- If you get simple beauty and nought else,
- You get about the best thing God invents.
ROBERT BROWNING, Fra Lippo Lippi
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 3, 2012
Something New~
So, while at World Market in our small town I came across Lotus Root! I am trying everyday to learn something new, or try something new. Today this would be my "something new." I began by washing, peeling and then slicing the root into about 1/8 in thick chips.
After slicing and an initial rinse, I set the root slices in a bowl of cool water, and a splash of lemon juice to prevent discoloration. Full of fiber and other nutrients, the best way to think of the consistency is like that of a Potato.
Lotus root (renkon in Japanese) is a popular vegetable throughout southern and eastern Asia. Having a bitter taste, it should not be eaten raw. Most of the bitter taste is in the skin so peeling the root and cooking it will fix this issue.
*It is said that young Lotus Root may be eaten raw.
Lotus Root may be prepared in many ways like stir fry, cut up in stews or soups and even (when slightly cooked) as a salad topper!
I prepared mine as chips. After soaking in lemon juice and water for this recipe, I set the oven to 450 degrees and put on a pot of water to boil. When the water had boiled, I cut the heat off and added some salt to the pot. I dropped the root discs into the water and let them stand for about 3-4 mins. I then took the discs out and placed them between paper towels. I lightly coated a non stick pan with olive oil and coated each side of the root slices with the oil. I then coated the slices on both sides with a mixture of salt and cayenne pepper. Spread them on the baking sheet and bake for 20-22 mins. I turned them once half way while baking.
The best ones are crisp around the edges and slightly chewy in the center, be careful not to over bake. Enjoy in place of regular chips!
My Father~
The most difficult thing I have ever had to do was to give up my Father, when he passed, almost two years ago. He had been ill from Black Lung Disease and Heart Disease for several years. I had witnessed that no matter what physical episode would take him to the Hospital, he'd always come home, had mended well, and continued to live. So, even though a Nurse, I was surprised when on his last Hospitalization, the Doctor would say that there was nothing they could do for him, and then suggested Hospice. A difficult diagnosis, as I felt my Dad still had so much living to do! Not fair, because much of his life had been a struggle.
When he was just around 5 years, his Mother was diagnosed with Tuberculosis. His Father, an alcoholic, was not ready to rear the family alone. When his Mother was in the Hospital and on my father's visit to see her, she had told him "Open up that drawer." He did what she'd asked and found what seemed to him a lot of money, but he admitted that as a child, what looked like a lot of money, was actually scattered loose change. She told him to take some money for candy. That was the last memory he had of her. He was relocated to an area of Kentucky, to live temporarily with an Aunt until his Father could figure what to do with all the children. My Father met my Mother during this time, she from a good hard working family that would provide sandwiches to my Dad and his Sisters, as they walked past their home from school. My Dad would go down the road to where my Mother lived, and 'mess up her playhouse.' She would throw rocks and chase him away. He would laugh and say "One day you will marry me." She would declare "Never!" He was moved again, to another location in Kentucky, after his Father met and married again. My Father felt he had to quit school in the 6th grade as he said that he would have to beg paper and pencil from other students most days. The teacher would send him from desk to desk to ask each student "May I have a piece of paper?" He often said how embarrassing this was to him, and to watch his Sisters have to do without "things that girls need." There were times he was hungry, stealing apples and food from neighboring gardens, he would later admit.
Back in the day, coal trucks would travel the dirt roads to the head of 'hollers' to the mines, and coal would spill from the sides of these trucks. My Dad would go out and collect the coal in a feed sack, cart it home on his back, to keep his Step-mother and siblings warm. This earned him the name "Coal drag" from the men who would see him pass by the local store. He hated that name.
When about the age of sixteen, his Father got him a job in the Coal Mines of Kentucky. My Father would work extra hard to load coal with a number 10 coal shovel, lying on his side in inches of coal, when he found out that he'd be paid by the number of cars he'd fill in a day. The light he had was carbide, he'd eat his lunch lying on his side, in the mines. His Father for several weeks, would make it outside the mines, pick up his own pay and my Father's pay as well. He would spend the money on drinking binges, and women. It didn't take long for my Dad to find his backbone and tell the mine owner, to not give his pay to his father. My Dad soon learned to take his pay and spend it in groceries, and supplies his Step-Mother, step-brother and sisters needed. His Father would become verbally abusive if he thought my Dad had any money. My Dad, for the better part of two years became the supporter of the Family.
One Saturday, while in town, my Dad ran across my Mother's brother. He struck up a conversation, played some pool and told my Uncle that to tell 'Della, I'll be over to see her next weekend." Mom was not excited to hear the news as she could only imagine the dirty, mean boy of her childhood. Though, she admitted, she was 'curious.' Sure enough, some weeks later he visited and she was smitten, and they were married within the year.
