I have recently made a conscious effort to get out and meet new people. So far it has paid off. It turns out there are actually some pretty lovely people out there. With meeting new people you have to reveal some things about yourself. You know, where you were born, where you grew up, where were you when the world stopped turning, etc.
These pretty lovely people want to know where you went to school, what you studied in school; they want to know where you like to eat and what you like to eat; they want to know if you like the beach or the mountains. It is a whole lotta stuff you thought all along you were holding close to the vest to keep a mystique about yourself; but it turns out it is all just nice to meet you banter.
In having to go back to the day I was three years old I am learning what I really am all about. It turns out I am a pretty interesting chick. I am odd, different, unique. I have been there, and here, and nowhere. I don't look good in pink, and shouldn't. I look good in blue and own nothing that is blue. I write blogs that don't change the world but I wish with all my heart I could imprint a change on this earth I stomp, skip and stride across.I am painfully aware that I am not the smartest person in the room, not even top 15 percentile.I am also painfully aware that I am woefully dependent on being the most taken advantage of person in the room. I see my dreams; perched in the corner to the left. I am all of my highs, and all of my lows.
I am just a girl, in a world of girls and boys, women and men; trying to figure out how to comport myself with some sort of dignity through this nonsense, clarity; I think it is called life.
If it is this hard for me, what can it possibly be like for Rhubarb??
For the three or four of you who follow my blog, you know of my love of Rhubarb. Rhubarb for me is like that stinking Lovie that your two year old can't fall asleep without. The one with silk on one side and an elephant head holding it all together.
I desperately need Rhubarb in my life. It reminds me of North Dakota; genuine people, wind, richness amid poverty, pancakes. I crave it. I think it should come in a pill.
When I was a kid my Mother would make potato pancakes. If it were a special occasion she would serve them with Apple Sauce. I loved potato pancakes. They are also a part of me. Probably the the excess belly part of me.
These pretty lovely people want to know where you went to school, what you studied in school; they want to know where you like to eat and what you like to eat; they want to know if you like the beach or the mountains. It is a whole lotta stuff you thought all along you were holding close to the vest to keep a mystique about yourself; but it turns out it is all just nice to meet you banter.
In having to go back to the day I was three years old I am learning what I really am all about. It turns out I am a pretty interesting chick. I am odd, different, unique. I have been there, and here, and nowhere. I don't look good in pink, and shouldn't. I look good in blue and own nothing that is blue. I write blogs that don't change the world but I wish with all my heart I could imprint a change on this earth I stomp, skip and stride across.I am painfully aware that I am not the smartest person in the room, not even top 15 percentile.I am also painfully aware that I am woefully dependent on being the most taken advantage of person in the room. I see my dreams; perched in the corner to the left. I am all of my highs, and all of my lows.
I am just a girl, in a world of girls and boys, women and men; trying to figure out how to comport myself with some sort of dignity through this nonsense, clarity; I think it is called life.
If it is this hard for me, what can it possibly be like for Rhubarb??
For the three or four of you who follow my blog, you know of my love of Rhubarb. Rhubarb for me is like that stinking Lovie that your two year old can't fall asleep without. The one with silk on one side and an elephant head holding it all together.
I desperately need Rhubarb in my life. It reminds me of North Dakota; genuine people, wind, richness amid poverty, pancakes. I crave it. I think it should come in a pill.
When I was a kid my Mother would make potato pancakes. If it were a special occasion she would serve them with Apple Sauce. I loved potato pancakes. They are also a part of me. Probably the the excess belly part of me.
Rhubarb is chopped,
..with affection of course. Then I toss it with honey and lemon in a pot and cook it down to a sauce.
Meanwhile shred your russet potato...in doing this it occurs to me why we ate so many potato pancakes growing up...they are like loaves and fishes...when you don't hog the potato for yourself, you realize it can actually feed many.
Then toss the grated potato, chopped onion, an egg and salt and pepper...
...while I make a skillet hot...once the pan is hot drop your pancakes in.....
,,,just a few minutes here and flip over there to cook the pancakes...
..then plate up with that wonderful rhubarb sauce you created earlier...
...I added some bacon to make a completely inappropriate/appropriate meal...
It is Delish... and now is a part of me...something I will have to reveal...oie~~
.
No comments:
Post a Comment