More on a World Culinary Tour!
Change of plans! It’s India first! Naan, Roti, Paratha, Papadom, Pakora, Shorba, Kurma/Korma, Tikka, Masala, Biryani and the ambrosia delights list goes on and on! Yummy yum nums! Where to next? I’ll save that surprise until next post.
Foods Around the World!
Hubby and I are in the midst of celebrating a BIG fat wedding anniversary and are doing a month long world culinary tour! Thailand was great! I’m crazy for coconut soup and Hubby adores red curry! Japan was wonderful! Mmm… sushi, fishes, seaweeds, Teriyaki and Mochi Ice Cream! Next stop, Italy! Can’t wait for pastas, garlic, breads and other yumminess!
Happy Mother’s Day!
Best wishes to all mothers, and those who mother others! That kind of angelic nurturing and unconditional love can be a rare treasure in this world.
Cowboys and Indians and Cowgirls and Horses
In growing up, I played a game called ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with my siblings, cousins and friends. Have you ever heard of that action-packed thriller? Did you ever play that interactive, intense, improvisational and interplay game as a kid like I did? If you are older than ‘political correctness’ and grew up in North America, I figure you might have. Of course, that old game name conjures up the old typical ‘good cowboy (or US Cavalry) versus bad Injun’ movie or show I suppose, though back in the day, in my day as a kid, there were the few token ‘good Indians’ in TV and movie-land from time to time. Now, the way most of our friends expected to play the game, was that whomever were the Indians were the ‘bad guys’ and would lose, and so most kids wanted to be the cowboys or Cavalry so they would be the good guys and of course the ultimate winners, as they supposed. My older brother and I, in particular, didn’t see it that way. As proud Algonquian and Pocahontas descendents, we always wanted to ‘be’ the Indians, and we always were determined to ‘win’ every war we were in. And we did. As far as I can recall, anyhow. Woo hoo whoo hoot!
And then came ‘Dances With Wolves’. Oh my Western Indian goodness! A bunch of us Bennett Pocahontas descendants were in Native American Heaven on earth. Here was a Western we could really love, over and over and over again. I cannot tell you how many times my sister and I went to that movie, wearing more and more of our feathers and beads each time. And then of course we bought the movie a few times over as better ‘sets’ came out. I watch it every year for my birthday. Maybe I only have a few freckles worth of Indian blood left in my quite white veins, but in growing up that was enough to make me feel ‘full Indian and proud of it!’ from early childhood on. I embraced that little Indian within with all my heart. And even though my foster Blackfoot brother and Cree sister were only living with us a total of a few years together, I loved and still love them each like my own blood kin. Along the way I also made friends of various Native Americans from other tribes (from Canada to the United States), and for at least a couple of years, my oldest son was like family to many Navajo people in New Mexico. In general, I can say that I adore the First Nations people of Canada and the Native Nations of America and I hope for better and better things for each and all of them.
I grew up wanting to be a cowgirl even as I embraced the ‘Indian’ within. I loved horses like I cannot describe. I lived, breathed, ate and dreamed horses. One-horned unicorn and winged Pegasus/Pegasi horses too. Mostly, I was a flying horse in my dreams. My sister probably actually thought she was a real honest-to-goodness horse for a few years there, possibly due to my strong horse influence. Well, we did eat raw cold oats out of bowls we placed on the kitchen floor, daily kneeling like little kiddy horses. That was my wacky idea. I was horse nutty. We neighed liked horses. We watched and listened to them intently on our grandparents’ and cousins’ ranch style farms and practiced our horse noises seriously and faithfully. In my first grade at school, I started a horse herd. Anybody who wanted to, could join us all in running around, neighing and snorting, tossing our ponytails (if they had them), pawing at the ground with our foot hooves and pretending anyone not in the herd was likely out to get us – ‘bad guys’, cougars and wolves alike. I went to that first school for one year, but I heard that my horse herd there lived on without me long after I was gone. I started a new horse herd at the new school, and that ‘many girls and some boys’ equine group lived on beyond my younger sister’s takeover of it a few years later. I suppose that was my childhood horse herd legacy. And I am pony proud of it on both counts.
