#sharingseptember

Fall is here! It’s time to share one of my favorite pumpkin recipes!

This recipe has been adapted from various curry recipes. In my family, they take cooking and vegetable gardening seriously. In the midst of the pandemic, my parents booted up their vegetable garden (okay, it’s really my dad’s, but mom provided the pumpkin seeds). Their garden produced plenty of pumpkins and even a hybrid zucchini pumpkin, so they left it up to the kids (my sisters and I) to come up with recipes to try out. I developed this monstrosity.

Chicken Pumpkin Curry

Serves 4

Ingredients

-          (4) chicken thighs (bone in/boneless and skin/no-skin)

-          2 cups pumpkin puree (can add more to taste)

-          1 cup chicken broth

-          1 can coconut milk

-          Cubed roasted pumpkin (put however much you want, we used 2 cups)

-          1-2 fresh peppers of your choice, sliced with/without seeds (used serrano and poblanos because my little sis can’t handle heat as well as I can – I’m on Carolina Reaper level)

-          2-3 garlic cloves minced (feel free to add more)

-          2 shallots chopped/sliced

-          2 generous tablespoons of curry paste (homemade paste is better)

-          ½ cup of carrots (can add more)

-          1 whole onion diced

-          1 whole spring onion chopped

-          Olive oil (can sub with ghee butter or coconut oil or peanut oil

-          Half of lemon squeezed

-          Seasonings: black pepper, pinch of salt, cayenne, paprika, turmeric

Cooking Steps:

1.       In a medium sized saucepan, grease that with your choice of oil and start browning the chicken on low-medium heat.

2.       In a separate larger saucepan, grease that with your choice of oil and add the garlic. Can season the oil too. Once the oil is hot enough add the veggies. Preferably in this order: carrots > ginger > shallots > onions > peppers > diced roasted pumpkin. Let them sauté for a few minutes.

3.       Pour the chicken broth in the saucepan with the veggies. Add the curry paste and then the coconut milk. Stir occasionally to avoid the veggies from sticking to the pan. Let simmer until veggies are tender.

4.       Check the chicken to see that it is cooked thoroughly. You can do this by cutting the center of the thigh to see if there is any pink left. If there is a small amount of pink, that is okay because it will be added to the veggie saucepan. Add the chicken when it is ready and let it cook for roughly 10-15 minutes (or until chicken is cooked thorough).

5.       Serve with rice or quinoa or zucchini cheesy rice and enjoy!

In the center of the fine line that breaks the horizon and ocean, a lone black cruise ship whirled to it’s demise. To think I was just on that ship, hours ago is...well, I can’t find words for it as my mouth is agape staring off in the distance. 

The captain had the sense to evacuate everyone on the ship prior to us colliding with the whirlpool. In the distance, it’s difficult to discern where the starboard and port are. The ship was painted black for some reason and with the sun slowly waking up, I wonder if the ship had another purpose that they didn’t tell the passengers. Well, whatever it was, that ceased as the black cruise ship drifted in circles down to its doom. 

A dark haired laddie interrupted my view, “Hey, c’mon, let’s get moving.”

My face wore a blank mesmerized gaze, I know it. The words wanted to come out of my mouth, but the barrier of surprise...a near miss to what could have been my doom, but no, the sea god had blessed me. I am on shore with this laddie and other families. Some of the children and women were crying. Another set of crew members were doing a head count and covering our losses.

The laddie waited a few paces behind me closer to the golden city that was centered around the cape. I shut my mouth when I realized he was waiting on me and left the scene.

A loss is a loss. I know this because I’ve been through several natural disasters. It’s taught me not to be too attached to materialistic things except, maybe my identity. I had all my paperwork with me, that’s all that mattered. And I had...these people. He’s putting some responsibility on me to help out and I’m following him, because I...have nothing better to do...

He led me along the shore and we could see other islanders stranded. We escaped with nothing but the clothes on our backs, the moment was surreal. It might be a blessing for some, but this reeks of a new beginning. The air is sweet and inviting. Merriment drifted among it, further inland.

“Least we ended up near the shore of the city.” He says looking back at the ship disappear into the depths below. I can’t say it’s a sinking ship because it looked comical the way it disappeared. I shake my head.

