Yard Speak

         As I recall, in the early days of my youth, I recognized that in my intuitive wardrobe of a mind, having children was not in the best intentions of my being, so I was along the many forks in the roads, determined to replace those feelings to

procreate with something just as intrinsic to the natures of my soul.  
       Along the way, planted in my brain, which still remains, are the sounds of silence, broadcasting patterns and textures, as they are per say, found only in the preludes to horticultural stigmas.  I then was to realize my potential of raising geometric traditions from the surrounding landscapes from the interior patents of my often swirling and bombastic repertoire of stylistic botanical memories.  
                                     As it were, in relation to the rearing of children, these compilations spoke for themselves, no matter the detours and cajoling I obfuscated from my secular selves, finding a way to speak back to me, the satisfaction I had delivered to them, in ways that only the concept of actions speak louder than words, can justify.  I can in all honesty, say from moment to moment that these  gestures illuminate themselves as the continuous brush strokes of the landscape as it evolves from one generational thought to the next.
                                    This then is the parent Steven, ever grateful to have had the pleasure of watching and contemplating the growth of my offspring, even though the outcomes are never displaying foreshadowing, or giving any clues to the permutations one finds along the way, Child

Jackson celebrates his Baptism with Family

       I kid you not, that is Pastor Brian on the guitar, before the "Jackson" shared his symbolic consciousness with not only his family, but with the whole of the congregation.

      Not that there was a Trinity going on, like Father, Son and Holy Ghost, but mind you for Bob and Myself, or maybe just for me, I was Bobbing and weaving as if Peter,

Paul and Mary were there in spirit, egging on Pastor Brian to reach out and touch everyone there in attendance.

        As Pastor Brian poured the "Holy Water" into the bowl, and the proud parents offered Jackson to join with the congregation, and the congregation rejoiced in their

responsibility to help support Jackson and his parents, we all took in the joys of the baptisms of Fire and Ice.  After the ceremony, we all joined each other outside to share the fellowship of community we all represented and

shared in refreshments as we continued the chatter.  After all was said and done, the family gathered and milled around Adele's home and filled our bellies with delight food

pairings, guffawing and enjoying the family picnic we had all so looked forward to sharing.






       That is by all accounts the experiences that I have accumulated over the years with my favorite Santa Rosa Clan, the Mortensen's. Together we all celebrated our new family member and christened ourselves with more little conversations about the

proportions of Icing to Cake, on Jackson's Holy Cross "Cake" Batman, as Cousin Linda and I took the lead in confessing our admiration for large portions of icing to small portions of cake.

        The kids fished in Adele's local pond, and cousin's grouped together for pictures they somehow don't get the time for, or put together the effort involved to achieve.  This time even Cousin Linda was more inclined to put up with such nonsense and lunacy.

         I had to oblige, and here, as God as our witness, the event took place.  This is Steven, the wandering photographer and literary gaffer, holding on tight to the slippery slopes of pandering group consciousness that litter the hallways of my mind from time to time, Child

