Secret recipe revealed for limited time!!

OK Folks, this will be here until Tim tells me to take it down. This creme brulee has made tens of millions of dollars and Tim is a very good teacher. I just spent a ridicules chunk of time documenting this recipe for my boss and wanted to have the effort go farther. So I'm sharing it with my wide and faithful readership (also tens of millions) Consider it a math task to reduce the recipe, if you don't have 25 guests coming for dessert. I tried to call Tim three times to see if I could share it with the world at large but that rascal doesn't answer the phone. So I'm guessing he wont mind....

Tim Barrette's Creme Brulee
Makes about 52 food service sized portions or 26 regular dessert portions
4 split vanilla beans
3 litres (or quarts) fresh cream

Combine in stainless steel pot and heat until almost boiling.

Remove from heat, set aside to cool, a little.

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Separate 24 egg yolks and two whole eggs. (Save whites for meringues or pavlova, or low cholesterol eggs or discard)

Beat yolks with barely two cups (scant) sugar.


Slowly add 1 or 2 cups of the hot cream into the yolks and stir briskly to avoid cooking the yolks!

Continue adding hot cream in small amounts until it half of the cream is added and then pour the rest in at once- no need to beat. Stir gently to avoid foam.

Pour through strainer, scrape vanilla beans and add to cream mix.

Pour into 50-55 catering sized ramekins (or 26 larger full dessert sized ramekins). Important to fill them as close to the top as possible in preparation for the torch to not make black marks on the ramekin, (marring presentation).

Place them in a hotel pans (2 inch pans)

Pour water 1 inch (2.5 cm) high on the outside of the cups (do this close to or in the oven).

Cover with foil and bake for 45 minutes in a 150 C (300 F) degree oven.

Take foil off and bake for another couple of minutes, uncovered.

They should be barely solid when you jiggle the pan, do not overcook (they puff up when they are overdone). Refrigerate uncovered until cold (then you can cover them, if need)

Important Serving time tips

Use white sugar if in hurry, otherwise brown.

Sift or spread the sugar to fully cover in a thin 2mm coating on the custards.

You can only do a few at a time, because the sugar can melt onto the cold custard before you get to it with the torch (and the liquid sugar won't caramelize). DO IN SMALL BATCHES of 4 or 5 at a time (or more if you are fast at it.)
 

Hold lit torch pointing up and turn the custard in the flame sideways to guide the carmelizing sugar, if necessary.

update smupdate

All Is Well, this is to give folks the latest on the baking scheme and the lifestyle happenings of the Alexander Ganty gang or do you like the sounds of Ganty Alexander gang better?? (Ganty is my given surname, being dusted off for use)
Turning from tangent just in the nick of time.
I have the beautiful oven, with the steam injection rigging that Dmitri has masterminded, and all. Now we have to find a reservoir for the thing. It would be nice if it was thick old glass, but Dima says it will be a section of larger pipe with a cap.
The reason I want steam in the oven is to penetrate the bread dough as it first arrives in the mightily hot oven. This makes the bread rise, or as we say in the baking world, "jump". It also makes it blister and come out shiny (people love shiny) and crackly between your choppers.

Life will soon have a wood gathering element in it, since the oven is wood fired. Thankfully, we have Manuka and Kanuka wood laying all around on the 15 acres here. Were just waiting to get the thumbs up from the landlord to put the thing in the house. Originally, we thought we'd put it in the garage/greenhouse but it's such a queen of a tool, it would be nice to have it inside. It fits right into the space where the current woodstove with wetback hot water heater is now. Moving it may take some baked bribes.

I am making a system for chores and I'll have to add a couple of wood jobs in the "FUN HAT" that you draw your chore out of, after you do (or refuse to do) your other chores. I'm cracking the whip, for certain. These guys haven't had chores much and my new cork tiles on the wall system is going to give us the room to do that. I'm irradiating drab paneling with cheap cork and lovely little copper nails.

