, thank you, faithful readers for embracing my Muse.  And thank you, brown rice, for waking her up!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

P.S. Dinner was...dun du da...brown rice with catfish, kale, garlic, green onions and purple cabbage. Mmm!

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 6

Writing is a struggle against silence. 
~ Carlos Fuentes
Last month I confessed my obsession with the perfect phrase.  I resolved to write more, even if the end product was not as "perfect" as I thought it could be.  But like most sinners ~ or wayward writers ~ my good intentions dissolved and I fell into the two cardinal sins of writers: procrastination and laziness.

The only way to get over a bad habit [not writing enough] one must practice the opposite good habit [writing more] for at least thirty days.   For me, this means writing every day.  So six days ago, I embarked on a Lenten journey of eating only whole grains and vegetables and resolved to blog about my culinary adventure.  By doing so, I take my confession a step further.  Not so much by doing penance as making amends for all the posts, poetry, prose and lyrics that never saw the light of the computer monitor because they were not profound or perfect enough. 

My macrobiotic venture is about more than food or healthy living.  It is about being accountable: to both myself as a writer and to you, my readers. And being the lazy, procrastinating writer that I am means I need a good excuse to do that.  Hence, for the next forty days I have a built-in excuse. 

Perfect.

Except…..what in the world do I write about today?  I am not cooking tonight because I was so good and did most of my cooking yesterday.  Panic ensues.  Fingers freeze, waiting for brilliance to drip from my pen.  And only....silence.

Don’t get me wrong.  Silence can be healing.  A chance to grow closer to God [or whatever name you give to the Infinite Other or Higher Power].  An opportunity to dig deeper into why we do the things we do or react the way we do.  But the point of silence is growth outward. 

And then I remembered: another point of silence is patience.  Sometimes the fruit needs to stay on the vine a little longer for the wine to be sweeter.  In my case, I just needed to mull things over on the commute home and stand in my kitchen for a nano-second for the rest of this post to pop in my frying pan ~ literally.  Yes, I was good yesterday ~ I cooked enough for myself for the next three days. 

But I was going to my book group tonight and as everyone knows, you cannot read a book with a group of your girlfriends without having food be a part of the mix!  But now that I am macro, how was this going to work?  They were used to me bringing fried chicken and chocolate!  Even I have to admit that next to that, brown rice sounds as exciting as a trip to gastroenterologist. [Which you will have to do a lot of if you do NOT eat enough brown rice, by the way.]

In the end, I made a brown rice, kidney bean, garlic and onion dish with a dash of Cajun spices and yellow curry and let the dish speak for itself.  They oohed and ahhed over it and even my friend who is a picky eater went back for thirds.  They may grow tired of hearing about the macro way of eating, but they won't get tired of eating my macro creations!  Ahhh ~ it is good to know I have not lost my culinary "wow" factor.

Or the ability to make the ink dance across a page.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 5

Cooking is an art, but you eat it too.
~ Marcella Hazan

Yesterday I was a busy macro chick:  buying medium grain brown rice, kasha, aduki beans, and black beans, along with kale, cabbage, fennel, onions and fresh fruit.  Mmmm!  I was also a little naughty: six bottles of wine from Best Cellars.  What?!  It goes well with whole grains! 

Sullivan also come by and we spent the afternoon writing, then it was off to a music jam party.  Music and writing ~ my two passions.  [Along with cooking of course.] It felt good to be using both talents again.  Hence, no post yesterday. 

Today's task was to make good macro food for the week.  First, I made a huge pot of brown rice.  Then I sauteed some fresh kale with garlic, green onions, purple cabbage, pepper, a dash of curry [one of my favorite spices ~ have I mentioned that?] and a little sea salt.  I also fried up some catfish [minus the breading] with fresh squeezed lemon and lime juice. 

In another pan, I browned chopped andouille chicken sausage for a special treat and mixed in some more kale, garlic and the now cooked brown rice.  Don't knock until you try it.  So mission sort of accomplished: enough for three lunches and one dinner.  Wednesday, my CSA box from Washington Green Grocer arrives, so there will be time to make more lunches and dinners fresh from the farm.  Yay!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 3

I am nice.  I am. . . .rice.
~ Jessica Porter

Day 3 was not nearly as exciting as Days 1 and 2.  My rice and peppers lunch stared back at me soullessly.  I stared back, daring it to make my culinary heart go pitter-pat.  It did not.  Thankfully, I had just juiced some fresh oranges, grapefruit, and apples.  Ahhh! Bliss returns! And the organic sugar scrub I made from the pulp?!  Let's just say I had a great shower and leave it at that!

