Anelisa Diane Dillion 3/1/86-7/14/00

Her favorite color was pink. Her first word was Ki Ki at almost age two, because it took me bringing a stray kitten home to get her to talk. The speech therapist said she needed motivation, and I had allergies galore. She could not walk until she pulled herself upon a small exercise trampoline to get at my friend Rhonda's pugs, then she walked around the trampoline and then to me. She was a beautiful artist. Her works one day will be on display at an art gallery for children with chronically illness or terminal ill children. She loved the Hanson's and I took her to a concert, and we waited outside until there van passed. A week before she passed a friend who worked at DFW Airport got us in the celebrity room to see the youngest and oldest Hanson brothers, and we have her picture with them. The youngest touched her shoulder and she said she would not wash that arm EVER! She also liked the Back Street Boys and saw them the week before she passed, fourth row. She loved pop music, and it drove me insane! She had a purse in almost every color of pink you could imagine, and her room was decorate in guess what color? Butterflies were all over the walls and ceiling. I still have her cat collection and now and then I buy one to place on the shelf. She was boy crazy like most fourteen year old's are. Her and her brother were 13 months apart and were best friends. They never got into trouble and always looked out for each other.

I did not know what unconditional love really was until I had her and her brother. Every time she was in pain, I was in pain too. I miss her more than anyone will ever know. People tell me she looks just like me, but no, she possessed more beauty than I could ever imagine. Perfect teeth, hair, skin, all outside beauty, perfection. Her heart was broken, but she never gave up. Life took her because it was time. Medicine only has its limits.

Life works that way sometimes.

Anelisa I believe was and is an angel. She also is heavens top rated cat veterinarian.

Happy Birthday Sweetie Peatie- Aaron, Robert and I miss your silly ways...

Confession of a Resurrected Memory

1967. Third grade elementary school play grounds running off poverty pressed chicken patties feed to string bean pigtailed girls dodging mean kids; boys in hand me down elastic waist jeans, M. E. Moses running shoes with rubber sole noise- coming to screeching halt when turning corners into hall bathroom escape. Recess bells herd dirty smells of cigarettes and booze- pockets full of roach legs and wing bullies feeding off crumbs of the weak, king of the hill attitudes whose own life is full of thrashing beyond belief. Red haired freckle face girls walk the halls punching like boys- to be reckoned with by peers and teachers. Pretty girls follow across hot Texas tar slamming tether balls as neighborhoods echo from their fists. New student, new faces change attituds; softening leadership skills- guiding, teaching the ropes of policy and hallway paths. Two students become inseparable like twins from birth, laughing as they run across the cafeteria, out to recess freedom- chasing down boys, leaving them with wet cheeks, smiles, and a longing for more. Songs echo from swing set songs, innocent ideals, and fated purpose all to be more than what was.

© E Stelling, 2010

I also sent off three submissions to Alimentum Literary Magazines- Menupoems; it was hard to decide which three to send, but I had written two new ones, and sent one already sitting in the wings.

Friday Shoot Out- Paint Your Town Red

This weeks theme is 'Red', but right now I am making plans to paint Dallas, Texas when I arrive in a few weeks... I love going home to Texas, and when I did this post last year, one of my first, I traveled back twice to visit old friends, and say goodbye to one who I enjoyed helping cook for and take care of... Anjali Vohra

She has been gone two years now and my 'red' heart still beats on for her and my daughter who passed of a similar heart disease...



















'...and they are still with you even when they leave this earth...!'

Sometimes red lets you know when it is okay to 'Yell' for help!















A new friend I had met in New Jersey had a baby, she is two now and I have enjoyed watching her grow, getting in trouble and making her parents faces red from anger as she is entering the terrible twos, threes and soon fours...time flies!




















To the loves of my life, I know I have brought some naughty 'red' to yours...




















We all know I love food, and what a better color than this!



















































Funny things happen to remind us we are silly...
















'This is Super Pup, and he rode in the convertible to my cafe every Saturday...'































Thanks for joining me in my favorite post, since I have only been a part of it for half a year, I made the most of it!

Baby girl don't leave me all alone...

Irish Gumbo remembering, memorializing his brother yesterday in thought, heart longing dredged up my own longing before I went to sleep. If you can call it that...at times...

Children as they often do have their own personalities the minute they hit this oxygenated world. One is as fragile as life itself, or maybe even in the variance of the color pink itself, but needing constant care and hugs. The other leaps over the sofa before he could crawl, clinging to my ankle like I was a kooky bed hair scientist who's only lab assistant was behind him with an ever changing hump in his back. He would always be there looking up to me as if his life depended on it.