I have been working a lot to justify the $3500 that the stove set us back. It's the Kumeu Valley Estate job where I perform wedding food feasts. It is good exercise and good wage and hellaciously long shifts. Sometimes I come home after 3 or 4 AM, having left at 11 AM. Then I can't go to bed without unwinding a little, sometimes I whip through the tiny mountain of dishes, other times, like when Dmirti is working the same shifts, we wake Jordan up and open a bottle of wine, other times, I call Nina who has just gotten off work a few timezones over. It does turn my internal clock sideways (maybe it is so I can keep in touch with Nina's world, where she reluctantly works at the donut shop all night 2 days a week. Nina, girl- go get the Mcminiman's job next door, fa gads sake! Please encourage Nina to go for it, (anyone who knows and loves her)

In fact give yourself a big long overdue hug and then grant yourself permission to Go For It -as well. It is the job, the rest, the anything, the person, the companions, the health, the accomplishments, the release, the get up and go, the persistence, the spontaneity. Any darned thing you think I WISH about.

photos of late

When life gives you soft cherries, make cherry ice, mwa!
Plus! Lilli and her first published Dirt Cake...
 
 
 
 

bread on my mind

I have finally done it, I am setting up shop in New Zealand. There is a bootleg bartering bakery in the birthing. I got a Fontana wood fired oven coming my way from Italy (via Dunedin) and last night I picked up a mixer a lovely brute of a fella- Robot coupe brand, pre bumped and scratched and priced right. Fingers crossed that Evergreens favorable feedback for the project will result in a contract within the month. This time my studies will be in alternative and sustainable business and finances. I will focus on bread, gelato and Friday sweets. Later there may be some pizza production, if the first stages of bread route are manageable. Jordan is home a lot right now, since his work has him writing. The kids are launched into the second week of school and are getting used to it. Desmond is reading so nicely and Lil is excellent at acting out reading. Nina is doing well juggling her studies and work and had them laughing in her improv theatre mid term exam. We just had a nice dinner party of about 20 people for J and my birthdays with some good southwestern food including picadillo and chili verde on rice and a tostada bar with summery toppings like fresh corn and prawn and nectarine and mango salsa and canned refried beans (at 4.59 per can!) we had a collection of desserts, too. The show stopper was the flourless chocolate cake with raspberries on top. My neighbor, Sue, brought a cozy little plum cake which I have been having for breakfast with cream the last couple of days.
The red wines were from France (meek and well behaved) and Spain (a bit louder and more willing to spin you around on the dance floor) The white whine was a Sicilian number very dry and crisp. Jordan made apple martinis which I didn't even try. It was a nice party with only grown ups and I managed to be prepared enough to not have to scamper around cooking and apologize for messes.

Life is pretty good.

Finally in Friday Harbor

It feels good to be here. I have had two walks already. Tonight we had a rolicking dinner with Nancy and some guests. After dinner we broke into song. First there were peace vigils and then sea shanties. Desmond and Nancy are chasing gems on her computer screen and Jordan is setting up the bed. We have a big bed and a big cushion on the floor.
Before Nancy's house, we left Nina's house where we all (that's 4 of us) shared a queen sized bed. We nurtured our old kitty Samoa and ate lots of (actually delicious) donuts. She'll be getting to know two campuses of PCC. I helped her to register. Well I hope it was help- she had only two registered classes and lots of wait list. I know it will be a big change for her and send her confidence for tomorrow.

COLORADA ON MY SHOES...

We are having our final night of the Boulder portion of our trip. Tomorrow we head for a night at Saratoga Inn, which our friends Deb and Don told us about. We are going to soak in the hot pool in the falling snow of Wyoming. It's a little time for our family to be a unit by ourselves, which can be good if you are breezing through households and always engaged in being guests. I look forward to some solo time in the snow, possibly on skis. I'm working on developing my exercise addiction, so far, so good. Ive been walking plenty and have had two swims in the pool this week.