For dinner I added black beans to the mix and made a Cuban-style black beans and rice dish.  Much more exciting than lunch!  I think I failed to put enough spice in before.  I am not quite rice yet.  But then I am still struggling to figure out my place on this journey to more whole foods.  One change I have noticed already: I have not been tempted to eat out of mere boredom.  This is due in part to it being Lent, but also I am more conscious of what goes into my body.  I also felt more in tune with my surroundings today.  Cool.

* * * * *

Ugh.  I just found out that peppers are considered a deadly nightshade, along with . . . . potatoes?!?!  NOOOOOOO!!!!  What the heck?!  Must read more about this.  More later!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Prayers for the Victims of the Pacific Earthquake and Tsunami

Just wanted to add my words of support and comfort to all the victims of the tsunami in Japan and surrounding countries.

Our prayers are with you.
~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Day 2

The greatest delight the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable.  I am not alone and unacknowledged.  They nod to me and I to them. 
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

I confess....to eating....white rice.  [Gah!]  But at least it wasn't pasta or ~ mortal sin ~ white bread!

Honestly, I was so sure I had another bag of yummy brown rice in my cupboard.  On the bus ride home, I thought it of sitting there, eagerly awaiting my culinary ministrations.  My body grew excited thinking about the wholesome grain-ness of it and my brain sighed a grand sigh for the energy and pleasure to come.  And then to come home and NO BROWN RICE to be found!  Oh!  The ever lovin' tragedy of it all!

My one saving grace was that I did have some white jasmine rice ~ evidence of my wild and crazy white-flour-energy-crashing-sapping days.  My culinary culpability was lessened when I chopped up some fresh mini sweet peppers, a yellow onion, 3 cloves of garlic and some fresh spinach and sauteed it in olive oil. [It's still winter....ish.  So oil is okay.]  Once the rice was cooked, I put some in with the now sauteed veggies and stirred it all together, added some yellow curry and voila! 

When I tell you this concoction was outrageously awesome, I know you won't believe me.  But you can ask my housemate.  She was in the kitchen juicing some green peppers, tomatoes, celery, and carrots ~ nectar of the gods! ~ and kept looking into the dining room and laughing at my moans of foodie rapture.  She finally asked to try some and could only say: "Oh wow.  That is some good stuff!"  I also had some chicken [free range of course] because it needed to be cooked, and a few spoons of lentils ~ also with a healthy sprinkling of curry and some sea salt. 

I cannot wait until tomorrow when I can have left over rice and rainbow pepper goodness.  And never fear, for my penance, a brisk walk to the grocery store for a huge bag of brown rice is in order so I can be a good little macrobiotic chick. 

Seriously.  You need to try some!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

40 Days of Macrobiotics: Intro and Day One

Cooking is like love, it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.

~ Harriet van Horne

Well, that is how I am approaching my Lenten fast this year anyway.  A friend of mine lent [ha ha] a book on the macrobiotic way of eating.  A foodie with a gluten and dairy sensitivity is a sad foodie indeed, but I have to say I have learned to cope, and without feeling too deprived.  Indeed, I have discovered that there are many ways to make chicken, chili and even ice cream without leaning on the crutches of gluten and milk products.  [Although I have yet to tackle the goddess of all dairy-filled desserts: crème brulee.  I feel sure Brillat-Savarin would roll over in his grave if I did!]

But living on brown rice and vegetables for the next 40 days?  Mikaela, you must be crazy.  I know, dear reader.  However, I decided I had nothing to lose by trying this new way of seeing and eating my food.  Anyway, Jessica Porter's The Hip Chick’s Guide to Macrobiotics makes it seem like a real hoot.  [When one isn’t craving naughty things like crème brulee and pretty much anything else that’s tasty.]

Actually, scratch that last comment.  I love brown rice.  It has a nutty flavor and crunch that blah white rice lacks.  Not to mention that it’s more natural.  White rice is brown rice, by the way ~ but with everything exciting about it stripped away.