So, in an instant out of time they wanted their own music playing on the radio. Never a dull moment in every move we made each day. No wonder I was so thin back in the eighties and nineties. I had to make a plan or I would just freakin' go nuts. A wise mother always knows to make up the rules as you go along, and always remember what you tell them. If they question you, tell the truth, but in a keen 'when you get older you can do it your own way' answer... Kids always think its going on in every one else's house right?

I designated Sunday my radio day. Monday and Wednesday was Anelisa's day. Tuesday and Thursday was Aaron's radio day; Friday again was my day, and Saturday was the radio's day. Meaning if I turned it on, we counted to three and I hit a button. What it landed on according to the tuner, was what we listened to. A well rounded classical, pop, rock and roll, latin, pop, rock and roll, NPR kind of mix-up. I would never make a great DJ, but hey I gave my kids a good sense of all kinds of music.

Anelisa's day was hell. Yep, Aaron and I hated pop, well, we tolerated it until a song came on we could get into. Dig into, in a body moving kind of way. See he had rhythm, but she did not. Latin music came on, he and I would begin to move around the room or in the car; shaking it like a low rider on crack.

My last memory of 'musica' in the car was when Aunt Mary, my little sister was in the back seat with Anelisa. Aaron and I in the front. God knows Mary was an instigator of bad behavior like aunts can be! Yep, it was Aunt Mary's 'musica' in the car day. HUH? WTF! So, the Marc Anthony CD came out of no where and the car began to rock...yeah, like a low riding crack cocaine be bop hoppin john chicken fryin' who the heck knows...and it was just not one song; it was this song...over and over and over and over and over...get ready...hit play...violins take it! Wait I have speakers? Louder? Wait!!! the windows are down, and we have not left the driveway yet...

Memory take me over, move my body...let me feel again..."don't leave me all alone out here...tell me baby girl...cause I need to know..............my ever thought is of this being true....girl you gotta let me know which way to go.......it's getting harder not to think of you.........."



Tell me baby girl cause I need to know...

March 1st is her 24th birthday...I can only imagine what she would listen to these days, or wear? Yikes...or who she would bring home...

Food Porn & Other Related Topics

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do”

Eleanor Roosevelt

1) A second poem was accepted by a local publication; it will come out in this Wednesday's 'Wild Table' section of Wild River Review. A Photo Muse of inspiration from a few Food Porn shots taken by a fellow reveler of culinary arts...


Ed's Lobster Review, by Warren Bobrow, Wild River Review

I will post the link as soon as he sends it to me. I can also hook any poets up with them, if you are interested in sending work in. 

2) Also, I am very excited about a new project- West Windsor is in the midst of building their new arts center in the Historic Fire House, WW, NJ...I had begun to attend and joined the committee months ago- their mission was to begin building their arts program via local talent. They keep having meetings on Tuesday. I told Diane that I would regrettably not be able to make the meetings, but really wanted to be a part of this project, since I head up Open Mics in my area and really need to be actively involved. I stepped down from my position on the council in an email to the director.

She wrote me back last week-

Elizabeth,

I know Tuesdays are bad for you. Would you be interested in heading a
committee for open mic nights?

Thanks,

Diane Ciccone

Mission Accomplished!!! This is what I wanted when I joined WWAC, somebody's got to look out for the Open Mic talent, and why not me! I began Tuesday, I know I know, I forgo a Grover's Mill early reading, signed up, ran to WWAC, and then back to Grovers Mill for a late reading of some Texas poetry I have written- will post that video soon. Phew!

PS- Dianne, and all you other WWAC people, I would hope you remembered I catered your little soiree last year for free, and worked my tail off! So Thank You for the opportunity...Karma Baby, Karma!

3) I have been contacted by Wild River, they have said they are interested in publishing my first chapbook. Will see what happens.

4) Wild River is also in the process of working with me to do public appearances/readings from their published writers/poets in the area; in my new restaurant connection, since I have use of the whole upstairs in part of my arrangement as their consultant/event planner. This is exciting for me, because it means I can bring more open mic exposure for writers/poets outside of the coffee houses that have time contraints. The other open mics I run are predominately musicians.

Monday Muse- Amusing Neighbors

I came home one day and saw this little fellow resting on this rock perch. Maybe it was warm, a place to soak in the sun before blankets of white would soon cover the ground. This little rodent is hardly singing; serenading the masses with cute Ivy League sweaters; hip thick rimmed sixties eye wear, or a voice shattering the glass in my van with its high pitched helium shrill!

"Alvin is that you"?

(Not sure how to zoom in on this little guy, as my camera was already zoomed in as close as it allowed.)