Other things of note here in Boulder were the Philippine Christmas dinner we went to on Saturday night. It was in the VFW hall in Longmont, 20 minutes away. The hall was windowless and filled with a few dozen round tables. The Boulder area Philipino community gathered, which was mostly Philipa women and Western husbands and lots of fruit borne thereof. My sister in law is from the Philipines and I could see that she really reveled in the company of fellow Philipinas. There was a big buffet and all who came brought traditional dishes and the spread was long and varied. I had a couple of Tonics and noticed that the people drinking were the whites. The cousins, Desmond, Lil and Philip forgot their threesome woes and strife and became a team together. They roamed and stared and giggled together. After dinner Santa came and handed out gifts. this put a damper on things for us, since we didnt know we were supposed to be the source of the gifts for the kids. Santa left the hall and there were some faces longer than a starving pony. I liked the elegant noble elder women of the community.

Another event was a child health and harmony fair. It was in a fancy hotel called the St Julien and the kids enjoyed art, performances and lazers and balloons. Bed time now, Good night. I need to roust Jordan's ass to help.

While on vacation...

We have just touched down at Jordan's brother, Rucell's house in Superior near Boulder. Rucell lives with his family, Corazon, his wife, Bob, his father, and last but not least, Philip- his son, a beautiful boy of 7 years. We just left our friends Deborah and Don in Laramie.

Deborah is an old friend from my New morning Bakery days in Corvallis. I was a new mother and eager bakery worker and Deb was a senior baker.
Deb and Don... They sure will be getting some good seats in heaven for putting up with us and our noisy swings of character and family dynamics. Don is a professor of Economics at U of Wyoming. He has always had flash lightning wit and was a admirable host. He also sauntered about the campus with Jordan, introducing him to the various luminaries and drips at the Physics department. Laramie has a nice feel.
I'm impressed with Deborah's role as the Bakery manager for the University. I got to tag along on a catering job where we prepared a nearly obscene array of desserts for a hoity toity tree auction affair. 1600 sweets for 200 people. Luckily they had lotso wine, salmon and crab cakes and beds of sushi to offset the sugar. A snow storm stretched our stay from two nights to six.

Photos

Here is a photo of the kids. Desmond had a birthday party recently, the do it yourself cake decorating was a real hit. We had Lasagna with sausage and homegrown spinach and one made with a lentil sauce without cheese for the vegans. I never tried that one but it disappeared, so I guess it was good.
I'm spending as much time as I can in Piha. I'll miss this place and it's peace.
You can click on the photos to get a closer look.

Sunday Settles into Serenity

Im sitting on the old wooden floor of the bach in Piha. It's 10:30 at night. I am stuffed with Jane's delicious cheese free garden Lasagna and salad of ripe avocado, the first tomatoes this spring that really taste sweet, red lettuce, tender green fingers of sprouting cauliflower from the greenhouse and antiquey looking arugula flowers. After that, I had two servings chocolate ice cream. I went on a good long hike before the meal so guilt cant even show her face anywhere near me now.
I am still emphatic about exercise, even though occasionally I miss a day or two, for the most part I get at least an hour a day. It is such a great reset button. Today I walked about 30 minutes down Lone Kauri Road to Karekare beach and then about half an hour on the beach where I saw some amazing gooseneck barnacles and intriguing stages of lifecycle in blue bottle jellyfish. The sea, as green as ever was lovely. I had to then hike back up said hill, though which was, as we say, a real butt burner. I took some flowers to my friend who had a recent health scare; a large bunch of stargazer lilies for the patient and an edible bouquet to his chef wife. They are a family from the Lone Kauri school community (where Des and Lil enjoy idyllic uniform free scholastic life.)

I bought Agave syrup, lemons and cayenne today to do a cleanse for ten days, again.
Eliminating the acquisition and preparation of food frees up a lot of energy and time, though it feels spiritually naked at times. I still plan to bake bread, even though I won't be eating any. I love making sourdough bread. My bread operation is back to a simpler 'plan a' and tomorrow I must return a very sexy Leventi oven to the place it came from and get on with baking (instead of wiring).