So for the next 40 days or so [heavy emphasis on the “or so” given my procrastination and abandonment track record here], I will let you know how my efforts to become a macrobiotic foodie turn out.  So check back often. [Or every so often...]

* * * * *

Day One – Ash Wednesday: Difficult today since really can’t eat much of anything.  This is more due to the fact that I did not plan well the night before and consequently only had a banana to eat for lunch at work [I gave up going out to eat too ~ restaurants are not known for serving brown rice dishes and organic veggies!  Except maybe Founding Farmers, but I digress…]

For dinner however, I bounced back with brown gaba rice, beautiful, fresh organic kale [thank you Washington Green Grocer!] and a couple of potatoes [I know! Sin!] in olive oil.  Not sure about that last.  Have to read Jessica more to see where she stands on olive oil.  Woo hoo!  Down 1, 40 more to go!

Oremus pro invicem,

~ Mikaela

The Perfect and the Real

A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault.
~ John Henry Newman

What is it they say about good intentions? They make up the pavers on the road to Hell...yes, I know that one. Or maybe I am thinking of the best laid plans of mice and men? Well, anyway. It is always my intention and my resolution, to write more. Such a broad goal. What does it really mean, to write more? I certainly have been writing more personal letters and I journal quite a bit.

But usually when I state that I wish to write more, I mean in the public forum. Either here or having a fiction or non-fiction piece published. Yet weeks go by and there is. . . .nothing. Silence. A blank page. The pen waits to be picked up and goes dry in the waiting. Yet, like Lord Byron, I must write or go mad. So why the empty space?

Perfectionism is the mortar of writers' block. I do not obsess over proper grammar or words spelled correctly. Those are necessary to give form and structure to beauty and thought, but that is what Sullivan and other editors are for. Instead, I agonize over word paintings, the perfect analogy, a poetic turn of phrase, whether a line is a good "hook" for my readers.

Even more, I wonder about my readers. Will they "get it?" Translation: will they "get" me? As with all artists, the writer pours himself out in his art ~ there in bloody black and white for all to see. Once the words are on the page and published, there is no going back. Est quid est. Perhaps it is just me, but I believe that iNtuitive Feelers such as myself suffer more from this angst than other personality types. Somehow, we cannot divorce our art from ourselves.

This means that our art flows directly from our soul. It is real. It is painful. It is achingly beautiful. But it is truly our blood and bone, heart and sinew. And so if we fail to reach someone; if the observer fails to "get" us or the beauty or idea we are trying to convey, it is like singing in a darkened theatre. You put everything into your performance and the lights go on afterwards and instead of the attentive audience you thought was there, there is only empty space. Or worse, empty stares. I would prefer open and engaging criticism of my art rather than an blank indifference or mere tolerance. Neither engages the artist or the art he creates. It negates him and his gift.

Yet, for all that, to be real, to be authentic, is the most important thing for this artist. To shy away neither from the morbid, the painful, the brokenness, the wounds, nor the ecstasy, the joy, and the sheer love of being. And if some cannot understand, cannot hear the song or are indifferent to its beauty or obsessed with its imperfections, I cannot stop. I must continue to ply my art and hope that beauty that is real and imperfect and quirky will light the fire of warmth and illumination in some soul.

Here's to that great intention of writing more and overcoming my obsession with perfection.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

I'm Dreaming of a Dysfunctional Christmas

Happy, happy Christmas, that can win us back to the delusions of our childish days; that can recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth;
that can transport the sailor and the traveler, thousands of miles away,
back to his own fire-side and his quiet home!
~ Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers, 1836

One of the “delusions of our childish days” is that everything will remain the same: we will always have snow on Christmas morning, there will always be a freshly cut pine to decorate, the fire will always be lit, the ham will always be coming right out of the oven when we walk through the door and no one ages ~ the entire family will always gather together this time of year.

Then one day you realize that your parents have more white in their hair then you remember [and you have a few strands yourself!]. Your siblings cannot make it for Christmas because they live too far away or they have to work the next day. The Christmas tree is plastic because your father is frail and your mother is too tired. Christmas dinner has to be hosted in the city because your tired mother is terrified of being snowed in with your frail father with no way to get to the hospital in case of an emergency. And it hits you how precious and limited our time together is.