I have always been on the hunt for a good ‘Western’ movie. I have always yearned for ‘better Westerns’. Yes, I love watching the horses no matter the story. No, I don’t mind a good gun fight or two in the movie. Nothing too graphic, though. Of course, I want a little romance in there somewhere, and I want a girl I can identify with. In theory, I always loved Westerns, but was most often left at least a little wanting in a way. Sometimes they seem made mostly for men. Where was ‘my’ bigger part of the story? There were elements I didn’t like about many Westerns, like the excessive gunfire, the chronic saloon brawls, the jolly focus on destructive gambling, the token brothel business, or the annoying prostitute ‘ladies’ with supposed hearts of gold. I can’t identify with a woman who sells herself like that. I just simply cannot. I never could. And I certainly don’t wish to.
I want to write Westerns for Women. That’s what I’ve been trying to do, or at least I’ve been swaying in that direction in a way. Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters or Elizabeth Gaskell go west. Nineteenth Century English Feminine literature, gone to the North American western wilds. What I love best about classic eighteen hundreds relationship and romance stories, meets most of what was good about the west and western stories. Regency and Victorian morals and mores meet rugged individualism on horseback (or in a buggy or wagon). After all, in all the historical reading that I’ve done about the west, that was more what it was really like. There were ladies and gentlemen out west. Yes, there were. And most people who were packing kept their guns in their holsters, just like nowadays. There were plenty of good folk in the old days, even in the wild west. It wasn’t usually quite as wild as many movie westerns have portrayed. Yes, of course there are villains and such, and some people did get shot or robbed, but, I don’t want the ‘bad guys or girls’ glorified. I don’t like to see the brothel portrayed as a lovely place to meet your true love. And I don’t want to write a love story between a gunslinger robber murderer and his kind darling prostitute. Nope. Not in my books. I prefer to take what I love about Austen, Bronte and Gaskell works and set those kinds of characters and stories out in the American West. Because, you see, that is how I have always pictured those olden days.
Now, to finally get to one key and pertinent point of this post. If not of cowgirls per say, my first eight novels were of young virtuous ladies moving or living out west, more or less, but on this ninth novel of mine, I have gone ‘Indian’ so to speak. This character and story has been in the works for a number of years. A few more rewrites and she will finally be getting her ‘coming out party’ around the corner. I’m still holding my cards close on this beloved one, but I wanted to share that this novel has a strong Native American element, as an ode to my Pocahontas and other Algonquian ancestry, and an honoring nod to my foster siblings, friends and others amongst the many ‘first nations peoples’ of North America. Blessings, prosperity and longevity to you all.
Done and Done but Not Quite DONE!
Well, I finally finished up the first draft of my ninth novel and then I dug right into my first rewrite and finished that up pretty quickly. I usually take a few days or even weeks off of writing between the first draft finish and the first rewrite so I can come back with a truly fresh perspective (not to mention majorly clean house or do a painting for a change of pace), but this time I was a bit anxious because I seem to be taking longer writing this novel. It feels like forever, in fact. There have been some ‘life interruptions’ but I suppose more than that, this manuscript seems like almost twice as long at this point than some of my more recent ‘tighter’ novels. This story wants to be a little bit of an epic, but I still plan to reign it in or at least hold it steady in rewrites. I don’t want it longer than my ‘Mrs. Rutherford’, but, time and word-count will ultimately tell.
Still, it feels good to be this close, and yet, I am still so far.
A few more rewrites, and I am there though! And then I will tell all. But will I reveal some in the meantime?
Hot Cross Buns?
Haven’t seen or tasted those tasty little Easter-time treats (rolls) since we lived in Canada almost twenty years ago. Where are they Stateside?! Not from Utah to Seattle as far as I have seen. Lightly fruity, lightly sweet yeast rolls with a cross of creamy icing atop. We used to love to toast and then butter them, especially for Easter breakfast! Mmm… I miss them!
Spring Into Easter
When I think of spring, I think of Easter and when I think of Easter, I think of spring. The gift of life. Rebirth. Lovely spring flowers, baby bunnies, tiny chicks and beautiful Easter eggs. New life. Renewal. Over the years I have enjoyed and even marveled at the multiplicity of Easter eggs that I have seen; from typical North American colorful designs and colorations, to the Eastern Orthodox popular bright red eggs, and then the amazingly detailed Ukrainian, Romanian and Russian Easter egg designs.