Nina is due to show up in 3 days and we are all excited! I am under self imposed house arrest, here in Piha, writing until she comes. I had some nice time with the family over the weekend, including watching some indulgent DVD's and cozy time with Jordan and some nice neighborly encounters at a street party at the local firehouse up the road on Saturday night and 'special time' with Desmond today running errands. I finally have a New Zealand driver's license (obtained on a Sunday!) I need to sleep now. Good Night!
Photo by J. Best

some old writing... Lance

I read that book, Women who love too much and always I wish I hadn't. It so clearly defined me, yet didn't tell me how to solve the problem. I have been approval seeking and pleasing my way through men for decades. There comes a bitter resentment when that pendulum swings. My first marked choice of an emotionally unavailable man was Lance. He was thirteen years older than I, yet retained some personality attributes of a teenager. He was an Alaskan crab fisherman who strutted though life charming and or revolting those he met. He seemed to have colorful nickname where ever he went. The son of a miner in Butte, Montana, he had substance use and infidelity modeled for him in his formative years.

Upon my first visit to Butte I had a claustrophobic sense with a yearning to turn back the clock. The dilapidated town, loaded with once opulent churches and bars and hidden naughty nooks seemed to be in its geriatric stages. Oh, how I would have loved to see the ruckus of that booming mining town, it's style, bravado and decadence. In the 1980s Butte was living on gray canned peas, its teeth just too tired to bite off much more. There were thriving motorcycle cults and junkyards that seemed to be doing o k, but for the most part the town was hurting. Folks with money from other cities were coming to Butte and buying up low priced properties to deconstruct the buildings to relocate the materials to their primary, more desirable area of residence. That architectural salvage brought a new kind of shark into the wild west of Montana. Artful features, the grandeur of yesteryear, in Butte was getting appreciated, only it was getting appreciated in other towns, ones that didn't court suicide so frequently.
Lance's family had lived there for as long as I can remember. His mother Elza was from a Hungarian family, she was the first generation to be born in the United States. With a healthy dose of Hungarian verve she kept the culinary traditions (cabbage and paprika centered as they were) alive. Elza was a short woman with a girth that didn't factor in well with her arthritis. Her toes looked like they wanted off her feet, protruding in different directions. She didn't move much and wasnt very comfortable.
She loved all three of her children, but I suspect she loved Lance, her middle and only boy with a special flourish. The girls, Little Elza and Lorraine tried not to take this to harshly. They did however, occasionally team together to compensate for the inequitable treatment. Lance told stories of the tricks they would play on him while he held a washcloth over his crusty eyes during hay fever mornings. All of the children had gotten their father's facial structure, long angular faces, with rakish bird noses.

Lances father, Alfred Nygard was a first generation Norwegian. He was tall and lanky and had some quiet pluck, that could creep out and surprise you. He was, in contrast to his wife, stoic and observant. There was not room for more reactionary fanfare, Big Elza had that covered. I wonder if she got that way from the insecurity of her husbands conduct earlier in life. One time when I was visiting Butte, with new baby Nina, Lance failed to return from his fraternizing one night. I was seething and inconsolable. Big Elza said, I had better get used to it, that there were times that her husband didn't return for days on end.
Well, I didn't want to get used to it. I wasn't going to get used to it. She seemed baffled by my belligerence and defensive of Lance, when he finally returned home having been away “just” one night. That trip to Butte could not end too soon.

I much preferred the Lance that took me out in his boat, that helped me and my skipper collect gear that the storm had put out of reach. The joking, grabbing, gleaming eyed sailor I had to myself in Alaska. Of course, I never really had Lance to myself. He had such an inclusive yet irreverent manner, people were drawn to him. He was fun. He could get you laughing. Lance seemed to have more male admirers than female ones. He was so robust and cocky that he scared away most women. His attention on you was impossible to ignore whether he played the coy innocent boy or the groping caveman letch.
Much later...after Nina was born!

