you capture – quiet

youcapture_quiet7

youcapture_quiet6

youcapture_quiet5

youcapture_quiet4

youcapture_quiet3

youcapture_quiet2

youcapture_quiet1

Photobucket

feed-icon-green-32If you like what you see, please add me to your reader!

Tags:

mommy milk cheese

Oh no, they di-int, I thought when I came across this scrap of news. Mommy milk cheese. Yes, it’s what you think it is. Cheese made from human breast milk. New York chef Daniel Angerer and his wife, who is nursing, happened to have an abundance of breast milk – which they decided to put to use. Not just for feeding their babies, but also for making *gourmet* cheese.

Here’s the AP video:

I have no idea what to say about this. My knee-jerk response is to say bleah. Breast milk should go to but one kind of recipient: a nursing child.

Though I’m curious to hear the vegan response to this. I’ve seen some say it’s good since it’s not taking from nonhumans for human consumption, and others take issue with breast milk in general.

(I try to respect such personal choices as much as I can, but I just have to throw in a point here that breast milk has all kinds of important hormones and nutrients, so if you can give your child breast milk, it seems more important than making an ideological point. IMHO. But I’ll shut up now because I don’t know people’s individual circumstances.)

But back to my original point. I had one. I’m pretty sure.

Oh right, my initial reaction is to shudder and say “no thank you!” But then, I wonder why? What is it about breast milk that seems less sanitary and edible than cow’s milk? Breasts aren’t any dirtier than udders. (You hush. I know what you’re thinking.) Probably cleaner in fact. Is it some form of abhorrence to cannibalism maybe? We don’t eat humans, or anything that comes from humans…but why is this different for babies than adults? Or maybe it’s just an ick factor, like being over the age of 10 and not eating your boogers.

Or is it that what is produced by the female body is inherently unsanitary? Am I reacting in a way that reflects centuries-old belief that women are unclean?

If that’s the case, I’ll take my mommy’s milk cheese on a slice of pumpernickel, with a dollop of lingonberry jam, thankyouverymuch.

P.S. My hubby’s reaction to mommy’s milk cheese? “I’d try it. It’s gotta’ be better than balut*.”

*Balut: fetal duck eaten out of the shell. A Filipino delicacy.

Tags:

titmt – i’ve learned…

…cynicism is often a mask for fear. It does not necessarily make us any wiser. It only means we have become afraid.

I’ve learned that instead it takes much more courage to hope. To take a leap, even when you are standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing there is the swirling mad abyss below.
TITMT-learncourage

It takes more courage to stare the darkness in its face and say, “Though I know not where I land or whether I fall, I must try.”

There was a time in my life when I was afraid, oh so afraid. Waking up at night with cold sweats, hands quaking, cannot see straight afraid. My heart had been shattered and the fragile pieces were thrown into the fire. Repeatedly. Phantoms in my head. Danger around every corner. But I dared hope, even when the naysayers feared for me. It wasn’t just hope that got me through, though. It was damn dogged work. Changing how I deal with problems. Smashing boundaries to bits and setting up new foundations. It was determination that above all else, it could work. Even when it didn’t before. And I was lucky. It could easily at any moment have gone another way, were it not for a refusal to let a precious gift die. And that gift, gives every day, and every day, and more and more, in impossible ways. But what really got me through, beyond work, when logic and reason failed, was every morning waking up and making a choice. And choosing one day more to make that leap of faith.

Some days, it took so much courage to leap.

What lessons have resonated with you in life? What have you learned or discovered?
TITMT-learnhope

The Rules
I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth. So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I am hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are.

You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. Feel free to use the “Tell It To Me Tuesday” button available to the right. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

TITMTNext week’s challenge: Friendship

Jade's RSS FeedIf you like what you see add me to your reader!

Tags: ,

the road we take

“But his kind will always lose in the end. I know this, and now I know why. Whether it’s wife or nation they occupy, their mistake is the same: they stand still, and their stake moves underneath them….Even a language won’t stand still. A territory is only possessed for a moment in time. They stake everything on that moment, posing for photographs while planting the flag, casting themselves in bronze. Washington crossing the Delaware. The capture of Okinawa. They’re desperate to hang on.

But they can’t. Even before the flagpole begins to peel and splinter, the ground underneath arches and slides forward into its own new destiny. It may bear the marks of boots on its back, but those marks become the possessions of the land. What does Okinawa remember of its fall? Forbidden to make engines of war, Japan made automobiles instead, and won the world. It all moves on.”
The Poisonwood Bible, Barbara Kingsolver, p. 384.

