New recipes I tried in the 1st week of the new year

The start of a new year, like a poem, has both heft and a lightness of being. It carries the weight of our hopes and expectations for an entire year, 365 days. New year's day, Jan. 1, flies on the wings of optimism and starts the week off with a heady sense of freedom -- it's a new beginning, a chance to get things right, be your best you.

Here's a poem and few recipes I tried, enjoyed and shared in the first week of 2017:

"Burning the Old Year" by Naomi Shihab Nye 

So much of any year is flammable, 

lists of vegetables, partial poems, 

orange swirling flame of days 

so little is a stone. 

 Read the rest of the poem at the Poetry Foundation. 

 Laaaaaaa

A Kitchen Poem by Joy Harjo

So one of my New Year's resolution for 2013 was to read more poetry. Fortunately, I followed through...and discovered this gem that I must share:

Perhaps The World Ends Here

by

Joy Harjo

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat

to live.

The gifts of the earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has

been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. 

They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be

human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our

children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves

and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the

shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for 

burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and

remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing

and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.

An Ode to Peas, Part Deux with Recipes

My last blog post on peas, inspired my this week's article in the San Angelo Standard-Times. It's amazing how the human mind works and connects. Writing a blog post about peas for my friend with cancer, thinking of Spring, sent me out into my garden, down memory lane, to my mom and then back to my kids.
The article meanders through my thoughts.

It also has the recipe for this:

Raviolis with peas, spinach & prosciutto. Yum!

And I know it's not April anymore, so National Poetry Month is over...but I love poems, so here's a lovely pea poem :)

A-Shelling Peas by Harry Breaker Morant

Now, all the world is green and bright
Outside the latticed pane;
The fields are decked with gold and white,
And Spring has come again.
But though the world be fair without,
With flow'rs and waving trees,
'Tis pleasanter to be about
Where Nell's a-shelling peas.

Her eyes are blue as cloudless skies,
And dimples deck her cheeks;
Whilst soft lights loiter in her eyes
Whene'er she smiles or speaks.
So all the sunlit morning-tide
I dally at mine ease,
To loaf at slender Nelly's side
When Nell's a-shelling peas.

This bard, who sits a-watching Nell,
With fingers white and slim,
Owns up that, as she breaks each shell,
She also "breaks up" him;
And could devoutly drop upon
Submissive, bended knees
To worship Nell with apron on -
A saint a-shelling peas.

The tucked-up muslin sleeves disclose
Her round arms white and bare -
'Tis only "shelling peas" that shows
Those dainty dimples there.
Old earth owns many sights to see
That captivate and please; -
The most bewitching sight for me
Is Nell a-shelling peas.