When I first began writing this post, I thought “what a strange time of the year to be meditating on grief and loss and the blues!” But given the huge burden that so many carry around during the holidays, it’s not so strange at all. No family is picture perfect ~ most are dysfunctional, if not downright psychotic! Yet a good many of us spend three hundred and forty-one days of the year either ignoring or denying that fact. Something inside of us hungers for the security and comfort of unconditional love and the warmth of human contact. The hunger is there all year long, lying dormant, controlled or suppressed. But it becomes unbearable during those twenty-four days in December leading up to Christmas Day ~ the season of unconditional love and family.

Grief is an awkward and ungainly emotion, no matter what time of year it is. And somehow our society has this mistaken notion that grief is related only to death. But there are many types of death and loss: the death of a relationship; of hopes and dreams; the loss of a job; the loss of normalcy; even the death of denial [which though painful, is healthy].

The family member of a dear friend of mine was a tragic accident a couple of months ago. He ended up losing part of his right leg. The family is now dealing with rounds of surgeries, decisions about long term care. And my friend is grief-stricken. She is mourning the loss of a normal life for her family and possibly herself. She is mourning the loss of a traditional family Christmas. Instead, they will be celebrating Christmas in the rehab hospital. And it’s all very well to say what a great miracle it is that he’s alive, etc, etc. There is still a loss to be mourned!

One of the biggest complaints of the grief stricken is that friends and family act strained around them, don't bring up the cause of the grief for fear of giving offense or making the grief worse, and some ignore them completely out of awkwardness. When one is grieving, just be there. Even if you do nothing but sit in silence with your friend, they understand and feel your care and concern.

Sometimes we get caught up in our Christmas dramas. We forget that one of the surest ways to assuage our own hunger for unconditional love is to feed someone else’s. [Therapy is another way, but more on that in a later post!] So in the midst of my grief that this might be my father’s last Christmas [although I pray it is not!], and my pique at not spending Christmas in the country with the entire family, I am going to see my friend. We will bake cookies, decorate a tree and hopefully bring some sanity to her insane world of doctors and rehab and family dysfunction. If there is one thing I have learned this year it is that unconditional love is the gift that eventually gets returned. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

May your Christmas be filled with joy, peace and unconditional love!
~ Mikaela

The Art of Letters

Because sending a letter is the next best thing to showing up personally at someone's door.
~ Brett McKay

Recently I joined The Letter Exchange. It has been a wonderful experience thus far ~ I have several new correspondents. This evening I was answering a couple of their letters and I casually browsed the 'net for more on my favorite subject. I came across two delightful websites, each with an old post about the lost art of letter writing. My dears ~ do visit The Art of Manliness and Red Ravine ~ both are absolutely inviting!

All I can say is that Kate McKay is one blessed lady! They do not make gentlemen like Brett McKay anymore. Well, actually, they do...for there he is! Are there any more like him out there? Good heavens, gents, stand up and be counted ~ and drop me a line! ;)

Now off to finish my correspondence.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

It's a Commercial Christmas, Charlie Brown

Look, Charlie, let's face it. We all know that Christmas is a big commercial racket.
~ Lucy Van Pelt, A Charlie Brown Christmas

I think Charlie Brown would fall over in a dead faint if he could see how truly commercial the holiday season has become. Now I remember why I have avoided shopping malls for the past few years. I feel sorry for the sales people and am a push-over for a good sales pitch ~ a combination which puts retail companies in the black and me in the red. I should leave my wallet at home!

A friend and I were discussing how simpler Christmas shopping was when we were younger. Ten to fifteen years ago, there were only four large shopping malls to choose from here in the greater D.C. area, and most of our shopping was done at local stores in real yet quaint historic downtowns. And that was fine. We were satisfied. We didn’t feel deprived, we didn’t feel rushed and the gifts we gave and received were unique and personal; chosen with love and care and opened with genuine joy and thanks. [Yes, even the socks!]

