Pasta

RIGHT INTO

THE POT,

X

PASTA

MEETS IT'S

DESTINY.

X

I need this rescue tonight. Nothing else will do.

x

x

As the very salted water roils, the strands, just a

second ago straight as straws, start to fold into a

fated al dente perfection.

x

I am going to gently heat the Virgin Olive Oil, and stir

in a few cloves of garlic, smashed with a cleaver

against the marble board. I love softened garlic,

not fried to a crisp, so I baby it till it's done.

x

A few flakes of red pepper scattered atop the mix,

float like a school of very tiny goldfish.

Then the pasta is finished and poured into the colander.

x

Hurrying, I'll then toss it into the oil mix, heat for a sec,

grab the blue ironstone bowl, drop in the pasta, and

every lick of oil. Black pepper, ground again and again,

dots the entirety. Last, I'll use the grater to shave a

small handful of Parmegiano Reggiano.

x

Stir. Breathe in. Eat.

Happy!

BITING THE APPLE
X
I was certainly surprised to
hear on the local news today
that the Borough of Queens,
New York City, came in first
in a survey that places them
#1 in resident satisfaction.
x
Or as the reporter proclaimed,
Queens was the happiest
Borough of all five. I would have
thought that perhaps Manhattan, which
contains Park Avenue and Fifth Avenue,
might have won out. Which just goes to
show that money doesn't buy happiness.
x
Conducted by a Citizens Committee
for New Yorkers, 4400 people, a
reasonable amount to form a statistic
of 51%, said that they liked the friendliness
of their neighbors, the houses are nice, there's lots of
greenery, the largest diversity of cultures, many languages
(no hysteria here to make English the official language).
x
And 68% really like to join in for the betterment of
their neighborhoods.
x
I'm happy that this has seen the light of day. Maybe
there will be a shift in emphasis, and population,
away from Manhattan, to Queens, so that in the future
when we sing..."if you can make it there, you can make
it anywhere"...we will be singing about Queens, N.Y.
x
I have to admit that in recent years, the only times I've
visited Queens was on the way to or from the airport.
Either LAG, or JFK. Queens, in addition to being so
harmonious, is very well suited for take-offs and
landings.
x
In the future, as I drive through Queens, I will certainly
breathe deeply of it's benevolent air!

Mozart

JANUARY 27, 1756
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU... WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART
253 YEARS OLD TODAY
x
x
Albert Einstein:
"Mozart is the greatest composer of all...
the music is of such purity and beauty that one feels he merely
found it...that it has always existed as part of the inner beauty
of the universe waiting to be revealed".
x
x
From, "Two Ghosts",
poems,
an excerpt:

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
K 165/ PROOF

x
The Mezzo's voice fills the
recitative
and beckons us to plunge
into Mozart's Little Concerto.
Exultate, jubilate, a motet sung by sopranos,
was composed for the illustrious Rauzini,
the Castrato.......

Pomona

POMONA HAS BEEN LABLED OBSCURE,
YET SURVIVED ANTIQUITY AS THE ROMAN GODDESS
OF ORCHARDS AND FRUIT TREES.
X
It is said that she made it with the help of Vertumnus, God of the Changing Year, for he allowed the seasons to reach her orchard and ripen her fruit.

It's known that he fancied her,but disguised himself as an old hag so he could befriend her, gain her confidence.

Old ladies seemed more trustworthy than Gods.

They did this sort of thing in antiquity.

It worked out in the end.
x
x
Pomona did well in history. She can be found at the Louvre,
and outside the Plaza Hotel in New York City.
There she is in the works of Rubens and Rembrandt.

There are eight cities in the U.S. named Pomona and we have
Pomona College.
x
Also 32 Pomona, is an astoroid and
Papilio Pomona, a species of butterfly.
x
As William Holden said in "Sunset Boulevard"...."They'll love
it in Pomona".

x
And let's not forget Steve Miller singing,
"Really love your peaches,
wanna shake your tree".
x
x
x
She went in a kid, and came out a star!




Based on information by
David Allen

PANTOUM

Pantoum is a poetic form that first

appeared in the 15th Century,

in Malayan literature. It existed

as an oral form. The Western
version is a written poem made up

of stanzas of four lines that are
repeated in a pattern. It can be

any length the poet desires.

I found that I was very attracted to this form

when I discovered it several years ago.

After establishing the first four lines,

something starts to occur that seems

to be out of my hands. The poetry goes

to places that I never could have found

without the form. This force, form,

always surprises me.

The poem that follows is from my

book of poems, "Two Ghosts".