Not too long after taking this photo one evening I had been shopping at the market. I arrived home after dark. Carting in two heavy bags at a time and two trips in, a neighbor loudly called out my name. So, I walked over and began talking with her and another neighbor. This is something our little community does often. Gathering on the sidewalk to catch up on each others lives. We chatted for a few moments and then I said there were more groceries and items in the van, said my goodbyes, and told them I would talk with them later. One of the ladies must of glanced at my front door and saw it was ajar, as she announced excitedly, "E, hurry and get inside we have had chipmunks on a rampage in the area. They are getting inside the houses and condos"!

I calmly laughed and said, "Well if they know I am a chef who likes to play with flavors and new ingredients, and I do not come out after a few weeks. Please send in the chipmunk patrol, because they have me tied up and hidden all my knives". We laughed, and I went back to putting away my market finds. Thinking of my next conquest in the kitchen.

However, it did seem some new meat marinade I had purchased was missing a few days later...

Confessions of a Ressurected Memory

third grade elementary school play grounds

chicken patties, pigtails, and string bean populated poverty, full

of mean kids picking on red headed freckle faced skinny girls,

and boys wearing hand me down elastic waist jeans.

cheap M.E Moses running shoes with rubber sole noise,

letting everyone know they were coming to a screeching halt;

as they turned the corner and darted into the bathroom for escape.

smelling of poverty, cigarettes and booze- pockets full of roach legs and wings the

bullies living off the crumbs of the weak, king of the hill

attitudes whose own home life was full of thrashing beyond belief.

Spring of nineteen sixty eight a girl walked the halls, a

phenomenon who walked and punched like the boys, and

was to be reckoned with by her peers and the teachers.

pretty girls followed her across pavement to slam tether balls

so hard the neighborhood echoed with sounds of fist.

nothing stopped her; until the new girl showed up in class.

becoming more of a leader, weak kneed with a simple assignment to

guide and teach the ropes of policy and hallway path shortcuts.

the two were inseparable running across the cafeteria, out the double doors

for after lunch recess, and freedom to playfully chase down boys.

taking turns holding them down, especially one whose blue eyes and blond

hair stained their memories, maybe his; confusion held back true feelings as each

left cute boys with wet cheeks, smiles, and a longing for more.

E Stelling, 2010

Revisions:

Confession of a Resurrected Memory

third grade elementary school play grounds

chicken patties, pigtails, string bean populated poverty, full

of mean kids picking on red headed freckle faced skinny girls

boys in hand me down elastic waist jeans

cheap M.E Moses running shoes with rubber sole noise

coming to a screeching halt; turning corners, escape- darting into bathrooms

smelling of poverty, cigarettes and booze

pockets full of roach legs and wings.

bullies living off crumbs of the weak, king of the hill attitudes

home life full of thrashing beyond belief

Spring of nineteen sixty eight walking school halls

phenomenons who walk and punch like boys

reckoned with by peers; teachers

pretty girls follow her across pavement; slamming tether balls

neighborhood echos with sounds of fists

nothing stopped her; until a new girl shows up in class.

becoming more of a leader with an assignment to guide

teach ropes of policy; hallway paths, and smelly locker room rules

running across cafeteria mayhem

outside for after lunch recess freedom

playfully chasing down boys

leaving them with wet cheeks, smiles, and longing for more

that girl lost in nineteen sixty nine; parents moving her out of poverty

into a better life, so they thought

popularity left behind; opportunity to be an angel in Christmas plays

only the most talented are asked to participate

friends all but a faint memory in a harsher life, a snooty suburb

songs, her, Debra wrote on backyard swings

still echoes on passing breeze

touch of high five slapping; arms in the wings

poverty will always be-

a red headed freckle face girls saving grace...

Meet The Real Chef m'E

Okay, not really, but my mother used to call me peanut, and said I was shaped like one with my tummy and hips. After having two kids you would have changed too! I hear the laughs, and I am laughing too...

Thanks to Toon @ Inner & Outer Demons 2 ...I discovered his witty and fun blog while surfing the blogsphere a while back, and then Chris @ Nibble Me This shared that his avatar was done by Toon, so I decided to tell him about my peanut idea...so here I am, and can this peanut cook up some mean grub!

Thanks Toon, we love ya! Go check him out, he is a very talented artist and writer!

BTW, if you cannot laugh at yourself, then you have no real chance at a good life...oh, and as an ex-hair dresser...I have better hair days than this, and I have many skilzzz...