Wednesday had come and gone. Wednesday was the day that Lance was to call me to arrange our next meeting the following weekend in Corvallis, where Nina and I lived. He had obligations back in Seattle to help clean up and batten down the boat that he had been working on. It was a crab fisher /processor called the Deep Sea. Lance had spent close to three months on board crabbing. Nina was just about to turn one. We had purchased a plethora of toys for her, the weekend before. The end of crab fishing season was usually punctuated by lavish spending. In the past, if I hadn't been in Alaska myself, I would meet up with Lance in Seattle where we would dine and drink and shop to our hearts content. Sometimes Lance would dabble in harder celebratory substances like heroin and cocaine. It was a slow dawning for me realizing that Lance had a weakness for such things. When we were in remote Alaska there weren't temptations like that. There were plenty of warning signs of general substance dependence, though. Lance could usually be seen walking with at least a half case of beer, regardless of the time of day. When I pestered him about his apparent alcoholism, he gave me the “It's only beer” disclaimer. Lance was a robust viking of a man. He was Norwegian and Hungarian. He had a long face, wild golden straw hair, bold white teeth and a strong nose that I can see in Nina today.
Lance was grounded at sea, a huge asset to any crew. He was fit and fast and smart. Having fished the “big king crab years” and then a couple more decades, he had experienced many episodes and managed through plenty of rough seas. Lance was less dependable on the land, however. Like most extreme laborers (like miners, fishermen and oil riggers) he played as hard as he worked. He had lots of tales of his mischief after loosing himself from a fishing vessel. I think I was one of those in my earlier meeting with him. He was one of the few men in Sand Point Alaska who had a girlfriend, but he wanted me, too. Judy was his girlfriend when I first met Lance in 1981. I found her a fascinating character . When I met her she was hauling a huge load of groceries to the dock. She had a bit of a slur in her speech. I imagine she had been trying to drink alongside Lance (a dangerous thing I tried a time or two, myself.) She had cases of Grosch beer that came in levered stopper bottles, she told me she was to make rhubarb wine and refill them. I asked her where she lived and she told me Unga Island. Unga Island is a ghost town. It had been a thriving prolific gold mine community, and then a cod processing plant until all the residents bailed out quickly, partly due to diphtheria blowing over from Europe, but mostly the gold mining technology couldn't remedy the seeping sea water. In later ghost town years there were many homes to choose from, since they had just been abandoned. There was also a variety of tools and crude appliances to adopt. In my own later exploration of Unga Island I found misshapen marbles on the beach that had been rolling for decades and old fashioned stationary and an exquisite peacock blue wool gabardine shirt. That lovely shirt was ripped off my back by an angry Aleut woman- Shirley, the growling woman of steel, my skipper's big sister. It only lasted about a week, but that's another story.

Unga is geologically much older and larger than Shumigan Island, which is where the population lives and fishes today in the little town of Sand Point. It has beds of fossilized oysters and eerie, compelling, lonely shacks. As far as civilization goes, Unga Island had a village called Squaw Harbor, the Apollo Gold mine, (complete with two curmudgeons) and the old Unga Village.

More to come if you like it...

Finally a little sun!

I am relaxing after the last day of the two week school holiday has passed. we are tucking into bed and reading library books. We ate fish we caught ourselves for dinner! The day was just spectacular. I have bread in the oven and am getting ready to teach sourdough.this November. School nips at my heels and I fear I will be torn when Nina comes in a week or so.!