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

RECIPE

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Remember the taste of fresh bread

As you ready the bread for baking.

Combine water and salt, add the yeast

And stir till you inhale the life of the bread.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As you ready the dough for baking

Put in enough flour to stiffen the mother,

And stir till you inhale the life of the bread

As the dough leaves the sides of the bowl.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Put in enough flour to stiffen the mother,

Pinch a piece to melt on your tongue

As the dough leaves the sides of the bowl,

Kneed till it's smooth and elastic as a womb.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pinch a piece to melt on your tongue

Spread the dough with soft butter and cover.

Kneed till it's smooth and elastic as a womb.

Let rise until doubled and press it once more.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Spread the dough with soft butter and cover.

Then fold the edges and turn upside down,

Let rise until doubled and press it once more.

Roll the dough tightly like a jelly roll.

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xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Then fold the edges and turn upside down,

Place diagonally on a lightly greased sheet.

Roll the dough tightly like a jelly roll.

And with a sharp knife slash the top.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Place diagonally on a lightly greased sheet.

Brush with cold water again and again,

And with a sharp knife slash the top.

Reduce the heat in the oven as the bread bakes.

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Brush with cold water again and again,

Sprinkle with sesame or light poppy seeds.

Reduce the heat in the oven as the bread bakes.

Then tap the loaf till it sounds like a hollow door.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sprinkle with sesame or light poppy seeds.

Combine water and salt, add the yeast

Then tap the loaf till it sounds like a hollow door.

Remember the taste of fresh bread.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

c 2009 all rights reserveed

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

To order "Two Ghosts":

call 888-795-4274 ext.7876

www.xlibris.com www.amazon.com

www.bn.com www.borders.com

at bookstores

A New Day

I have so much to be grateful for.



For instance, if anyone out there remembers my post
way back when, at the beginning of January, "Ritual",
you'll find me in a pretty fair uproar about the
subject of cream cheese.


Not forcing you search it out, it's basically about my
breakfast: bagel and cream cheese, (although I did
have something called an "English " muffin yesterday).
Don't like to get into a rut!


Anyway, the problem had to do with the impossibility
of my opening the cream cheese package without doing
damage to myself, the kitchen, and the bagel.


Until this morning. I actually had a vision that this time
I would open the package (a problem that's followed me
ALL of my life) with little ado, spread the cream cheese,
pour the coffee and relax with Milo, the cat, in his favorite
chair.


The vision was miraculously fulfilled. I'm humbled. I will
allow myself to have larger dreams, for they may come true.
And Obama has been President for barely a day!

Mother and Child

BARACK OBAMA, 44TH PRESIDENT
OF THE UNITED STATES

THE MOTHER LOOKS AT THE CHILD,

PROTECTS HIM.

THE CHILD, BARACK,

LOOKS AT US,

DREAMS FORMING,

WITH YEARS TO GO.

TODAY HE GAVE A GIFT

x

TO HIS MOTHER,

THE DREAM OF HARMONY COME TRUE.

x

C 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Black Elk ( 1863-1950 )

from Beliefnet.com
Prayer of the Day

GREAT SPIRIT, YOU ARE THE LIFE OF THINGS

Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth

and lean to hear my feeble voice. You lived first, and you

are older than all need, older than all prayer. All things

belong to you- the two-legged, the four-legged, the wings

of the air, and all green things that live.

You have set the powers of the four quarters of the earth

to cross each other. You have made me cross the good

road and the road of difficulties, and where they cross,

the place is holy. Day in, day out, forevermore, you

are the life of things.

Black Elk

John Mortimer

JOHN MORTIMER, on the left,
with Leo McKern


April 21, 1923 - January 16, 2009

I'm so sorry to be posting obits one after

the other.

I fervantly hope that some of my favorite

people stay around for a long time.

That being said,I would like to quote from

The New York Times, on the occasion of

the death of John Mortimer, barrister

and writer, at the age of 85.

"Mr. Mortimer also found time to pursue

his lifelong interest in women,

write for newspapers and

keep up the garden

nurtured by his father..."

To be remembered always, as the creator of

Horace Rumpole.

And because he was enthralled

by Evelyn Waugh's book,

"Brideshead Revisited",

adapted it for television,

to my everlasting gratitude.

John Mortimer... straight to heaven!

acknowledgement: Associated Press for photograph

Andrew Wyeth 1917-2009

I found out this morning that the artist,

Andrew Wyeth had died at the age of 91.

I didn't want to post the painting of the

enigmatic figure of "Christina's World".