Oh, and if Toon draws a food avatar they all have 'teeth' like mine...we are 'eaters' right? :)

hugs

Chef E

Snow Uses- 101

 

Igloos For The Homeless

Late night after dinner drive running errands
turns into inescapable snow bound obstinacy
picturesque idea machine exploding- blowing
up blinding mounds of snow only to fall back
down around me into imaginary visions of penguins
construction hauling blocks, bricks of snow away- a
slippery means to an end becoming homes for the late
night cardboard crowds lining the streets of  cities like
New York and Trenton, but not Vancouver Island, BC
because they allow their homeless to migrate down from
the mainland; it does not snow or get as cold on Islands- so
they will not freeze on long winter nights- allowing warmer
accommodations for trash treasures- provide housing for
piled high basket bombing vehicles hanging from the round edge
doorways like Christmas trees left up in living rooms until June- with
optional indecent exposure pee yellow interior cutting out
window views for the wealth’s security of knowing there will be
melting thirst for more income; more votes from cheap laborers
who’s families are hungry for food on the table complaint control
and help to build inner city power in making three story towers
glisten in the sunlight eventually melting as do all promises of a
better life with equality for all, then maybe Obama passes a brilliant
ski stimulus for the country with money being saved on gas keeping
obesity down to a lower rate with more exercise that I myself might
benefit when the voice of our forefathers wakes me from my night-
dreaming through the dirty watery realistic triangular pyramid shapes
printed on the almighty dollar, but these are freaking way bigger than
one might ever see, even in the south, and so blocking a drivers view
of oncoming traffic- I miss yet the third chance to jump onto the main road
 that leads to the next destination is buried in thought.

Monday Muse- Memorial

On Valentines Day I was reading Motherless Daughters, a book my friend Adrienne just gave me with many other books, while my sweetie was upstairs working on computer and work related education, when I felt it was time to look around on the net and see what poets had to say, then I found a site listing various memorial for fellow poets. Then I saw you, Jim sitting there in the chair with a cigarette, and I thought, MAN, it has been a while since I saw you read brother. I was excited when I found out you were reading at a New Years Even gathering I would be in town and could go.

The church was filling up and I began to look around for you. No we had not met, but I had read you works, and seen Basketball Diaries all my friends talked about. I wanted to be able to go home and not just say I saw you read, but that I had met you. I did feel that we maybe had more in common than writing poetry, reading at open mics and addiction, so if we did meet we could discuss the demons that come alive in our dreams. We could talk about how we both shared the same will to survive, and about the words that seem to keep us company spill out onto paper or through our instruments of music. The discussion I envisioned in my head would make our meeting so much more than the celebrity crush I walked in with.

After waiting for over an hour I got up and went looking for the bathroom. I was looking for the moment to ask some of the people that were just standing around in the back carrying on what seemed like such deep and entailed conversation, timid me did not want to interrupt, but then a door opened up off the hallway and this tall lanky reddish haired David Bowie looking man looked down at me and asked if I needed help. I told him I was looking for the ladies room, and I was a far cry from being a lady at that, but he pointed the way, and I told him thank you. He said "sure, anytime". I returned to my seat and my friend asked if I saw you, and I said I was not really sure what you even looked like; it had been a while since I had even looked at the back of your book jackets, and I did not own a computer yet.

Soon the poets began reading, and I heard them call out 'Jim Carroll' and you came to the podium. I told my friend that I had met you, but did not even realize it was you, as if you were too stuck up to even bother with this hick poet who's work was no match to your fluid lines. I was bummed because we did not talk about poetry, the art of writing, or even about how addiction can take lives way before one might be ready to leave this earth. I wanted to ask you if you believed in heaven and hell. I wanted to hear you reading your poem, but I was so far back in that damn church I could barely hear your words. I did realize however that it was you that was so polite and guided me to where I needed to go.

As I sit reading blog posts and saw your picture, I realized how close I now live to New York, and I could go to another reading, so that maybe we could finally have that talk I envisioned, but then just under the photograph it read 'Jim Carroll Memorial Reading'. I was in Texas when you passed. No one told me that you would not be at that church ever again, except maybe in spirit through the other blog memorial, or in the words of others as they might read one of your poems to the crowds as I read on Silliman's blog. I was glad to hear you were still writing even as you took your last breath.

If we were to pass each other, and if you believe in heaven and hell, I would not be so stupid and afraid to speak up and say hello to you. For now I can hold onto the last words I heard you speak, and that is reassurance enough that we will meet again. You are so not the celebrity type and would sit down and we could have that talk. Maybe you might even open the door up when I arrive.

James Dennis "Jim" Carroll (August 1, 1949 – September 11, 2009)

Gabrielle, I Hear You

Was it intentional that I am a late bloomer? My grades in school were not 'up to standards' in educational terms, at least until I went to college for the second time and had a 4.0 GPA. When I was much younger my teachers were always telling me how gifted my arts, crafts, writing and poetry was, yet they wanted to hold me back two grades. I could type eighty five words a minute with three errors in office duplication class, the top student in class. I won first and second place in speech writing and presentation. My dancing skills in music class were so good, most of the other students would not even talk to me, as they felt I was showing off, but I could not run, or was not the lest bit athletic. I failed physical education.