North American Easter colors most often seem to me to be in the pastel realms. Pastels that remind of babies. Easter baskets remind of bassinets for babies. And then I think of the baby Jesus, His life, His suffering for our sins, and His ultimate conquering of death to pave the way for each of us. Resurrection. Life after death. Because He lived, died and lived again, we will live again and forever.
Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!
Being a little bit Irish, myself, and being named originally for ‘Kerry County’, Ireland, I always hope that a little of the luck o’ the Irish is in me. My typical luck is definitely the kind of ‘Irish style’ luck such as, ‘oops, I stepped in something yucky: lucky part Irish me, I wasn’t wearing my best shoes!’ I oft remind myself that a positive attitude can shine a silver lining on most clouds. Irish luck can make lucky Irish shamrocks out of simple three-leafed clover growing like weeds in your grass, whether it be geener or not. Beyond my freckles and lily white skin, being upbeat is ‘being part Irish’ to me. I try to embrace that positivity and look for Irish luck in everything. I’m not saying I’m good at being positive, because I’m often naturally not, but my lucky Irish roots remind me to try to believe in ‘the luck of the Irish’ I come from.
I wanted to post some thoughts for Saint Paddy’s Day, and the first ideas that popped into my little part Irish brain in my big part Irish head, were to give some big complements to my favorite ‘made in Ireland’ products. Besides Idahoan potatoes, which may or may not be part Irish, but are definitely among my favorite ‘Irish style’ foods (I love potatoes almost any way you can slice, dice, boil, mash, bake or fry them – as long as there is some salt, oil and/or butter in the mix), a few Irish wonders come to my part Irish mind. There are some fabulous imported from Ireland Irish aged cheddar cheeses that I have brought home on occasion. Mmm… maybe I need to try Irish cheddar cheese melted on Irish-ish potatoes. That sounds lucky and tasty all at once.
Made in Ireland Waterford Crystal looks temptingly beautiful, but I have never splurged on any of that as yet. Can you believe it? I do currently have my eye on a more affordable made in Ireland Tipperary Crystal candle holder, though. I may fall for it later this Saint Patrick’s Day. You just never know what this lucky Irish day might do to me as the day goes on. Something Irish in me always wants to get something Irish on Paddy’s Day.
Crafted in Ireland Belleek is the ivory colored shiny fine Parian china, with green shamrocks hand-painted on, and has been a selective collectible for me for a number of years. I particularly love the teapots and mugs, and occasional vases, and I adore my ‘castle’ and ‘cottage’ series collections. Lately I have especially jumped for the ‘Everyday Belleek’ items, which are microwaveable and dishwasher-able as well. We have a very large window ledge over my kitchen sink, and that is where my Belleek is on display, going very nicely with ivory walls and emerald green accents throughout the room. Every day, it is all a reminder of the lucky Irish Emerald Isle from which some of my ancestors stem.
Aran Craft offers a wonderful wool with a multiplicity of wondrous stitches in various richly vibrant colors knitted in Ireland. I have amassed scarves, throws and sweaters. The scarves have been ideal and lovely little lucky Irish Christmas gifts, especially in green and red. Now why haven’t I given the ivory white scarves yet? Ah, perhaps that will be next year. But, shhh, don’t tell my family members. One lucky upside to the red scarves is that they are also ideal for Valentine’s Day (or the month of February), and then the Irish lucky side to the green scarves is that they are perfect for any chilly night surrounding Saint Patrick’s Day (or the month of March).
Now, where are my Irish-Idahoan potatoes and imported from Ireland Irish cheese?!
To be or not to be…
… a romance novelist? That was my question. Yes, that was one of my questions in life at least twenty years ago. When I first explored the possibilities of writing fiction (because ideas were pouring into my little brain by leaps and bounds, and almost by the minute), one thing I told myself was that, ‘I was not going to write a Romance novel!’ It wasn’t because I wasn’t an incurable romantic all my life, because I was. I still am. It wasn’t because I didn’t love movies and stories with some romance in them, because I did, and still do. It wasn’t because I wasn’t an incurable matchmaker type who was always tempted to play cupid for people I knew, because I was always inclined to interfere in that way. It wasn’t because romance didn’t show up in any of my story attempts, because at least a little romantic element probably showed up in every single one. Even when I tried to write something in any number of those non-romance genres, without anything romantic, the romance would show up somehow anyway. The characters would want to find love in my stories. Even as I advised my characters against love for them for whatever reason (even maybe that I was just trying my darnedest not to write anything remotely close to a romance novel); either my muse disagreed with me or the characters had true love minds of their own. Romance reared it’s little cupid head every fictional try time.