I think that image is going to be pervasive

for quite a while, it being the one that

immediately comes to mind when Wyeth is

mentioned.

Instead I chose this painting of a

young man striding across another hill,

perhaps less mysterious, on an ordinary day.

x

I greatly admired Andrew Wyeth. He was sometimes

referred to as the "Painter of the People".

This is not very good in some circles. Because

the "people" generally like art that is sentimental,

illustrative. I will let the critics who do not appreciate

his work, speak for themselves.

One can readily see that Wyeth's work is a contrast to

the Abstractions of the middle of the 20th Century.

But looking closely at many of the paintings, in addition

to strong currents of emotion, symbolism, and clear beauty,

there is an underlying abstraction at play. Contrasts and

shadows become stark angles, enhancing and sometimes

obscuring the character, mood and spirituality, always part

of the mystery of Wyeth's paintings.

x

The isolation, the existential moment is similar to the

introversion that I am so drawn to in the work of

Edward Hopper, another artist who portrays the

everyday moment, the resignation of "ordinary" people.

x

I write of Andrew Wyeth with gratitude for his

artistry.

Theme

I HOPE THIS PICTURE IS SUITABLY STRANGE OR
SPOOKY. I JUST WANT, FROM TIME TO TIME, TO

fullfil the title of my Blog/blog. Boo.

It's been about a month now since I have entered
into this particular form of masochism.
I, who am practically veiled when I go out,
actually thought it was a good idea to say,
"Hello world, here I am!"

And I was right to trust in the kindness of strangers.
Funny, but I seem to be treated with more tact
and appreciation by the bloggy world than by
kith and kin.

What has become apparent is that
despite my willingness to lose my dignity, and
practically beg for any friend or relation to
PUHLEEEEZE just click on my Blog, I am
offered the lamest excuses why this is almost
immpossible. High on the list is the "busy" factor,
and getting to it after "the holidays".

Well, there will always be a holiday around the corner.

Another excuse is based on the misinformation that
blogs are noisy, negative places where political maniacs
gather.

Or as my dearest friend says, "I have better things to do
than spend the day on the computer". I myself would rather
say, "the dog ate the keyboard".



But the very worst part is my fear of technology. I come
from a time when the most complicated after school task
was to turn on"I Love Lucy". Now, when I look at the
computer screen, just the phrase,"click", is somewhat of a
challenge. What if I do, and everything disappears? What if
I don't and I keep going in circles? I've done both.

The other day when my all my pictures disappeared, I had
an urge to resort to old behavior, which is to hit any
mechanical object. I refrained. Pictures returned in their
own sweet time

Instead I became very philosophical. As I do with most
things that disappear from my life, I just say,"It wasn't
meant to be". I'll think of it as a late summer romance,
fleeting, and lot's of fun. But September always comes.


Yet, I'm back! Maybe it's the angel on my shoulder!!!




Here's a quote, appropos of nothing
but fun:

I can't understand why a person will take a year
to write a novel when he can easily buy one for a
few dollars.

Fred Allen,
US radio comedian ( 1894-1956)

Billy Collins

ANOTHER BILLY COLLINS

MOMENT

I've noticed a flurry of Billy adulation

floating through several blogs recently,

mine included.

I am his biggest fan. In fact,

I wrote the following poem about him

last year when I made the discovery

that not only were we both born

in NYC, but we share the same birth date.

Billy...I salute you!!!

BEING BILLY COLLINS

I want to kidnap you,

immobilize your transferred body,

throw you down

on white paper,

place your arms at your sides,

then grab a pitch black

pointy pencil,

outline your stock-still body,

because I'm about to

become you.

Not like you. Just you.

With ceremony,

I'll place myself within

the sketched border,

transforming, transforming...

It's only fair that this occur.

Proof:

March 22nd

our mutual date of birth.

I'm the one meant to be

the celebrated poet,

to know what it's like

to have the literary world

rally round my accomplished patois.

Billy, you were meant

to take a seat and stare

at this anesthetizing screen.

And here you are,

punch drunk from lack of sleep,

clutching my napping cat

upon your sprawling lap,

wondering what you're doing here.

c 2009 all rights reserved

Open

IF YOU

CLING

TO AN

IDEA

as the unalterable truth,

then when the truth does come

in person and knocks at your

door, you may not be able to open

it and let the truth in.

Udana Sutta

I seem to be gathering quotes today. Lazy me.

For instance, I watched a most

excellent movie last night, Werner Herzog's,

"Encounters at the End of the World".

Quote later.

x

This is an incredible journey to the South Pole.