Is my gift of being a wonderful mother to two beautiful children something I should brag about, an accomplishment so many other women have done, so really nothing that special, even though my most precious gift, my daughter died from my gift of passing on birth defects that ran rampage through my mom’s family for years. Sometimes, feeling sorry for myself, I feel and realize I just woke up discovering there are so many wild and wonderful things in life I have not yet tried, or even know about, but yet the one discovery as a late bloomer I regret the most, is finding out a beautiful poet whom only lived five hours from me in Texas, died from cancer.

What I read about Gabriele did not seem like a late bloomer at all, but she was active in the art of poetry and digital video education for much of her life. She must have made good grades, been dedicated, because she went to college early on and then made a name for herself by un-selfishly documenting her fellow poets, earning no money, and also wrote such wonderful words of her own. The last time Gabrielle Bouliane spoke in front of an audience, she told her fellow artists, “What are you waiting for”?

I realize after learning of her death today, which was just barely a month ago. Her last words were meant as always in this case to reach someone, and if at least change one persons life. That being possibly me, and being a late bloomer only means I am still alive, and now really really awake; it is time for me to learn all I can to be the best at what I love, before it is too late. So for her I say to myself "Shut the fuck up, stop complaining, and get busy with living"!

Gabriele Bouliane (1966 – 2010)

I had the privilege of seeing her in Dallas in 1990's at a poetry slam, ran by Clebo Rainy at Club Dada in Deep Ellum. A place that hosted open mics when Chumley's Bar closed (David Chumley, NYC), and was the hot spot and first open mic venue I had ever attended in the 1980's. I was not fond of slam's because I just felt the poets were so much more alive than I ever could be with my work. Gabrielle was one of the nicest persons you could ever have met.

NYC is so big, I actually have tried to find David Chumley so that I could say hello and thank him for making my life go in a direction that has been one of the greatest experiences I have ever had. If you know him, say hello, and we still miss him down off Elm Street in Dallas, Texas...

Holy Hot Tamale Bat Girl Its Valentines!

Commando Monologue's

#1- BFPFF Valentine Insomnia Rant

Smitten Kitten- I would just be happy with a box of Hot Tamales and a good foot massage, or even a tub that did not take five hours to fill up, so I could have that so wanted bubble bath we have talked about this past week. No lap top, no thoughts of work or tweet deck, and deadlines for website uploading or design. Pop open a nice bottle of Dom, slip on some Marvin Gay, and maybe even just some damn good Gypsy King to serenade the silly conversations. Have that towel ready for me when I slip onto the rug with bubble dripping down my buttocks, then my silky legs. One of my best features I have been told. Maybe there would be a plate of good cheese to nibble on as we dance, as I struggle to keep the robe tied and our laughing turns into uncontrollable snorting. We fall onto the couch and the moment turn into tears as our most deep and darkest pain is shared. You gesture a hug, cover me with a blanket, and then say goodnight as I slip into dreams of familiarity that hold on even tighter than the robe I threw to the floor after you left the room. Because, I just that commando kind of girl, and want freedom that the world is not ready to give me...

Mermaid Eye Photo in video is courtesy of Cottage Studios by Sarah

Valentines Presence

Girlfriend, sweet Cuban chica , I saw you took on Hershey tempting me with your blog commercial, that declares photo love so nicely represented, is better than what I get at home, but I want to know why there is not evidence of your salsa, your spice in the ingredients. Unintentional invisible weight is gained on hips, thighs, brains, through knowledge gained when ads for milk, deep, dark, decadence appear in magazines and on screen- Valentine’s Day; false promises of bringing love to the table, home, possibly empty bedroom. Temptation- through words and pictures; removing, causing skeletal wallets to let go of money and time that could be better spent on lost hearts, mami and pappy, or innocent children starving for more than quick release, moody binges, decay, sugary halt disguised in heart shaped shiny boxes, or easy access melted foiled stains. Hurting more than helping. Longing, sleeps all year; until promotion, promises of late night whispers, and candy covered ecstasy ensure sweet years to come with landfill waste. Awaken, heal the passion with gifts of touch, kisses, and heated arms unwrapping dormant feelings lying about on fresh scented linens- Rip apart those advertiser’s greedy proclamations, pretty packaging, by wadding it up, and sending it into the hearth; its true purpose to become cheap kindling that keep away drafty bits of stale confection and memory… Chica...Just sayin...

