Walking on Cobblestones

This is the opening paragraph to a WIP that I am playing around with. I am not sure if it will go anywhere: maybe it will... maybe it won't. The Main Character is an archaeologist who is in search of her holy grail and winds up with less than she hoped for. Unfortunately her hopes make her blind to the facts and the maneuverings that follow leads her on a winding road through political intrigue and religious squabbles.

For starters: What do you think of the title? The character: Love her? hate her? Is she sympathetic sounding? Intriguing?
As always: The characters and events in this post and all connected posts are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. 


Gleaming white against a backdrop of cerulean sky, she ascends amidst the rock and clay, angel of light rising up in an intangible dusk that has followed her halfway around the world. She stretches her arms outward as though to take in the broken and shattered, hands aching palpably. Involuntarily, she rubs the hollowed center of her hand, sensing the inarticulated connection. She stares into the clouds, heart aching for the brokenness she senses crying out in the darkness. She looks up, her mute supplications carried up on the wings of the wind as it whips up and over the rock, lifting her scarf vertically out from unyielding shoulders, a semaphore for change in the days ahead. Oblivious to the gales that assault and batter, she is statuesque, patiently awaiting the days ahead. Gray pillows boil toward her on the desert’s horizon, hungrily swallowing all that is in their path. The laying out of battle plans: gathering of forces, placement of reinforcements, lines being laid for attack are in full operation by the forces that will bombard are all that concerns her. Alliances have been made, the enemies of her enemies moving together, whispering conspiracy that her eavesdropping ears picked up in the halls she once dominated. Impending attacks from distant shores are what she deliberates and prepares for, knowing they will attempt to assail her position so she will be vulnerable to a full on assault with the final aim of making her their inverted Hypatia. Her arms raise involuntarily once more, vulnerability in gesture and frame, yielding to heaven as gracefully as Henry the Eighth’s second wife.

Tongues of gold

If you look at my header, a sliver of gold laps toward the heavens between the evergreen on the mountains in the background. They are the same type of tree as in the foreground... the Aspen. The Aspen is tasked with filling in the woods of Colorado after they have been ravaged with bark beetle (and thus cut down) or fire. They are known for their rapid growth and long lives and of course their beautiful yellow and golden leaves in the fall which is even more pronounced when it is framed by the brilliant green of the Colorado Blue Spruce.

Their silver trunks are stuff of legend for it is only with the stake of an aspen that it was believed you could kill a vampire or a werewolf. A bigger stake could be used to drive into the grave of a condemned person to keep them from rising from the dead.   

It was purported to be a tree that could ward off evil spirits which is why it was often planted near dwellings. The small heart shape leaves shiver melodically in the wind and it's no wonder that in Eastern Slavic Apocryphal literature that a legend sprung up that it was in an Aspen that Judas Iscariot hung himself and the leaves have trembled with fear ever since.*

Golden and beautiful against the azure blur skies, the Aspen is the perfect tree for the Halloween season!

*Legend: Wikipedia link

A week at a glance

Monday: Pick up and find the loose ends, a frazzled rope that has varying frayed pieces that are always roughest at first. Rushing to reconnect with friends, the disequilibrium that comes with the shifting ground, he's there and not there, off before the echoes in the house have receded.

Tuesday: Craziness of spinning wheels, the rising sun and we are in motion. The unraveled ends feel less bristly. Talking through afternoon and the drive-by taxi service that gets him home & me back to work, then evening, dinner, won't be home till long after the sun's tucked into bed. Goodnight son.

Wednesday: Wheels set in motion at the rising sun. Again. Rushing, dashing, we're late! Traffic terrible, neverending stream of disruption. Late, hurry. You could... I can't. Why don't you just... I'm driving! Can't wait till I can. I can! Drop off. Go, go, go. Turn and head off without looking back. It's Already! Wednesday.

Thursday: Rolling again. Out the door with the same urgency as on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, tousled edges are feeling irksome. Catch up on Friday. Less work today! Deep breath, breathe. Thursday...

Friday: Spinning wheel that never slows, takes us out the door. Again. Rolling down the road, chatting between the chirps of incoming text message, the shredded ends of my cable keeps me moving, keeps us going. Asthma. Homework. Headaches. Sleepover tonight? His life flashes before my eyes: Babyhood, little boy, young man... Sure.

Saturday:  Moving before there is time to think. Rolling into the day... Can I help you at all? (See blog entry)

Sunday: Too late to pull together the loose ends, it's time to gather up what is left of the unfinished ends and let it go. Too late to undo and smooth, pull in, tighten up or bind loose ends. Too late. Clean up, gather up, finish up.

Monday: Rolling out the door, catching the spinning wheel that sets us back in motion in our separate spinning wheels. I love you. Love you too. See you next week. Next time...when I'll pick up that frayed rope again, determined to do better, smooth the ends, undo the parts that are done wrong, and rewrap the parts that need redone. Next time, when there is...

More time...

(Ha! Just made it for my Monday post!!!!)

Comfort Food...

Last year at this time, I was out walking on a cloudy cool Friday and took these pictures. I was amazed at the brilliant colors that still lingered along the path I took though winter's first nip was in the air. This year, the colors are just as brilliant (as you have seen from my header!) but Indian Summer tarries so long that one would almost wonder if it will ever end.   As much as I might wish the blue skies and brilliant sunshine will never fade into winter's dimness, alas, the forecast tells another story. And I have a few favorite recipes that ease the chill that sets in my bones as the nights grow colder and the days grow brisk. Wednesday the weather is predicted to tank pretty abruptly and we will probably make a vegetable soup for the first time. But what I would really like to be making (if I didn't have to work that day) as the sky grows cloudy and the possibility of the "S" word sneaks into the weather man's script is a family favorite:

Chicken Pot Pie: 

1½ c. cheddar cheese

3c. cooked, diced chicken (you can cook broil or microwave three chicken breasts fairly quickly to make this amount, then quickly chop it up!)

½ c green pepper

½ c. chopped onion

(Sauté both onion and gr. pepper in 3 T. butter)

1 can of Cream of Celery Soup (or chicken)

1 can Cream of Mushroom Soup

3 oz mushrooms (opt.)

½ c pimento (opt)

Combine all ingredients in a bowl. Put into unbaked pie shell (recipe below). Cover with pastry, pinch securely. Cut slits into top for steam to escape. Bake 45 min. or until crust is golden brown at 350 degrees.

Crust:

2 ¼ c. flour

1 tsp. salt

2/3 c. Crisco

7-8 T. water

Put flour and salt into bowl. Cut Crisco into flour with fork until it pieces are pea-sized. Add about half of the water and mix until well blended. Continue to add the remaining 3-4 T. until the dough is moistened. Divide in half. On a lightly floured surface, flatten dough. Roll from center to edges to 12” circle.

 To transfer to pie pan: Fold in half, then into quarter. Lay gently into pie pan and unfold.   

 And as long as I'm making a pie crust, an apple pie sounds good! The crust is the hardest part and all you needs are some apples! This year I have some waiting in the kitchen that were given to us (making me feel sooo guilty) but if I were to buy some for a pie, I would buy several different types of apples for the best ever apple pie! Some tart, some sweet, some crispy, some softer. Yum! Maybe I'll get busy!!!