Dad and Mom worked hard to raise five children. Dad a life long Coal Miner, and Mom a Housewife. They worked long into the night to can berries for Jam and Jellies. We'd pick these berries on weekend afternoons in the Mountains where I was raised. Garden work was a normal part of our chores, as was collecting water from Dad's hand dug Spring, and sometimes feeding the Hogs and Chickens before school. Those were good times though, as I learned so much about surviving on the minimum and being happy just where you find yourself. Simple, clean living.
Dad taught himself to read and understand the Bible. He became a Minister. He lived his life a kind Man in spite of the harsh way in which he was raised. He became a great Father out of instinct.
Dad saved me from a snake bite, as I stumbled in somewhere around the age of 4 telling he and Mom that 'a snake bit me here' pointing to my left thigh. Dad crisscrossed the area with his pocket knife, and sucked the poison out before rushing me to the Doctor. He would shake the rain from the antenna and line, when the TV picture was all snowy with static during my favorite shows. We only received one channel, NBC, but it was all I needed....then. I was a dirty little barefooted girl, sitting on the floor on Sunday evenings, watching 'Wonderful World of Disney' while eating buttered garden fresh, hickory king corn. I watched the Porter Wagoner Show on Saturday evening, and Hee Haw on Saturday night! That was the life!
Dad was a good friend. Back in the 'hollers' people actually dig graves for their loved ones who pass. Poor people, who own property, who want their loved ones near and not in some far away grave yard. The funeral home would the deliver the body once the grave had been approved. I have seen my Dad out long after dark, and after a hard days work in the mines, helping dig a grave for a neighbor. I have seen him walk home in the deepest part of winter, wet from mining water and his clothes frozen so his pants would stand on their own. I never heard him say "I don't want to work tomorrow." He may have, but I never heard those words. He would bring Dynamite, caps and wire, home from the mines, in his dinner bucket, to blow out abandoned coal banks to collect coal for winter. He and my Brother's would spend an occasional Saturday afternoon doing just this! We had no money to spend to have coal delivered. Dad had spent his life working most all the mines in those mountains, he knew where they were. No one could make this up. This was living. This was surviving.
Stories, memories, words, living. All stored in my mind. I have lived a lifetime. Gifted a wonderful Father, a wonderful family. I was with him when he passed. My Sister-in-law and I sat at his bedside. The rest of the Family was scattered about the house. She and I were verbally reliving his life. Talking to each other about his experiences, his life. Too many to recount here. He was asleep, I thought. He turned his head towards me, as I sat in a chair at the head of the bed. A single tear was in the inner corner of his left eye. I wiped it away and asked "Hey Dad, you awake? What's this tear about?" He let out a long breath, and was gone.
I wish he could have traveled to those places he dreamed of like North and South Dakota, Montana and Arizona. He loved Westerns, Louis L'Amour was a favorite.
How do we give credit to those who live, but not long enough? But, I am his Daughter, I doubt I would have ever been ready to let him go. I could go on and on. The memories, the smiles flood like rushing water in my mind. I am thankful for those memories, I am thankful to have had the gift that was my Father.
When he was just around 5 years, his Mother was diagnosed with Tuberculosis. His Father, an alcoholic, was not ready to rear the family alone. When his Mother was in the Hospital and on my father's visit to see her, she had told him "Open up that drawer." He did what she'd asked and found what seemed to him a lot of money, but he admitted that as a child, what looked like a lot of money, was actually scattered loose change. She told him to take some money for candy. That was the last memory he had of her. He was relocated to an area of Kentucky, to live temporarily with an Aunt until his Father could figure what to do with all the children. My Father met my Mother during this time, she from a good hard working family that would provide sandwiches to my Dad and his Sisters, as they walked past their home from school. My Dad would go down the road to where my Mother lived, and 'mess up her playhouse.' She would throw rocks and chase him away. He would laugh and say "One day you will marry me." She would declare "Never!" He was moved again, to another location in Kentucky, after his Father met and married again. My Father felt he had to quit school in the 6th grade as he said that he would have to beg paper and pencil from other students most days. The teacher would send him from desk to desk to ask each student "May I have a piece of paper?" He often said how embarrassing this was to him, and to watch his Sisters have to do without "things that girls need." There were times he was hungry, stealing apples and food from neighboring gardens, he would later admit.
Back in the day, coal trucks would travel the dirt roads to the head of 'hollers' to the mines, and coal would spill from the sides of these trucks. My Dad would go out and collect the coal in a feed sack, cart it home on his back, to keep his Step-mother and siblings warm. This earned him the name "Coal drag" from the men who would see him pass by the local store. He hated that name.
When about the age of sixteen, his Father got him a job in the Coal Mines of Kentucky. My Father would work extra hard to load coal with a number 10 coal shovel, lying on his side in inches of coal, when he found out that he'd be paid by the number of cars he'd fill in a day. The light he had was carbide, he'd eat his lunch lying on his side, in the mines. His Father for several weeks, would make it outside the mines, pick up his own pay and my Father's pay as well. He would spend the money on drinking binges, and women. It didn't take long for my Dad to find his backbone and tell the mine owner, to not give his pay to his father. My Dad soon learned to take his pay and spend it in groceries, and supplies his Step-Mother, step-brother and sisters needed. His Father would become verbally abusive if he thought my Dad had any money. My Dad, for the better part of two years became the supporter of the Family.