Homeless Campaign

 

Igloos For The Homeless

Late night after dinner drive running errands
turns into inescapable snow bound obstinacy
picturesque idea machine exploding- blowing
up blinding mounds of snow only to fall back
down around me into imaginary visions of penguins
construction hauling blocks, bricks of snow away- a
slippery means to an end becoming homes for the late
night cardboard crowds lining the streets of  cities like
New York and Trenton, but not Vancouver Island, BC
because they allow their homeless to migrate down from
the mainland because it does not snow or get as cold- so
they will not freeze to death on these long winter nights,
this would allow warmer accommodations for trash treasures
as well as provide housing for piled high basket bombing
vehicles they will would hang from the round edge doorways
like Christmas trees left up in living rooms until June with an
optional indecent exposure pee yellow interior cutting out
window views for the wealth’s security of knowing there will be
melting thirst for more income; more votes from cheap laborers
who’s families are hungry for food on the table complaint control
and help to build inner city power in making three story towers
glisten in the sunlight eventually melting as do all promises of a
better life with equality for all, then maybe Obama passes a brilliant
ski stimulus for the country with money being saved on gas keeping
obesity down to a lower rate with more exercise that I myself might
benefit when the voice of our forefathers wakes me from my night-
dreaming through the dirty watery realistic triangular pyramid shapes
printed on the almighty dollar, but these are freaking way bigger than
one might ever see, even in the south, and so blocking a drivers view
of oncoming traffic; yet the third chance to jump onto the main road
 that leads to the next destination is buried in thought.

FSO Aquarium'ilarious

Just in case you have not been a part of what we call around the world 'My Town Blogger- Friday Shoot Out'. Each Friday we post a theme of photos showing off our wonderful town, zip codes, extremely funny happenings, or anything of interest you want to share about where you live.

This week the theme 'Aquariums' was chosen by 'Moi', E Stelling...

What was I thinking when I suggested this topic? It is winter, and all the water around me is frozen!

In thinking that it still could be fun to see what you other photographers come up with, I realized whom ever takes over the list tasks, should make a calendar and see what falls on what month, as to avoid disasters like mine in the middle of this blizzard reality the mid-west, Texas, Arkansas, north east, and I am sure there are some I have not mentioned. At least any topics that involve going out side or traveling in bad weather.

This was pulled out of my archives...taken off the east coast not too far from home on a boat trip a few years ago...geezzz did I just explain that? duh!

Please tell me there are pet shops in your area, and that you do talk to the fish, turtles, and everything else in that store! I thought so...but most of you know

Chef E
catching big  fish
clean them
fry them up
a little spicy corn meal
skillet full of oil; as...
I ring the dinner bell
you have
already arrived
entranced
by wonderful smells
Don't forget your greens!

I am so guilty of my mind wandering to the kitchen, thinking of ingredients that would make a unique dish...

There are all kinds of bacteria in water, a mini aquarium of sorts, but we need a microscope to see them, so use your imagination...

How about a cup of what I call open mic 'Aquarium Tea', or Jasmine flower bulb tea to relax you...






















Well here is my phone app that gives you the fish bowl view of my open mic world- yes, the guy is wearing a cow costume, singing a spoof of 'Wild Thing' as the audience sings 'Mooooove off the stag'... I so 'milked' that today tweeting my 'Wild Plate' Recipe article...

I still like to stroll Princeton after Wednesday night open mic at the A&B, and this delish orange bag still waits for moi, in its fashion plate window aquarium... I figure one day when I am lost, wandering the streets because my memory is long gone, this might save my life, because the zip code will at least get me closer to home. I bet the other side says 'E Stelling'. Wishful thinking, not to mention I am not sure I want to see the price tag; it is in a Princeton shop!


















While out to dinner at a new (how on earth in this economy can this be) posh sushi eatery I noticed these cute little aquarium coffee tables in the lobby.

 The minute I began shooting the little Koi, they head straight for me begging for food. I am not sure, but could it be the restaurant are fattening them up for a dinner special.

Oh, now out of guilt I might have to hijack them along with Snippy (I had pet turtles as a kid- Snippy & Snappy, they were box turtles) above and start an aquarium rescue, and hang up my chef hat and throw down my blades, ummm knives.

Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed my longing for my six grade stage building, entertainment, and screen writing schemes. Vernon Stiez would be so proud!  (he and I created puppets and stages in six grade together, we lived in our own little 'silly' aquarium)

Visit all the other wonderful Friday Shoot Out's on our MckLinky site!

New Jersey headlines read 'Andriod Makes History'

[Android's view of the coffee house]

For the first time in the History of Open Mic- Grovers Mill Coffee House, Grovers Mill, New Jersey- where the Aliens landed and began attacking in the 'War of the Worlds', as read on live radio many years ago...an Android G3 T-Mobile Phone read this piece while cleverly playing a photo pictorial. Due to lack of legs and ability to sit on stool in front of microphone, E Stelling held it in her loving hands.