Now, everything is gargantuan; the large shopping malls of fifteen years ago seem small and paltry compared to the ones that take up several city blocks. The stores have become like some macabre side show: each trying to entice shoppers with their Black Friday and Cyber Monday deals. “50% off!” “Free shipping today only! Buy now!” And all the commercial hoopla has increased at an exponential rate. Seriously ~ it really was not this harsh fifteen years ago. But what is truly frightening are the attitudes that have crept into our souls, in part, as a result of it.

For one thing, gifts are impersonal: “tell me what you want or I’ll just get a gift card so you can get what you want.” Not to toot my own horn, but most people enjoy my gifts because I take the time throughout the year to listen to them, dialogue with them. Inevitably I found out what their likes and dislikes are; what new hobby has intrigued them; what they wish they had. I listen and remember and usually I find something that is uniquely them [and within my budget.]

Not so with most people. There is no interpersonal dialogue. In our super-techie world, we have gained the ability to talk to anyone, anywhere and in a myriad of ways. But we have lost the ability to communicate, to connect, to be intimate. Technology is only partly to blame ~ the human psyche in pain will always find ways to hide, ignore or run away from itself and those that cause it pain, real or imagined. [More on that later.]

The second attitude is truly insidious: if you can’t find something at one store, you can drive all over creation to another big mall and look for it there. Even if you do find it, there is something inside that says: “I bet I could get it for less at such-and-such a place.” And the reason this attitude is so wretched is that it has crept outside of the retail boundaries and into our personal lives. “Well, this was fun, but you bore me now; I’m going to look and see if I can find a better “deal” somewhere else.” “Someone better might come along, so why commit now?” Or my personal favorite as a hostess: “There are so many events happening that day ~ I’ll wait to RSVP until I decide which one offers me a better networking / dating / fun venue.”

Both attitudes lead to dissatisfaction and aimlessness. At some point, you have to make a choice, you have to make a decision. If you keep wandering around looking for a better “deal” and never commit to anything, you wind up with nothing.

This holiday season, stop running around looking for “a better deal.” Unplug, unwind and truly listen to your loved ones. The gift of intimacy and reciprocity ~ your emotional and physical presence ~ is the gift that is wanted and remembered most.

And the one you need returned the most. :)

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Heritage Turkeys: A Breed to be Thankful For

Cooking is one of the oldest arts and one which has rendered us the most important service in civic life.
~ Jean-Anthelme Brillat-Savarin

‘Tis the season for eating. Starting with today’s groaning buffet table ~ loaded with a perfectly basted turkey, butter and cream mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, bacon-sauteed green beans and pumpkin pie ~ there is something about this time of year that makes even this serious foodie extra gleeful.

And this in spite of developing an intolerance for dairy products of any kind! But just because I can’t eat it, doesn’t mean I no longer cook it. After all, a real chef does not live to cook just for herself ~ although I confess there have been times I have bought and prepared and eaten in luscious solitude some delectable items that most of my friends would not have appreciated fully.

Generally speaking, however, this time of year is about practicing the culinary arts in order to feed others. Honestly, I can’t get that excited over a melt-in-your-mouth tenderloin unless someone else is there to eat and moan over it with me. Good eating is a lot like love or sex ~ meant to be shared with someone in order to reach maximum pleasure and emotional health and growth. Doing either alone is just. . .well, sad.

So what did you serve today? Turkey? Ham? Roast goose? A Filipino friend of mine and his family had salmon for their Thanksgiving dinner. My family usually has both a turkey and a ham. As a foodie who is also into sustainable and organic living, I constantly research and read up on sustainable agriculture and what products to avoid in the supermarket when I can’t buy from local farms. This year, I found out some horrific facts about turkeys. And although you have already bought yours and are busy consuming it, I hope that you might think twice before cooking a turkey for Christmas.

Have you heard of Heritage Turkeys? Aha! Didn’t think so. Neither had I ~ until I read an article in the Boston Herald online. It profiled a couple of Heritage Turkey farmers in the northeast and provided some interesting and horrifying facts about the turkeys that will be gracing the majority of American tables today.

“The American Livestock Breeds Conservancy, an organization devoted to preserving historic breeds of farm animals, defines a heritage turkey as one that grows slower, lives longer and — perhaps most importantly — can mate on its own without human intervention, something the mass-produced turkey can no longer do.”