Our politics today make me tired. I’m so bloody tired of hearing the same old diatribes repeated ad nauseam, over and over like wheels on a tired, creaky, aged wagon. They talk and talk and it’s like buzzing in my ears. For they say nothing new and none of it even applies anymore. It feels like they’re talking about Spaceman Spiff, when the rest of us are staring at moldy cheese in an empty refrigerator. They talk in the language of the Cold War, and the rest of us are sharing DVDs with the Japanese and watching You Tube videos coming out of Iran.

We have real problems and real concerns. And they’re still talking ideology. The world doesn’t operate on ideology. It operates in the handshake between neighbors, the crops grown by farmers, and the earthquakes and hurricanes that steal our homes away. Who cares about ideology when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun?

I hear the noise and it makes me tired. I hear the lies and it makes my bones melt. I hear the anger and I feel sorrow.

But when I turn off the noise and look at people, I see a different story. I see people buying produce from local farmers. I see people biking to work. I see people wringing their empty pockets to give to others in need. I see people ignoring corporations, eschewing industry and taking the path less walked. Home schooling. Midwives. Etsy. Blogs. Project 3/50. Interracial marriage. News, products, food, and information home grown and shared neighbor to neighbor.

We throw the pills that cause atrocious side-effects down the drain and we eat better food. This is not a revolution. This is not the masses rising up in revolt. This is the world moving on, like ants marching steadily out from under the boot through the gaps in the platform of the sole.

So you can have your soapbox. Let the potentates feed the lie. Let the corporations write our politicians’ speeches. We’re not listening anymore. Because while you sit there spouting and playing your chess games and lining your pockets while everyone else suffers, one by one, we take the road less traveled by.

Tags: , , , ,

jabberwocky

jabberwocky8‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

jabberwocky3“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

jabberwocky4He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

jabberwocky7And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

jabberwocky2

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
jabberwocky6“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

jabberwocky5‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

by: Lewis Carroll

In honor of a glorious Sunday afternoon.

Tags:

women unbound – their eyes were watching god

Their Eyes Were Watching God is a seminal piece in African American literature. In this novel, Zora Neale Hurston chronicles the story of Janie, an African American women who is pushed by her family into a marriage she doesn’t want, escapes it, only to land in another marriage with a man who did not live up to the fairytale vision he portrayed during their courtship. Under his authoritarian nature, Janie begins to understand herself just a little bit better. When she is forced to reign herself in, she begins to understand precisely what it is she wishes to say. After his death, Janie begins to demand freedom. Though society tries to hem her in, she falls in love with Tea Cake: a risk, a gamble, but a man she well and truly loves, and who loves her in return. She has learned to push off the shackles others place on her, but in the end, finds the shackle that remains is one of her own making: her fears. Now that she has learned to love, she understands the fear of losing her beloved.

This is the theme that emerged for me in reading this book: all the ways in which we can become enslaved. We can become enslaved, yes, by the expectations of family or society or by the hand of a ruthless man. Or sometimes we can enslave ourselves, when we allow ourselves to become captives of our own fears. It is so easy to become overwhelmed by them, to become blinded by them, to not even see or know how we do this to ourselves. It can become so hard to emancipate ourselves, especially when we know those fears so well. When they become a cocoon to hide within. When they are justifiable. But no matter how much reason we have to be afraid, those fears prevent us from being free.

And often have the potential to lead us to unjustifiable actions.

It is amazing what humans are capable of doing when they are afraid.

unbound1smaller

Tags: , , ,

you capture – hopeful

Hope and fear are two sides of the same coin. Hope is a prayer that fear runs underneath, like the rumble of jagged stones beneath chaffs of wheat reaching towards the sky above.

Hope is a dream, an endpoint, a goal…the sunny scent of candles filling your nose.

Gruyere Chicken & Asparagus and Potato Salad recipes

Gruyere Chicken & Asparagus and Potato Salad recipes

Fear is the shadow lurking, taunting you with the promise that life will never measure up.

My attempt at the Gruyere Chicken and Potato Salad...

My attempt at the Gruyere Chicken and Potato Salad...

Hope is when you try again, and again.

Recipe for Steak with Tomato Herb Vinaigrette

Recipe for Steak with Tomato Herb Vinaigrette

Telling fear to buzz off, for you don’t care if you fail, you’ve at least got to try.