Lovely Lil

Lillian gets a lot of photo space in this blog. I can't help myself, she is such a unique girl in such a wonderful stage. Five years old is a wake up age. Woken up intellectually- but not thrown, quite yet, into the whole wide complexity of the 'grown up' world. Ive been reading a lot on early child development and I am reminded that these years are a treasure and to engage in them as often and as fully as possible.
Yesterday we played hide the five dollar bill. It was a compromise between hide and seek (Lil's suggestion) and Desmond's recent currency obsession. We got our moneys worth. The acreage where the main home is is spectacular these days with lot's of blooms and exotic bird conversations. Spring is here, it seems (finally).
Ive been on a fitness 'thing'. When my friend Carol Jackson came for a visit and she was so slender and elegant I asked her about her secret. She said she took two substantial walks a day and continued to eat healthful, moderate meals. I decided to try this out. I vowed to exercise 2 hours a day at the beginning of September. I live in a gorgeous walking locale so I usually get at least half of my daily dose by strutting up a coastal trail or just walking the beach. I have been doing yoga and other movement classes, too. I don't know about lost weight, but I feel good and my skin is revitalized. I have also tried to eat more fresh foods with high moisture content like fruits and veg's, since I can easily get in a rut of forgetting to do that. It's pretty simple, I don't buy or bake the stuff that I would eat impulsively that has lots of calories and fat. It's easier to do while I'm in my Virginia Woolf retreat, I must say. Speaking of that, I gotta write, now.
These beautiful photos are the work of photographer Jane Best who lives in Karekare, the other little girl is her daughter Eve.

Wide Screen

Why is it that when I have something pressing to do, all the other aspects of life seem so inviting? I have a Poetry portfolio due and I keep wanting to read Peter Reinhart's The Bread Baker's Apprentice which, by the way, went ignored all last week, but now is very captivating. I do the dishes right away, I read more books to the kids, I pay my bills-early, open emails I would usually neglect and have been cooking with extra flair. Oh and the birds! Why haven't I noticed them before this?

Alas, I'll snort and whinny and stamp, then push the blinders back to restrict my peripheral vision, again.

...But I do have this fantasy about just buying a lovely little portable Italian wood fired oven and trooping around to peoples dinner parties, film crews and festivals and cooking amazing breads and pizzas and telling stories or teasing them out of the guests, even better. I could go to schools and bake with kids, I could show up at Farmers markets and cook up the wares into lunch. I'd take artful photos and put them here. In the mean time, Ill knock out those assignments, I guess.

poems revised

Here are some of my poems from my course...
Remember that some poems are not literal or personal narrations. Today is my second day of a contact course (retreat study) of Five classic Novels. We just got done with Tess of the D'Urbervilles and now onto Conrad's Heart of Darkness. My favorate book of the five was Silas Marner, It is a quick read, too. Very refreshing. Jordan and the kids will pick me up at 7 or so tonight. I've really missed them. I will fill the three hours with some writing in the library, now nice.


It was raining


The first time I robbed Tiffany's it was raining.
I, myself, had been robbed earlier.
The elevator man had taken my smile
a returned me a concealed sneer.

The rain, a thick variety,
drops clumsy and uncaring.
This day was in debt to me already.

Rain like this came once before.
I remember,
awakening my humiliation.
I run my finger on the groove where the ring used to be:
The promise expired,
it was gone.

Tiffany, though not her name,
behind the glass, smiled warmly.
Invited me.

Two dozen or more rings I tried.
Each one could be
a new spouse,
proof of desirability.

Then my phone rang and
my Tiffany did wander.
It always ends this way.
But this time, I'm keeping the ring.


Horatian Ode

Haphazard Orchestra

Echo of waves
may become background noise,
but a splendid promise lies over the berm
for anyone who takes the path

Wind rustles winter
pocks on the gray sand agree
but- the sun does show up
lighting vapor, freed by wave

Pale blue, clean sky
barely tasting of salt
Green wave
rolls into a riot of lace.

Curly dog, licorice surfer make
movement in the passage
Tempos individual.
Oblivious and coordinated.

Heart beat and blinking eye,
footprint measure:
can this be my song?
Am I musician or audience?

The slowest rhythm, craggy rock, rests
beneath a stalwart tree,
Yellow moss picks up the beat,
and the dipping grasses stir it up.


Stream glitters.
Undulate diamonds going flat,
I am part of the geometry,
moving in thousands of scales.

Creative movement again!