Antarctica becomes both otherworldly and extremely

human. The inhabitants bring their particular skills,

but also wise and funny individuality. A wonder of

courage and resilience. And unimaginable beauty.

x

To quote Werner Herzog:

x

Reality outdoes all your fantasies.

Ghosts

Well, here I am consorting with ghosts again.
Am I projecting a future, spooky attachment to life
when I should sensibly have left this mortal coil?


The very thought of the static, repetitious scenario,
coming through the same door for eternity,
is not appealing.

I guess that's the point. Let go in life,

maybe it will be easier to close the door

permanently when the time comes.

Heaven Beckons!


Method to my madness...a request has been made
for me to show more of my poetry.
I have from time to time posted a snippet here,
a snippet there, from my book of poetry,
"Two Ghosts", which "came out" last year.
Aha!

Certainly, not all my poems are ethereally tilted.
There's a song, a dance,
some seltzer down your pants.



Here is an entire poem,
one of the Two Ghosts
I keep tossing around.
Maybe one of these days
I'll post the other Ghost!



from:

LADIES IN WAITING


She sits in a straight backed chair

slouching like Whistler's Mother.

Head to toe in black,

she looks out of the night window.


I wonder if she's the nurse.

In the ward there are no other children.

I call out,

"Can you bring me some water?"


She turns to me

and I can't find her face.




c2009 all rights reserved



Two Ghosts
poems
Lyn Rochelle

to order:

call 888- 795-4274 ext. 7876
http://www.xlibris.com/ http://www.amazon.com/
http://www.bn.com/ http://www.borders.com/
or at bookstores.





I want to thank Marti at Cameleon Conundrum
who has posted her interview. Check her out!

Interview

So happy to have been chosen to be interviewed
by Willow, Life at Willow Manor. After I answer Willow's
questions, I invite you all to be interviewed as well.
Instructions at the end of this post will tell you how.


1. I see from your blog that you are a
breast cancer survivor. Which one piece of
advice can you give us from this experience?

I'm taking it for granted that women are looking
after themselves, that no foolish excuses, no
hiding one's head in the sand, is allowed to take place.
Go for that exam, follow through. Believe that you are a
survivor. For ages I've had this favorite phrase. If anyone
tells me I have something awful, I always say,
"I have the good version". Have faith in your good fate.
Is that more than one piece of advice?

2. Why is your blog called "Two Ghosts"?

I had a book of poetry published last year. The title
is "Two Ghosts". There are two short poems in it, connected
by theme. What else...ghosts! The ladies in the poems
are as scary as I could make them. My grandmother, from
the old country, brought a bounty of frightening tales
with her when she came here. Many times her stories had
me sleeping with the lights on. "Two Ghosts"? I like the
sound of it. Better than One.

3. Who is your favorite female actress and why?

It used to be the other one, but now it's definitely
Helen Mirren. She's sublime. Just when she seems to
be acting a hag, with the turn of her head she becomes
beautiful. She always seems transcendent, more than
inhabiting the role, more than anyone could wish for.
Who else could play the "Queen"? And Jane Tennyson?
There's no such thing as seeing "Prime Suspect" too
many times.

4. Apart from your loved ones, what
is your most treasured possession?

A very big box. My apartment. Lock me in and throw
away the key. Everything is here. Books on shelves,
on tables, on my nightstand. Paintings hung the way
they do at the Louvre. One on top of the other up to
the ceiling. My Puja, where I have a very ecumenical
group of saints and symbols that I invoke every morning.
Old pots and pans, two great new ones, that I really
use for the hundreds of recipes I've collected. Music at
all times, Mozart or The Beach Boys. And all
my art things are here in this box.

5. Before blogging, what, if any was

your main mode of personal expression?

Before blogging, like a month ago, (this stuff may be
too tech for me), I was gifted with a love for art and
was extremely privileged to be able to follow the path
of an artist. For the last five years or so I have been
totally wrapped up in the making of collages. What I
love about collage is that I am able to use parts of
other art that I've done, old sketches, pieces of etchings,
prints, cloth, nothing is thrown away, anything that
can be pasted, assembled. I like beauty, I try to make
my art beautiful. In order to take that love for beauty
to a logical place, I became a makeup artist.
I'm just a fool for beauty. I also like to write. Talk?
You can't shut me up.



Here's the instructions:

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."

2. I will respond by emailing you five questions.
(I get to pick the questions).

3. You will update your blog with the answers to
the questions.

4. You will include this explanation and an offer
to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed,
you will ask them five questions.