Architectural Imaginings

               Before Puff the Magic Dragon fell thru the portals of an air pop machine, there dangling from interpretive coalitions of wandering motifs were the beginnings of String Theory, and not necessarily from archaic and posthumous Yo-Yo champions.  Inside many heads were lurking some form of coalescing geometric patterns that would somehow symbolize not only the form of the cultural heritage involved at one's birthright, but the functionality or purpose being implied.
               One would have to bargain into being the freedom of expressed consent as to making an exponential leap forward, like thru the window, down the front steps of the porch, touching nothing but net, forging not just the river bed of creative wonder, but lasting tributaries that would bind the inital choreography of global impressionism.
                You could, one day, watch the topography of a road trip evolve and melt away as each of the micro-cultural symbols of climate, lifestyle, and culinary influences first appeared and then faded into the background, as the architectural nomenclature came increasingly close to being the language that made you languish in another foyer of international post hypnotic suggestion of your choice.
                This then would be a recollection of my first travel date with my wife, now of 25 years, as I professed my desire to take her down to San Francisco to give her an idea of mine, how there is a linear pattern involved in the cultural anthropological nature of Architecture.  I'm not saying Mickey Spillane would have any mind meltdown while he was propped up against a streetlamp on a cold, foggy and misty night, the brim of his hat pointing skyward at a 45' angle, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, trying to figure out whether or not this latest Dame of a client was somehow pulling his chain, but he could have a calm afterthought staring into the distance at some structural image that held some form of warm and coalescing memory from his childhood.  Nowadays one finds a mixture, or fusion, blending history and tradition with not only purpose, but artistic sensibility.  Also involved in the design is a way to blend it into it's surrounding impressions,  along with some form of technology that behooves the natural flow, and also adds the ability to bend the structural integrity of the material involved, without sacrificing the safety or cultural indoctrination of the architect himself.             
               So before you slowly wile away the hours of an ordinary day, and put down one too many cups of coffee or energy boosting drink, just remember to muse on the opportunities around you, not only on the interior design layout and movement of the space you occupy, but take the time either to stare out the window, walk outside your mind and put into motion, with your freedom to think and reflect on how you are so lucky to know these simple concepts and how easy it is to enjoy yourself no matter the momentary situation your in.  These little exercises may someday provide you with the therapy you need, to continue to rise every morning, give credence to your existence and not rely on asking your doctor to provide you with some convoluted profile given to you by some surrealistic commercial, or stop and think over whether or not the tacky, pissy rhetoric you heard sometime in your day made enough sense to linger, instead of being the perky, unorthodox individual you once thought of yourself to be.

This is when it should become perfectly clear....

       I'm not saying that it's some form of combative ritual from nature to the upheavals that seemingly occur in Washington, or some foreshadowing of what will occur when those beleaguered imprints of mystifying protocols that were neglected come back to face the epiphany choruses they will have to listen to when they make their triumphant return, but it does ring of paybacks are a bitch.  
       Sometime in the near future, when all the hubbub loosens it's grip on insanity, we will all face destiny in the sense that the infrastructure and the malaise of the educational system will become perfectly clear to other than those socialistic hobgoblins of small minds.  It is not just that we are surrounded and drowning on our own rhetoric, but our preoccupation with becoming deaf to the lyrics of being on the precipice of third world lunacy just displays the lack of community and common sense that is necessary to keep the train on the tracks or the ship from sinking.
       Speculation by brokers of necromancy only tightens the noose on what little is left of civility.  In the beginning of this concept of Democracy were the outlines in achieving a sense of equality and fair minded diverse points of views. If you get yourself involved in the system, make the system facilitate those particular qualities that keep the light on, and the transparencies illuminated for one and all to see. The rest of us, so inclined not to get involved with or in the system, luckily have some form of responsibility to record the outcomes. We are no longer forging ourselves across the country in covered wagons, designing interstate highways, or pinning our hopes of achieving free time to indulge our artistic and spiritual aspirations on the backs of some micro-chip.
        It should be clear that tax breaks and regulations are not stopping the systematic decline of creative employment, but the interpretive attitudes of a few pieces of the pie that seem to be controlling the outcomes of the whole pie.  This facade of gestalt, is guiding us to the edge of a precipice.  We either dissipate the need for greed, that which tends to addict us to the symbolism of money, or we will forget those conscious thoughts of that we all are parts of the whole, that there is no real physical ability to detach ourselves from one another.  What others do has an effect on us and so too is the reverse true.
       We are all in a sense part of a novel, and there are infinite plot lines, but there has always been a beginning, a middle and an end to every story, fleeting and momentary.  We can from time to time create subplots, but eventually the outcomes are readily available, if we are ready to put down the book, and start living in the moment, rather than the reflective consciousness between the covers.  Our demise comes from questioning our choices, rather than accepting the reward of moment to moment outcomes.  It is better to give than to receive, to have loved and lost, than to never loved at all, to imitate rather than envy, those who don't learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them, and other gifted euphemisms. 
        As a nation, and as a global community, our success is reflective of how we think of ourselves.  As long as we have a short sided discontent with the outcomes, and a mob mentality based on shared sacrifice rather than on shared affluence of positive thought patterns then we can all live in the basking of our abundance of rich heritages, instead of miring ourselves in the sink hole of malaise, caustic rhetoric and commentary that dissipates the humanity we all share.  Our eyes should not be wide shut, we should live with intuitive thoughts, and the impulse to open new doors when old ones shut, and if we are to doubt anything, it should be our limits, and we should always be more in than we'll ever be out.....Existential Meanderings Rendered by Yours Truly
      