We parted ways with the islanders. The laddie waved to one of the other crew members and led me to a decent sized hotel. Warm yellow stucco in the front and white baroque trim. How exciting! 

The hotel interior was much less so, it seemed to be outdated because there were plants growing on the floors. They were coming out of the shoe molding. Also, insects fluttered and their wings, oh their dainty wings, brushed our cheeks and noses. The youthful plants explained why the air was clean, but it didn’t explain the doors on the ceiling.

They were painted as if gender segregation was still a thing. This place is old! Boy, girl, boy, girl...that’s how it was. All symbols painted phthalo blue or a deep phthalo green. They must’ve run out of paint when rushing to complete the job.

“Wait here, let me find someone.” My companion reassured. I had almost blinked, but I had to know what the purpose was for the unconventional choice of putting doors on a ceiling, no less! It’s not functional at all.

I didn’t dare look back at him, really, the scenery was too much to take in. His cologne of pine and musk lingered to remind me he was still there...even as he wandered off down the hall we just came from. There’s a ding! that rang through the halls. The light trickling in from the windows made me feel like I was in some forest instead of a hotel. 

Why, laddie, chose a hotel, I don’t know. It was the first building that touched the shore. I was surprised, there weren’t any restaurants. This isn’t a normal beach town or city. We must have entered a secret cape or inlet?

“I’ll be back.” he calls out. He had a lot of emotions and thoughts running through his mind. Yet his voice is always calm. He never broke focus.

He’s our captain? Or one of the commanding officers. He is wearing a navy uniform with a trim of rouge and gold buttons. His shoes are black as his wavy hair. He has freckles and moles on his face. Dark eyes. On a regular day, he is always thinking. His brain doesn’t stop. Yet he needed me. Yet he plucked me out. I’m just a passenger on the ship. This was the easiest and fastest route to get to my destination, but now I’m at a stand still.

I realize I’ve been carrying my beige and black purse this whole time. To my dismay, I’m actually dressed like a proper woman. If I’m to be lost on some foreign cape, being dressed like a proper woman will only hinder me. I’m wearing a black office pencil skirt, my beige and black wedges from my internship and a white button up top. My coat is black with navy buttons. Odd feature. But nonetheless, my hair is tied up all fancy and I’m wearing gold earrings. My makeup is done too, finished with my classic wingtip. I’m actually wearing foundation and deep burgundy lipstick. What is the occasion? Being deserted at the cape’s shore? This is not how one ought to dress in these situations. I know I can change, but this overgrown hotel is taking up my mind, my conscious.

What went on in here? Who used those doors above? Is that décor? Is it just for contemporary art? Or is that another opportunity to actually get out? But, who would want to venture there if the doors are gender segregated? Sad.

An old man opened the ‘boy’ door from the ceiling. He was dressed well in herringbone and tweed. The man had salt and pepper hair. My eyes widen as my brain tries to grasp how he manages to stand like that against the wall. Of course he pays no attention to my gasp as he goes into another door staring at his clipboard. I realize the sick bay is at the top of the ceiling. Odd feature. That place is for children! My brain is rumbling with disgust about how gender segregation is still being taught to children here.

Frida Kahlo's Venomous Love Letter to Diego Rivera: "I’m Amputating You. Be Happy and Never Seek Me Again" | Open Culture

From the short story called Love Letters

In a lifetime, we are taught by our family and peers what love is. We are forced to adopt their beliefs and their views. It’s not until we venture out of their hold that we come to realize what love is. 

Love is persistent. Love is loyalty. Love is withstanding despite all flaws. Love is not restricted to just one person...because that’s egregious.

Love shows itself in many forms either through pets, good friends, close relatives and well, your lovers. They come and go like night and day...yet there’s someone for everyone. It may take awhile, but that’s what they said. 

On the contrary, sometimes we never learn what love is. I say this because some have been hurt on this false identity love bears. It’s a tricky subject wrought by emotions and attachments, the very thing that holds us together. Attachments is how we survive and emotions is how we react to our environments.

I look behind me and I see piles of letters I’ve written to former loves. I have an extensive archive that’s about as large as my growing virtual and physical library. The mess organized chronologically is busting at the seams of my estate. It reminds me I was a writer, and a lover, that swooned the ladies and gents. I was a lover once. Yes, I was a lover, and then I was robbed. The man who did it has evaporated from existence. I still remember and in my old age, I hope my memory of him doesn’t follow me to the grave. 