It brought down the house! With the exception of one audience member yelling "I bet you say that to all your audiences" when they were told 'it was our first time'.

They had to huddle a little closer to view the screen, but all in the name of Poetic Love...



Viewing for one week only...so get it while you can.

Okay I could say "It's Hammer time"...

A Piece of m'E

Okay, I have been trying to learn new software for making movies, but for now I am using a photo stream.

Problem is, I have no time right now to go out and make the movies to fit my poetry.

I will post them, but will be taking them down. Why? Long story, not sure I want to go there.

This is raw, and a new piece I have written that has stuck in my mind for the past year, and when you listen, you cannot help but understand why...



BTW...the handsome guy on the rocks is my son. He looks good, but he looks JUST like my father, especially with the 'bubba' forty in the paper sack...

A different kind of Muse Monday

The reason? I cannot sleep. I hear beeping. Like yeah! because the snow plows in our neighborhood development are backing up! They woke up the darn roosters here in farmland central Jersey. What crazy person is out before dark, and in their way? Oh yeah, those crazy early morning, who cares if it is freezing and snow is on the ground serious type of marathon runners!

It is Super Bowl Sunday, so I looked for blog posts to read. Blueviolet makes me laugh. So does Bagman.

I need a good laugh right now.I keep thinking about the video I have to shoot today.

So, I could not sleep anyway. Not nerves, but that is how I work. Notes. Notes. Notes. To get it all right. I talked with my chef friend in Atlanta yesterday. She has done television many times before, so she gave me some tips. I have done local Dallas news food prep television a few times, but sat in the background. Never in front of the camera. No one even knew I did the food. The darn Dietitian got the credit for the five stages of cooking the food I dragged in at 4 AM. Oh well, hubby, friends, and I know. Oh yeah, I have the video.

Been working on my new website for my new business venture with Adrienne. Got the temporary website up. We set up shop in our office/kitchen space last week, and finalized how it will all roll. So lots to do and think about. I decided that the best way to roll with the sorry economy in the food business is to recreate a new arm of my business. Stay busy. Busy. Busy. I am sure I will never retire. Also, I have to keep paying for the vacations I love to take all the time. My money tree in the back yard got blight with the tomatoes. Darn blight!

Been writing lots of new poetry, and flash fiction. Sending out work. Reading lit magazines and studying poetry form. So much for my boring life. How is yours?

Hubby came home from his trip safely before the snow hit, and I finally got some of the kids photos put on a disk. It took me ten years to want to look at photos of Anelisa. Sure they sit around the condo on shelves, but she in in my mind, my dreams, and that has been enough. Lots of dreams lately. I shared with Bagman that I had a dream I was running.

Yes. Running. Like the kind where I am in shorts and a t-shirt, and I have my New Balance shoes on! I used to bike 20 miles a day. Run every other day. Play racket ball, and swim any chance I could. I ran two businesses, and had the body of...well, I did not know what I had until I gained weight. I am not giving up believe me! No quitter lives in this body! The last ten years just took more out of me than I ever had to deal with before. When I woke up from the running dream the other night...I fell off the bed. I told Bagman that I woke up and felt refreshed. So if I can run in my mind. I can still run.

I hope no parent out there ever has to go through with what I did for fourteen years of my life. Then another ten without her.

Man, did she have skinny legs! So did Aaron. Runs in the family. They used to call me bean pole with chicken legs. Go ahead and laugh, I am.

Oh this is a good one. Miss Priss (yeah, she did not get that from me), and Mr. Rawhide. Yep, he went through his cowboy phase. Dad would not let him have toy guns though. I had a good laugh when he began running around shooting with his fingers. He showed his dad! Then he went through his 'Bono' phase. He saw me watching U2 Rattle and Hum video, and began mimicking singing with his pretend microphone.

Yep, I was a hairdresser, free thinking seventies woman, and said "Yes, you can grow your beautiful blonde locks to your rear end". Well, I have that pic somewhere, and he is already mad at me for posting these on facebook, so just use your imagination for now. A few years later he  began to play soccer, well that took care of the hair in a pony tail phase. His friends told him he looked like a girl, and he asked me to cut it off. So I did.

Then many years later he came home with a dragon tattoo on his chest that goes down his arm. Yep, they do that. But, when he came home to visit the year before last. He turned 21, and had a new tattoo. This time it was his sisters name on his wrist, along with her birthday, and the day she passed.

We took walks when I was visiting him this past month. We talk about how he runs. One day I will run along side him like we used to do together when he was younger in these pictures.

Baby steps is what I have had to take for now, and I am going to go take a few now, and load up my car.

Enjoy your day. Smile. Wave at someone, and enjoy the pics of my babies.