       

Buffet and Trip Information with Dad and Pat

       At long last a trip over to Paradise Valley to brunch buffet with Dad and Pat.  Traffic was short and sweet and so smooth we had plenty of time to shop and get gas and still arrive at our time of eleven a.m.

          After a drive the custom is to sit and relax, catch up with some usual news and then head down to the "Big House" for the Sunday Buffet.  While Dad and I talked about the goats clearing some of the plant debris

 Joyce and Pat drove up to the buffet in the Nitro.  The food as usual was visual stunning, and while shooting some of pictures, one resident asked if I was employed by the marketing department!!!!

                  I must admit that was a great idea, and I am, with these blogs trying to get such a gig, but working for a marketing department had not entered my realm of possibilities, so it now has to become one of my attempts at finding this type of job for some company.

        Some of the stuff, like bacon, sausage and scrambled eggs and waffles was the usual fare, the carmelized onion hash(brownns), the pork loin with a dried fruit compote, chicken marsailis , and the

 shrimp dish were not only great visuals, but were very good to the sense of taste. The chocolate eclairs and the lemon bars and all the desserts again satisfied the typical sweet fanatic's wish list.

        On the way home Pat and Joyce made a point to entertain my Dad  and I as they made the pass by us, to give us the finger.  I didn't see my Dad's reaction, but for sure I was cracking up.

        During our visit we learned of the next four months filled with various trips to many different locations, finishing off with the group family expedition to the Rhine River at the time of the Christmas Markets.

       Before the phone rang and Pat left our conversations on the porch, she talked about sitting by herself and watching nature's tuning forks playing their tunes out, including the family of deers, and while the kids sat and

ate a meal, Mom sat and watched them thru the window and the blinds.  This being Steven, wondering how the trips will come to pass, and looking forward to the stories that will follow, Child

Birth Celebration for Aunt Glo

     It's such a pleasure to go down to a neighbor's home and partake not just of the food festivities, but the multi-generational gatherings

 that seem to so often to take place at the Carpenter's domicile, one example of Eminent Domain. Characters of all inclusive ages congregate