I had a nice experience, recently.
I took a guided creative movement session that lasted about two hours, last Friday.
The instructor is a woman named Louise Taylor. Chatting at a yoga class we discovered that we share a teacher and study in Halprin technique.
For those of you who don't know what that is, Ill tell you.
Anna Halprin, a celebrated modern dancer of many years set up a school called Tamalpa Institute. When I went there, it was only a couple of years established. One could take a full certification over about nine months or, take the month long intensive summer "dancer's workshop" (like I did). In later years Anna had experience using movement as a healing art form. Her patient- herself

At Tamalpa, Anna had two sides to the work. One movement study was developed towards performance and one of a kind rituals while the other was the daily practice of her signature Movement Ritual.

There were plenty of learning mediums utilized at Tamalpa. Everyone was issued a yard wide pad of newsprint and a box of pastels. We would routinely draw "visualizations" of concepts being worked on in dance wit the body. Every day involved at least a couple of drawings. Some of the drawings I can still remember, although I have no idea what became of them in my fast lane twenties.

After arriving from our host houses each morning, we had the choice of group meditation or running meditation for an entree to the day. I usually chose running. The school is halfway up Mount Tamalpias, It was summer in Marin County. Sweat.

We practiced a routine, fluid yoga-like sequence of movements that is Anna's signature choreography/ therapy. Exploration using breath was an essential part of the daily movement routine (this was a spine fluxing, thorough, kinetic routine that really did make you feel good, especially afterward.)

My classmates were mostly European Doctors, therapists, resort owners, and performers. I was nursing my first broken heart. Twenty years old and whittling away my grandfather's money.

Anna's brush with cancer compelled her to design (or perhaps devine) and execute personal movement rituals. Her intent was to face and clear blocks that had developed over time that she believed were manifesting in her body as ill health. One such ritual she made for herself was at her SeaRanch home and took a couple of days. All the students, "dancers", had a week long retreat at Sea ranch as part of our schooling.

Community rituals were also created, like the one where they staged an elegant, and theatrical, yet dead serious purification ritual of Mt Tam, (which was having a mad serial rapist problem). Elements of Nature were revered in the dancing. Huge silk sails were held and wafted by costumed dances, symbolizing wind. More natural forces were called to power with equal grandeur.

Louise Taylor studied these ideas more than twenty five years later than I, obtaining the teaching credential. She used many techniques I had forgotten. The movement has quenched a thirst I have had. It is to nice circle around,reconnecting with an earlier part of my life. I cant wait until next Friday for another go.

trickle of progress

Passion Vs Procrastination
Its a persistent game schedule
upward eyebrow of promise
what a boss we must make of ourselves once we learn
of our charge
of our own life.


Sunday afternoon after some wholesome family time and a good meal and shower. I'm back in the bach. Rain drops and sun rays toss around together outside in the west.
School calls. I am now reading Wuthering Heights
I am inspired to open my email and see my friend Beth Helstien's graduation announcement for Master of Library science. 3.97 GPA, way to go, Beth! She is one of several scholarly librarians in Friday Harbor. I know of her as a initiate priestess of ritual, friend and gardener, though.
Speaking of gardening, I had a wonderful community feeling dream about gardening last night.
I took Desmaond to a Naturopath yesterday to address his chest rattle. It was amusing, her interview with him and how he sparkled under her interest. He told of dreams of spidermen, red and black and spiders crawling over him. (She said even creepy spider dreams are a good sign) He got some herbal concoction he has to shake 6 and a half times and 10 drops into water. Apparently there is Pine pollen and plenty of weed spraying now, not to mention the hospitable environment for mildew of wet warm New Zealand climate. She give good herbal prescriptions and is very intuitive in general with her advice.

Birds

The Birds are twittering and walking on the roof. I have a sinus bug and have slept in. there are people on the rise outside my front yard admiring the sea. I see them everyday. People are in good spirits when they come to take in the sea. Today the air is so still that the shoreline is mostly blue and green instead of the usual frothy white. I'm trying out a new spend free living. Im going to see if I can go all week without spending ANY money. I have food in the cupboard and plenty to do and eight punches left on my yoga card.What more could a girl want?
I am on a new novel, Tess of the D'urbervilles It is amusing so far, I have it on audio cds from the library. Id better get on with the day.