My attempt at the Steak with Tomato Herb Vinaigrette. (That steak wasn't as rare as it came out in the photo!)

My attempt at the Steak with Tomato Herb Vinaigrette.

Hope is the many-fingered rosy dawn that led Odysseus home.

Recipes for Gnocchi in Brown Butter and Beef Nicoise Salad

Recipes for Gnocchi in Brown Butter and Beef Nicoise Salad

He feared losing wife and home, but still he spurred on and on, fighting demons of all kinds

My attempt at Gnocchi in Brown Butter Sauce

My attempt at Gnocchi in Brown Butter Sauce

Until his hope of returning to his wife, Penelope, was finally realized

My attempt at Beef Nicoise Salad

My attempt at Beef Nicoise Salad

And triumphantly he came home.

I am hopeful…

…I hope that you’ll wander over and read a short story I wrote! It’s called: My Brother, Soweto. And then head over to Beth’s site, I Should Be Folding Laundry and participate in this week’s You Capture challenge!

P.S. I can’t wait until it stays light later in the day so I can get dinner food photos under natural light. Sorry for the poor quality pics! Well, the recipes and cookbooks are fine, but my own attempts at these dishes need a little help…

Photobucket

Tags: , ,

announcement!

I’ve decided to start sharing some of my works of fiction with my readers here on Tasting Grace. In the post below, you can see an excerpt and a link to the first one I’ve posted, My Brother, Soweto. If you look at the links above my header, you’ll see a link “Stories”. This page will compile a list of all the short stories I post, displaying excerpts and links to the stories themselves.

Please feel free to comment on the stories or on the design of the story page. I would love and very much appreciate feedback.

Tags:

my brother, soweto

Soweto. June 15, 1976.

“Don’t do it, Bhekithemba.” I stared into the face of my brother. His bright eyes shone back at me through the darkness as we lay opposite each other on our mattresses of cardboard and tattered sheets.

“I must,” he said, his voice thick with determination. “Don’t you see? This is something I must do.” We spoke in a whispered hush, so as to not …


Read the rest of this story »

titmt – when i was a child…

…I used to daydream. I used to dream, and dream, and dream. From the time I woke up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night. I immersed myself in books because reading is like dreaming. When I sat in class at school and learned cursive and multiplication tables and the capital of California, I daydreamed.

I remember a particularly luscious one about sunflowers in the second grade.
sunflower_risingBut I don’t remember the long division I was supposed to have been paying attention to.

I had to stay after school with the teacher so she could show me long division. She couldn’t understand why I got some things so quickly and others not at all. If I could see her again, I would say, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Greene, but it was because there were some things I just never heard.” My husband’s stepmom said this might have been a coping mechanism. I suspect she might be right.

I’d like to say the daydreaming stopped when I was a kid, but actually I’m kind of glad it didn’t. Now I daydream stories and characters and have entire conversations in my head. But this time I write them down, and enter them in contests, and submit them for publication. Maybe I still don’t pay attention when I should, though how can I when I’m constructing war and sadness, love and little bits of truth?

(And…I’ve decided to share them. Soon (very soon!), I will have a page up on my blog where I will post my short stories. I hope you all will like them.)

Is it strange one of the things I loved most about childhood was something that…wasn’t exactly real? Hmm.

What about you? How would you complete the phrase: “When I was a child…”?

The Rules
I think there is real power in the human voice, as flawed as it may be. And when the voices speak together, when you have a multitude of voices speaking, patterns begin to emerge and there you can begin to understand truth. So in the spirit of the personal narrative, I am hosting a weekly challenge every Tuesday morning, where I will post a topic (ranging from the banal to the intimate) and ask readers to respond. I would love to see everyone’s answers and how similar and different they all are.

You can respond in any way you choose. You can give a fictional response or a true one. You can use words, sentences, and/or photographs. If you have a blog, you can link it with Mr. Linky below. Please be sure to include “Tell It To Me Tuesdays” in the title, and link back to this post. Feel free to use the “Tell It To Me Tuesday” button available to the right. If you don’t have a blog, but want to join in, you can just leave a comment. Please follow the rules. I don’t want to have to delete links. I like links! Don’t make me delete them.

TITMT
Next week’s challenge:
“I’ve learned…” (or: “I’ve discovered…”)

Tags: , , , ,