One Saturday, while in town, my Dad ran across my Mother's brother. He struck up a conversation, played some pool and told my Uncle that to tell 'Della, I'll be over to see her next weekend." Mom was not excited to hear the news as she could only imagine the dirty, mean boy of her childhood. Though, she admitted, she was 'curious.' Sure enough, some weeks later he visited and she was smitten, and they were married within the year.
Dad and Mom worked hard to raise five children. Dad a life long Coal Miner, and Mom a Housewife. They worked long into the night to can berries for Jam and Jellies. We'd pick these berries on weekend afternoons in the Mountains where I was raised. Garden work was a normal part of our chores, as was collecting water from Dad's hand dug Spring, and sometimes feeding the Hogs and Chickens before school. Those were good times though, as I learned so much about surviving on the minimum and being happy just where you find yourself. Simple, clean living.
Dad taught himself to read and understand the Bible. He became a Minister. He lived his life a kind Man in spite of the harsh way in which he was raised. He became a great Father out of instinct.
Dad saved me from a snake bite, as I stumbled in somewhere around the age of 4 telling he and Mom that 'a snake bit me here' pointing to my left thigh. Dad crisscrossed the area with his pocket knife, and sucked the poison out before rushing me to the Doctor. He would shake the rain from the antenna and line, when the TV picture was all snowy with static during my favorite shows. We only received one channel, NBC, but it was all I needed....then. I was a dirty little barefooted girl, sitting on the floor on Sunday evenings, watching 'Wonderful World of Disney' while eating buttered garden fresh, hickory king corn. I watched the Porter Wagoner Show on Saturday evening, and Hee Haw on Saturday night! That was the life!
Dad was a good friend. Back in the 'hollers' people actually dig graves for their loved ones who pass. Poor people, who own property, who want their loved ones near and not in some far away grave yard. The funeral home would the deliver the body once the grave had been approved. I have seen my Dad out long after dark, and after a hard days work in the mines, helping dig a grave for a neighbor. I have seen him walk home in the deepest part of winter, wet from mining water and his clothes frozen so his pants would stand on their own. I never heard him say "I don't want to work tomorrow." He may have, but I never heard those words. He would bring Dynamite, caps and wire, home from the mines, in his dinner bucket, to blow out abandoned coal banks to collect coal for winter. He and my Brother's would spend an occasional Saturday afternoon doing just this! We had no money to spend to have coal delivered. Dad had spent his life working most all the mines in those mountains, he knew where they were. No one could make this up. This was living. This was surviving.
Stories, memories, words, living. All stored in my mind. I have lived a lifetime. Gifted a wonderful Father, a wonderful family. I was with him when he passed. My Sister-in-law and I sat at his bedside. The rest of the Family was scattered about the house. She and I were verbally reliving his life. Talking to each other about his experiences, his life. Too many to recount here. He was asleep, I thought. He turned his head towards me, as I sat in a chair at the head of the bed. A single tear was in the inner corner of his left eye. I wiped it away and asked "Hey Dad, you awake? What's this tear about?" He let out a long breath, and was gone.
I wish he could have traveled to those places he dreamed of like North and South Dakota, Montana and Arizona. He loved Westerns, Louis L'Amour was a favorite.
How do we give credit to those who live, but not long enough? But, I am his Daughter, I doubt I would have ever been ready to let him go. I could go on and on. The memories, the smiles flood like rushing water in my mind. I am thankful for those memories, I am thankful to have had the gift that was my Father.
Apr 2, 2012
Discovering Useppa Island~
 |
Leaving Sanibel Island by boat and heading out across the water to the Island of Useppa. I was amazed at how quiet everything was without the sound of cars and motors, as there are none on this Island. |
 |
| Flowers gloriously flourished in every direction under the tropical Sun~ |
 |
| Flowers... are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.--Ralph Waldo Emerson |
 |
| Meandering along 'the pink path' this view is constant on my right~ |
 |
| Banyan tree archway over 'the pink path'- |
 |
 |
| "A well-known scientist (some say it was Bertrand Russell) once gave a public lecture on astronomy. He described how the earth orbits around the sun and how the sun, in turn, orbits around the center of a vast collection of stars called our galaxy. At the end of the lecture a little old lady at the back of the room got up and said 'What you have told us is rubbish. The world is really a flat plate supported on the back of a giant tortoise.' The scientist gave a superior smile before replying, 'What is the turtle standing on' 'You're very clever, young man, very clever,' said the little old lady. 'But it's turtles all the way down.'"---Stephen Hawking |
 |
| Let us permit nature to have her way. She understands her business better than we do. -Michel de Montaigne |
The Sleep Song: Mariee Sioux
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)