 here and share their wealth of experiences, so if one keeps a proverbial mouth shut, and ears peaked, one generally picks up several pieces of witty dialogue that can be used later in a personal allegorical story.
                  Aunt Glo in the Dark was celebrating her birthright, and of course she remembered when I made my last batch of roasted tomato sauce (which she so generously referred to as sphagetti sauce) and showed her piquant aversion to chickens, asking at the time, if this particular "Rooster" was the one who laid the eggs.
                 Walter, one of the newest people we were to meet at the Carpenter's was affluent with numerous subjects, including bee stories, lots of incredibly useful cultural information on the Jewish people and Israel, and some cannon fodder about the beer and alcohol down the Rhine River, where Joyce and I, along with several family members are going to be in December for the Christmas Markets.  He also had some ribald tales and engineering stories about gas lighting, both in the design and installation phases. I, of course had to confide in him that I was grateful for the stuff and would be using it to implement my usual embellishments later on, protecting the copyrights and changing the nature of the information to protect the innocent.
               Lots of commentary on the State of the Union, and the concepts of typical global distribution of wealth, and the bad fiscal policies that seem to be endangering the fabric of community around the world, along with the nasty rhetoric, uncivil discourse, undulating speculations both in the stock market and the Tea Baggers rookie misunderstandings in protocol situations.  Ah well, silly me, getting all tangled up in Blue and stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues again.
              The food was delightful with pasta, teriyaki boneless chicken thighs, fresh corn, and various profiles in courage that with all the chatter going on, I didn't really pay enough attention to.  We finished up the estuary of culinary delights with fresh apple and berry pie, vanilla ice cream and some homemade Baklava...Hava Negela, Hava Negela, Cum Bi Ya, or however that quaint Bonanza of harangues go.
              This is Steven representing the lost souls of Masada, hanging around with King Herod, so I can watch the annual flock of birds migrating on the Dead Sea, while Israel, like George Armstrong Custer felt being surrounded by the Sioux Indians, on the Little Bighorn River, imbibing the dismal initiations of violence, even though being very well prepared for the onslaughts, from their Muslim compatriots, even though they shared the same first Patriarch of the Hebrews in Abraham, Child

  

Aunt Glo celebrates her Birth

Kelly Celebrates her Birth

It's Uncle Ed's Pears, Three Ways...

       Delta Lady comes to mind, but in this case in particular, Ed, who is a pear farmer in the Delta, sent us, like always pears until they are coming out our ears.

       I, as always, would conjure forks in the roads, and in this case, the scenerio was plain and simple, Pears, three ways, Juice, Sauce and a Big Pie, with a crisp topping.

      First to  meet their maker were the ones I topped, cut in half and juiced in our "Bullet Express".  Looks to be about a gallon and a half, which is still settling after numerous strains.

         The next bullet to the brain chain was boiling off around 25 pears, running them thru the food mill, and cooking out the water, which takes about an hour and a half.

       The third Wild Child, was to cut up pears, slice them, and spice them in a bowl with a little butter and flour. I then preceded to pre-bake a pie shell.

      I took the infused pears and stuck them in the pre-baked pie shell, and made up a batch of crisp topping, with brown sugar, butter, flour and oatmeal.  Baked this monster for 25 minutes or so, and presto, Pears three ways.  This is Steven, the self proclaimed Lord of the Pears, seeking asylum along the Sacramento Delta Backroads, wishing each and every one of you a Peary, Peary, Great Day, Child

A Windsor Apple too far...

       Who could of known, 18 years ago as Steven, the city boy, the military brat, planting the seeds of tomorrow would reap the harvest he had sown.  As he sauntered out to the sounds of the

 horses and cows to divide the ground swell of Gravenstein apples between the animals and the bit of the blade that would produce some homemade Apple juice from "Windsor" proper.

        His trusty juicer fondly bore the fruit of his loins and desire to produce close to a gallon of juice, the finish of the toil of eighteen years of care and finesse.

                     After being safely stored in the coolness of the Ice Box, he sauntered out to the back forty, just south of the Arbors, to pick the dangling blackberries from their native perch, the fourth gallon bag to find it's way into freezer storage, later to become Joyce's wonderful Blackberry Jam.

     To finish the Dog Days of August on a quieted and quaint Sunday, Joyce will lay some fresh Peaches from our tree and some of the blackberries into a wonderful dessert called a Peach-Blackberry Gallette.  So go the days of a Windsor Constant Gardener, and his trusty sidekick, Joyce, this being Steven, the bearer of a bond between the Garden and the  Table, a silent moment of glorious benign culinary vision, Child