I didn’t want to write typical romance novels. It was because I didn’t personally like the formulaic romance novels that I had read, and it only took about three borrowed paperback novels (from my romantic mother and her equally romantic friends) when I was twelve, for me to recognize the blatant formula and for me to tire of the obvious scenarios that I knew would play out over and over again. Different people, names and places; but basically the same story. I was swiftly tired of the ‘modern romance novel’ formula: girl meets boy, boy hates girl, girl hates boy, girl keeps running into boy, boy starts to like girl, but girl still hates boy, and then finally, drum roll please, er, I mean, swelling romantic music complete with crucial violins please; girl finally realizes that she actually loved boy all the time deep down in her heart of hearts, and they both now know for certain that they were always meant for only each other. Voila: kiss, engagement, marriage, and definitely happily ever after, or something like that. You know, sort of like a fairy tale. A fairy tale for young ladies and women. Well, maybe not exactly any fairytale that I can think of right off, right now, but something like that. The problem was, I could see the romance formula coming at me, like a tunnel of love train.
I dabbled in many typically accepted genres in my fictional writing tries, but none were a perfect fit for me. And so, ‘What was I to write?’ (besides non-fiction), I asked myself. My passions, preferences, sensibilities and sentiments weren’t exactly made for any commonly known genre. At least what I wanted to write didn’t seem to fit any genre that I knew about as yet. From what I could tell back then, my ideas and style seemed suited for a narrow genre of classics written by women that I knew of at that point in time. ‘Anne of Green Gables’, ‘Little Women’, Little House on the Prairie’, ‘Jane Eyre’ and that kind of classic story. But, I wasn’t born back in the eighteen hundreds (like I had wished since I was a young girl, vacationing on a ranch-style farm that seemed almost stuck back in time with a neighboring old western-style town included plus an old traditional orthodox Hudderite Colony over one of the hills). How could I write something idealistically ‘back then’; to be found now, in the future that I was forced to be living in because of my own real modern fate? How could I write a romantic classic? Classics were written back then. I was living now. ‘I was born one hundred years too late’: this was something I had told myself for decades anyway, and I wasn’t just thinking about literature genres. It was probably more about horses and old fashioned charm.
But then, shortly thereafter (about fifteen or so years ago), I gradually discovered Jane Austen’s works, more Bronte sisters’ stories, Elizabeth Gaskell’s works and etcetera. I found my passion in spades. Vintage Chick Lit movies and novels were definitely my thing. But, besides reading and rereading my favorite novels by authoresses of about the nineteenth century, I wasn’t interested in much else. I felt like this kind of classical female fiction was a few and far between treasure beyond the normal genres. Some would already say that Austen-related novels are a genre (or maybe a neo-genre) in and of themselves: sequels, spin-offs and simply fictional works inspired by Jane Austen’s novels, stories, characters, places, ideas, humor and style. Yes, I do think that this is a new born neo-genre in a real way. Jane Austen style is certainly practically a genre unto itself. And us Janeites or Austen-aholics crave Jane Austen’s style, characters, wit, genius and sarcasm: in short, we live and breathe her stories.
Some of my works fit into this relatively new Austen-related genre, such as my ‘Paint and Piano’ which bounces off of Jane Austen’s ‘Sense and Sensibility’ (and it’s two sisters: Elinor and Marrianne, who’s personalities are reflective of the title) with a dash of Austen’s ‘Pride and Prejudice’ thrown in (by way of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and their fun and silly banter). Of course, my ‘Sensing Jane Austen’ is fairly obviously inspired by ‘Sense and Sensibility’ as well, while my ‘Miss Houston’ is inspired by ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (specifically spring-boarding from one of the questions I kept asking myself every time I watched or read it, ‘What if Elizabeth had said yes to Darcy’s first offer of marriage for philanthropically manipulative reasons?’). Beyond Austen-related works, I enjoy writing novels inspired by the Bronte sisters, Elizabeth Gaskell, Louisa May Alcott, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lucy Maude Montgomery and other women from a century gone by. I lovingly call this neo-genre ‘Vintage Chick Lit’. I think it is a real and expanding genre. Why? Because women like me hunger for something like the nineteenth century feminine classics, and there were only so many written that some of us just keep reading over and over again.