Despite the jaded philosophy he taught me, it altered my perception. It wasn’t right, it was wrong. It skewed my view of love from what was long taught. 

“If this is what it really is, I do not want!” I shouted back at the celestials that forged the earth.

Then I met others, poor lost jaded souls, like me, but to varying degrees. It was through them I remembered the love for myself. I understand now, love is not restricting.

Oft’n I wondered if curiosity would kill me. Maybe it did. Maybe it changed me.

Crows would greet me in the morning and greet me in the afternoon during a much needed smoke break. As I light my clove and revel in smoke, I stand listening to the meetings they held. Hark and caw they said. There was no more to be read.

My day moved forward. Strange shadows drifted and shifted from morning to night.

The earth, had a different feel to it. It’s touch and aura turned the things I loved and so familiar, to something so foreign and unknown.

Coffee wasn’t the same; meals weren’t the same.

It happened because of the book I purchased laying untouched. For free it said, outside the bookstore sitting on an empty stand. The owner dare not touch it.

First few reads were nice, until I learned the price.

The book remained open in the study untouched. I had to slam it shut the day before because it found it’s way to my work, to my school, in the kitchen and in my bedroom...and in my dreams.

Tonight it is here laying before me. I’m reliving the chapters from my good ol’ memory. The book. My book, it said the lessons must be learned. Lessons that must be taught from various strangers beyond...in another dimension, in another time.

Every night as I sleep, the book lays open at my feet. I close my eyelids and they flicker until my eyes roll back signifying something differs.

“Who are you?” They ask. I say and say no more.

“Ah, _____________ sent you.” They beckon me to come closer.

The name of the persons, I hardly remember. Tall and brooding I remember. His presence lest not be forgotten nor his beautiful pale face def not rotten. He is recognizable, for blood is the stain he loves to wear, on his shirt or his other clothes.

In secret, he leads me to the corridor below the hall, and teaches me what I need to know.

The book! The book! It bound itself to me.

Sometimes in dreams, I oft’n look in the mirror or any reflective scrying surface that catch my eye. I see myself, a person I know, but do not recognize.

The sorrow fills me as my hair turned white like snow. My skin pale as bone. My hand, my fingers long and nibble and sharp to a point.

My delicate hands grace my face, yet another presence comes to my place.

They say, “Dear, do not be sad. It is quite alright. Your kind will learn one day just as you do.”

To what I don’t know. They are here and in the mirror my lips darken, a slow smile stretched across my face.

Down the corridor, under the hall, lay a feast for days to be consumed. There we discuss our plans and I am greeted by cold coarse hands. Blood is the stain he wears, on his shirt and clothes. He pulls up a seat and we eat. A fine meal by the host. Another person’s I seem to know.

The book! The book!

It changed me so, under the moonlight’s glow.

In the dream and in the night, I became something I didn’t know.

Rot was my old ways. Rot was my old days.

I was no more and it bled unto the morning light. By stroke of sunlight’s hour, my being had turned and soured.

In the morning I wake with the book resting near my place.

More work to be done. More work, the book says.

I took the book in my hand and meandered outside. Into the backyard and through the secret path that broke into the woods. Deep in the clearing I lit the book and threw it down the well. It burst into flames I knew from the ropes of hell.

Goodbye, book, goodbye.

This is the end!

Yet a hand gripped my poor feeble frame. A shadow tall and with hands so cold and strong, he gripped me with an alluring touch.

I turned to face my supposed enemy, none shall hinder me in purging my plight. The person was not my enemy, yet it was he who wore blood as a stain, on his shirt and his clothes.

He said it was heresy to all that I know. Tears they fell and hit the earth. I apologized.

I am a fool I said.

Once and ever more, I am wrapped up in this controversy. “Heresy”, he said. Heresy.

No fool shall pay the price of heresy. He took me by the hand and helped me pick the book down from the well.

In the light of moonlight’s hour, he held my hand and forgave me. He said I must’nt do it again. It pains him. It hurts him.

I felt his being full of sorrow.

I retrieve the book and begin tomorrow, with pages fresh and new.