I did, when I finally dusted off the box, and looked at each one. I cried, but it was tears of joy.

Oh, and Bagman, thanks for the inspiration of this weeks 'Muse Monday'!

Friday Shoot Out- Circles

Circles

Doughnuts, tires, plums, and spots,drops of water, polka dots.
Cat’s eyes, toad’s skin, pearls and pebbles, a golden ring, fawn’s back,
Dalmatian paw, windows, wheels, an old buzz saw, traffic circles, prayer circles,
crop circles, semicircles, winner’s circles, running in circles, breathing in circles.

These will all do just fine too.

Sit in your chair and take one shot

Or go outside and take a lot.

Have fun! - Kerry

I hope you did not come hungry, because you know I will give you more than you might be able to bite off!

Round Raw Cocao and Date Brownies filled with Carob chips presented in my glass collection that has square bases, but round Ipswich Cut Designs that sit in my glass cases...

Round grapes, from bad eating you might escape, but honestly, how can you resist my hot molten chocolate round molded cake with caramel drizzle on my artistic square plate...

Much of my equipment is round, different colors shapes and sizes, and ingredients can be found...

If you venture out beyond my Princeton kitchens, other cultures can be found- low, wicker tables, called mesabs, surrounded by stools that are both round...

You can have fun and eat Ethiopian food with with your fingers, and with no motherly 'no no's ringing in your ears that linger...

A chef friend to whom I admire, Scott Anderson is not unapproachable, but real... Has so cleverly added a round artistic seal to his menu's. He stands out in his creative endeavors in our restaurant field...

Outside of trying new foods, cooking, exploring ingredient inspiration is to visit local wine stores with bottle, glasses that have lots of circle inspiration...they come from around the globe, which in turn is also a circle that brings us all together here on this project, Friday Shoot Out Infinity...

I finally got some pictures scanned of my kids when they were little...Ane was well rounded, and loved her social 'circle'...but my son, Aaron was shy, and when he was born, my dad's mother called him 'little round head'. She said he looked just like my father when he was born, and still does to this day! He also liked country music and we used to dance in a circle together doing the two step... He also has a round buckle on!

This is something that is circle in shapes, layer to layer, also your body it will inflate (forgive my weakness, I do not support nor advise fast food eating, but Big Macs just appear in my car?), and to the next photo you will relate...

Oranges are also round like the color of my bike; its tires take on that shape. With it beautiful places for inspiration are found, as well as shrinking my body that is also very round!

While on my journey this week, and to that round sandwich I also was a bit weak. Busy with work, starting a new leg of my business, and also a little secret I will share... I have to prepare for a video, a call I got requesting this get done for a casting call on a well known cooking show, but at this moment can only say cross your fingers for me...later on, not to jinx it I will let you all know...

The sign says it all, we appreciate that you visit us each and every one!

Go see what other circle objects have been found at My Town Blogger- Friday Shoot Out (You can also join!)

Muse Monday 10- My Mothers Poetry

 

[Photo courtesy of My Town Blogger Team Member- Kerry- Oregon]

The Angel’s Plight

There was a little angel whom was fat

Out side St. Peters gates she sat.

She had squeezed, and turned

Until her hips had burned,

But Gods gate she could not get through.

St. Peter shook his head

For he thought the angels plight sad.

As he turned to go, he said

“Angel go below,” “the Devil has a fat vat!

For she saw what a fool she had been

She had eaten herself double

A diet was but trouble.

Now she must pay for her sins

There is a moral to be found here

As the fat angel’s fate grows near

With your scales you can level

Or, eat yourself to the devil

And be unhappy, both outside and in.

- Virginia L. Kennon Akin, 1976

My mother was at odds with herself about weight, beauty, talent, and like many of us- feeling loved. She passed away in 2005. My memories of her were that of Elizabeth Taylor in looks- dark hair, tan skin, and she had a beautiful singing voice. Not to mention her penmanship was always being complimented. However her education only went as far as the sixth grade. She grew up in rural Louisiana, just outside of New Orleans on a farm, and married at fourteen. She had four children, but left that abusive relationship. Four kids in tow, Virginia Louise Kennon eventually met and married my father later in life. She had three children, including me being the middle child.

I remember her battle with depression, and other mental illness that harbored her desires to achieve more than that of  a simple house wife. She wanted to go back to school, but having three kids in an impoverished lifestyle with my father, she just felt it was not possible during those times. Eventually she was hospitalized from a fall. She would never walk again, and remained in a nursing home until her death. My father passed shortly before her, and we felt she never got over his not coming to visit her.

I admired my mother for her many talents. She talked about publishing her own poetry book, Frogs & Roses. So, I once I publish my own poetry book, I am including her works as well.