What is the neo-genre ‘Vintage Chick Lit’ as I am asserting it? To me, put simply, it is romantic fiction with an old-fashioned flare. However, this romantic neo-genre should not be confused with so many ‘romance novels’ written by ‘modern’ writers that seem to follow a compressed formulaic version of the ‘Elizabeth and Darcy’ story (and almost nothing but their single thread story). Yes, ’Pride and Prejudice’ seems to be the ‘mother of all modern romance’ formula stories: simply the ‘romantic tension between two people’ story. Sometimes there seems nothing but the romantic thread making up the entire story.
This overly simplistic version of one of Jane’s Austen’s prima masterpieces, in the form of the modern romance novel formula, is precisely what I don’t personally prefer to read or write. Basically, it becomes boring. That formula has been done to death. You see, what I love about the classic feminine novel from the nineteenth century is far more than the romantic threads. It’s way more than a romantic ‘true love’ story ending in a kiss or marriage. It is the entire tapestries of those richly woven stories that pull me in and keep me interested. There are inter-relationships between women, charming mores of that time, challenges (far beyond and besides romance) and the wonderfully wholesome list just goes on and on. If you have read from any of these classic authoresses that I’ve mentioned, and you can see past your romantic sensing nose, to life and people beyond romance, you will know exactly what I mean. You will know of what I speak, feel, love and am currently compelled to write.
Yes, I guess you could say that ‘Vintage Chick Lit’ is my genre. As to my own offerings of this more than romantic kind, I’m currently fifty-five thousand words worth of work into my ninth romantically-inclined period-piece classic-style novel (and am trying to write at least one thousand words a day to add to it in my spare time). As I continue with this new heroine ‘daughter’ of mine, I aspire in some measure to emulate the works or at least the styles, and perhaps some of the timelessly old-fashioned charms of my favorite aforementioned feminine novelists’ works, writing far more than romance, I certainly hope. I attempt to pen wholesome novels about virtuous women in relatable situations and interesting relationships, with men and women in their lives. I try to entertain, but far more than that, I hope to uplift.
And, incidentally, Happy Valentine’s Day!!!
Happy 200th Birthday, Charles Dickens!
From ‘A Christmas Carol’ to my other favorite classics that Dickens penned, I have enjoyed many of his characters and stories, though I do hope and plan to read and see more as time goes on. I’ve barely scratched the surface where Charles Dickens’ literary works are concerned, perhaps because they can be a bit too real for me at times. I lean more to Jane Austen and the Bronte sister’s romantic enjoyments. I guess I’m a pure girl in some respects. I’m not always in the mood for gritty or grubby.
Many of Dickens’ characters’ names reflect who or what they are, which names can become quite comical to read in and of themselves, which I love a bunch. When I wrote my own ‘Prattleton’ about a town of gossips, I embraced this Dickensesque example and had great fun naming many characters in my novel.
I also love the fact that through Dickens’ fiction, he clandestinely criticized what he saw being wrong with government and society at large. Parables of a kind. I’ve come to believe in parables, though I briefly lost sight of their prose power back in years gone by. I try to write parables, or stories that teach things of deeper meaning than what you see initially. Stories can hold truths to be found woven into the tapestry, offering thread upon thread to be discovered as you are ready to see or find them.
One thing that stands out with my Dickens top favorite, ‘A Christmas Carol’, is that it is truly a repentance story and reminds us all that it is never too late to change for the better. You can always wake up from a bad dream or rock bottom, and decide to change from a Scrooge or worse, to become a generous and good person. I think the world needs more of these redemption story reminders. Thanks especially for that one, Charles Dickens! And Christmas Eve is not Christmas Eve without it!