Raven's Tree of Life to the Culinary Offerings at Flavors

      Old fashioned traditions die hard, but today, we relished in the concepts of a movie and a meal for our dating glance. We started by

 cruising up to Healdsburg to the Raven theater and while in line there were chuckles as regulars said that they were suprized at there being a line

 at the Raven. We must also warn people that it is a waste of time to go and see The Tree of Life, kinda depressing, but it was kind of unique to see a theater with

 only 36 seats.  
      We drove into an early foray for dinner around five thirty to Flavors, in Santa Rosa.  Joyce commented how the

 interior design and demeanor had changed since she had last participated in the global  culinary offerings.  We were glad to be early, with plenty

of time to peruse the menu, get the waitstaff in line with our preferences, large water glasses, including one with just ice and lemons.
                 Joyce and I started our tour with an appetizer of pork and shrimp wontons with a spicy Asian dipping sauce, and even though it had six large wontons, we both were a little sorry this wasn't the meal, and ended up sipping the nuances of the leftover broth with pinky's high straight from the bowl.  This little tidbit was followed with Singapore Noodle, in a homemade curry, with chicken and shrimp in a coconut-ginger broth. We both consumed the area code in a generous bowl, and took twice what we had enjoyed home with us.  Following that entree, the burger of choice came knocking at our door, with the gentle name of Burger Alla Mare' encased in a Broiche Bun, garnished with marinated Jumbo Prawns, a spicy saffron aioli, garlic-herb roasted tomatoes and baby spinach.  Giddy up little Susie, as we kicked off our boots, and persuaded our taste buds to accept the fire cracker finale of a chardonnay pear served in puff pastry with mascarpone cream filled with chocolate shavings.  Ah, we both had that misconception that the pear had been marinated in Rum...silly us.  This is Steven, knowing that the "Flavors" of the Tree of Life had come to roost in our culinary images, and the textures of the evening in Santa Rosa, and the waitstaff, one from El Salvador, the other from the Yucatan, thanks to the Gracious Gift given to us by Cousin Deb to help us celebrate our 25th Wedding Anniversary....Child

Santa Rosa Cattle Drive

Ushering in "Princess Parties"

       I'm not sure if anyone here with me, or anyone there with you,has been to a "Princess Party", as Joyce and I have now had that privilege 
due to one of our neighbors

 down the street, Gigi Carpenter, whose daughter, Casey was the victim of a suprize party, called in this case, "A Princess Party".
      

           To bring about the "Suprize" in Party, Casey was lured into a shopping spree at one of the local malls. We all got to see the effects of this chicanery as Casey boomed thru the door to the thunderous rounds of

 "SUUUPPPRRRIIIZZZEEE", by all those innocent looking culprits milling about the room.

          I have never in all my days recollected "Pin the Tiara on the Princess" game, an offshoot I guess now, of Pin the Tail on the Donkey, where participants get blindfolded, rotated, and have no idea in what direction the

 stairway to Tiara pinning on the Princess has been relocated, though the "Peanut Gallery" did find it amusing.

        Later, a Pink Castle was hung by it's steeple, which didn't turn out to be a good foundation once Casey (Our Birthday Princess)took to her massive swinging whacking.  Zane, her Dad, had made a stick out of a wrapping

 paper tube and attached a tennis ball at it's tip, providing a cushion for anyone who by chance, missed the castle and ended up bashing one of the names that had been

 changed to protect the innocent Pink Princess gang members hoarding themselves nearby waiting to leap on the treasure trove of candy buried deep inside the moat of the

 Pink Castle. 

          Before Joyce and I left the proceedings, Gigi showed me her daughter Chelsea's Princess Cake, which resembled the look of a Boston Cream Cake, though it was this great cake with alternate layers of Vanilla cake rounds and

Cookie Dough Ice Cream with a great layer of Ganache with multi-colored sprinkles strewn across the top. Later there was going to be sausages and pasta salad for dinner and a movie to finish off the Day of Princess Bashing....this is Steven, glad to be ushered into the Age of Pink Princess Parties by our favorite neighbors down the street, the Carpenter's, the "Egg People", wishing you all the chances to engage in these type of opportunities that we do, Child