Wait. Did you just say that the turkey we are eating today can’t mate on its own anymore? That’s right. Since the 1960s, the Broad Breasted White turkey has been genetically engineered to produce large amounts of white meat in a short amount of time: Broad Breasted Whites mature in half the time of Heritage breeds. And since they are mass-produced, most aren’t organic or free range. Well, how could they be ~ they can no longer run or fly, much less mate!

Forgive me, I have a great respect for science, but not when it plays with my food. An animal whose very genetic make-up has been messed around with so that it is essentially trapped in its own body and can’t even reproduce on its own is just plain wrong, not to mention unpalatable. Fortunately, a stalwart minority of turkey breeders were rescued from the Matrix and are now working hard to bring back the Heritage breeds: Narragansett, Bourbon Red and the Standard Bronze to name a few. Because of them, these breeds are experiencing resurgence.

But the real test is in the eating. I for one will be ordering a heritage turkey for my 2011 Thanksgiving feast and I hope you will too. Visit Heritage Turkey Foundation, Heritage Food USA and the American Livestock Breeds Conservancy for more information.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

The Seventh Annual St. Cecilia Arts Festival: The Party's Over





St. Cecilia, Matthew Alderman



For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.

~ Romans 7:15
St. Paul was a smart cookie. The evil I did this morning that I did not want to do was wake up at 7am ~ after going to bed at 2:30am. How my exhausted body managed this feat, I have no earthly notion. Yet here I sit, a mug of spiced herbal tea in my hand, watching the sun pour his honeyed essence through the windows.

Last night was a great success. Over one hundred forty guests attended the Seventh Annual St. Cecilia Arts Festival in Old Towne Alexandria and we put on quite a show for them. Faure, Bach, Broadway show tunes, poetry readings, comedic monologues, Monty Python, even a couple of Polish nightclub art songs.

The highlight was our Featured Artist: Michelle Jacobeen. Not only does Michelle have an incredible voice -- strong, passionate, and lyrical -- but she has a wonderful stage presence and an engaging personality that reached out to the audience and won them over. My favorite was Taylor, The Latte Boy. While not a Broadway tune per se, it reminded me of Adelaide’s Lament from Guys and Dolls. "Bring me java, bring me joy!" Ah yes, young love. What a hoot!

Now, I see you tapping your foot and asking “That’s all very nice, Mikaela, but what food did you serve!?” Fair enough. Some of the recipes you are already familiar with: Bacon-Wrapped Dates, Rum, Whisky and Baileys Chocolate Truffles. They have become standards and I cannot escape from having to make them. I tried, but one of my volunteers refused to help out until I promised they would be attendance!

This year, we added chicken skewers. Every other event where I have had them the chicken was dry and almost always served with peanut sauce. Zzzzzzz. Oh, I am sorry ~ where was I? Oh yes, boring chicken. Well, this year I decided to make up my own recipe. I wanted to do a Southern Fried Chicken Skewers [with fried okra in between ~ mmmm!] but my Assistant Caterer laughed at me. Sigh ~ yankees will never understand the sweet siren call of okra!

Instead, I opted to cut up the chicken into bite-size chunks and marinate them in basil, tarragon and wine. In between I placed mushrooms, roasted red peppers, sun dried tomatoes and artichoke hearts. Heaven on a bamboo stick!

This year, we served our now traditional Cranberry Punch, along with Warm Spiced Cider. A new addition were four wines from Loudon Valley Vineyards. A few close friends and I had made a day trip out to Virginia Horse and Wine Country. One of the wineries we stopped by was Loudon Valley. The 2009 Route 9 Red was fabulous, as were the 2008 Classic White and the 2008 Viognier. And the 2005 Legacy after dinner wine is a luxurious mix of musty oak and dark cherries.

For dessert, in addition to the tipsy truffles and miniature pumpkin pies, my friend Leslie, who is an incredible baker, brought three delectable type of cupcakes: Lavender Lemon Vanilla Crème, S’Mores and Salted Chocolate Caramel. And no, she doesn’t bake for a living, so your only hope is to either be her good friend or attend next year’s Arts Festival. Mark your calendars now for 19 November 2011!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

P.S. Seriously, I am going to make the Southern version just for myself this weekend! What do you suggest with the okra - hush puppies? Corn fritters? The possibilities are endless! Cheers!