At the stroke of sunlight’s hour, he said the name I knew must be forsaken. The name he gave must be taken. For it was me, who chose this path. For it was me, who wrote this passage.

((Strung this up together using the automatic writing surrealist technique remembering random lucid dreams I had in the past. I tried to turn it into a cohesive story and came up with this twisted story of a book. Music from Gessafelstein helps too.))

https://open.spotify.com/track/2iyTw5H1I5aLkvwX7D4Cmi?si=NegPRqRfQZmKfkxPMmQHVQ

From Chapter: Under Arrest

Raz’s shriek pierces my ears. It’s a sharp bite to the eardrums. I’ve never heard a man shriek like that unless he was into dominatrices...but that’s just sad. Sometimes old emotions and trauma resurface during those scenarios. 

In this case, Raz or Randall LaGrange, I should say, is a fragile and delicate man despite his outer appearance and current reputation. He is the son of a wealthy political family...which was secretly involved in a crime ring. You heard it straight from Officer Hennessey’s lips earlier. Again, there’s details I don’t know much about. I just know my job has been comprised as well as la coche here. Damn.

I just…the shriek…the whines…right now I wished Papa Earl taught his son better manners when dealing with the authorities or even Earl’s trophy wife, Magnolia. Now that woman’s got some manners. It’s a real shame. Raz is setting low standards for newbie Officer Hennessey here. 

I rub my chin and cheek again to see if I can careen my neck over to what’s happening with my client. This type of jurisdiction is out of my hands (literally). I am required to abide by the laws of the wonderful Sunshine State and recount company HR policies in this moment. I can’t because the entropy is breaking my focus. 

Believe it or not, this happens once or twice a year for other transporters like me. I laughed at the on the job training video when I saw it. Naive, I was. I never thought it would be me though. According to Helsun Agent Kayla, I possess a positive feedback record of 99.99% with clients. Dammit, it’s my job. Efficiency is everything.

The shriek of the banshee named Raz continued. I can’t. How long is it going to take for the drugs to wear off on a grown gentleman like Raz? Universe, why?

My eyelids slam shut. I forget a ragged homeless guy from the bayou is dragging ass over here to greet me. I swallow hard trying to find comfort in this bent over position I’m in. The only thing that consoles me is la coche; the only cool thing in this humid hell I agreed to be in by contract. Technically, it’s Helsun property, but they let me drive it and promise I can keep it as long as I do my part. The part that just failed an hour or two ago…thanks to a high speed chase down Alligator Alley which was not my fault. Promise.

I left one of the LaGrange’s estates in Miami at exactly 3:00PM EST. Baby, had to avoid the dreaded flight and flurries of rush hour. Destination is McLean Hospital in the beautiful state of Maryland. That’s where poor Raz is gonna go get mental health treatment. According to his dad, Papa Earl, his son has been “getting the spooks”. ‘The spooks!’

When the shrieking is over, I open my eyes. Ragged Man is gone. I don’t know if I want to hear whatever the hell he’s going to say, but whatever, he’s gone. Or is he?

Officer Hennessey is polite enough to tell me he’s going to assist his senior, Lieutenant Tatum. His hand leaves my back and almost slides down my middle back. I swear if it fucking did…I would have bucked him back. But, my work rep is on the line. I bite my lip.

“Ma’am stay right there and we’ll get you in a car to the station after we subdue Raz.” Officer Hennessey’s voice fades as his boots shuffle through the tall grass some paces ahead of me.

The Battle of the Blades is nearing a close. The juggernaut Mantis takes a swipe at it’s prey and it’s done. The grasshopper cannot escape the hinged mace-like legs. However, as it’s enjoying the spoils of war, it’s eye catches sight of the Fig Beetle on a blade searching.

The Fig Beetle, paying no attention, is searching for a meal. Somewhere close. It’s close. Somewhere near.

The Mantis takes careful steps to avoid bringing attention to itself. In these situations, it’s prudent predators act like wallflowers to avoid potential distress. Mantis hones in. It’s happy that it blends in.

NEW Weekday Sched

4:00AM Wake up

4:10AM-4:30AM Stretch or yoga

4:30AM-5:00AM drive to gym

5:00AM-6:00AM workout (alternate)

6:05AM-6:35AM shower

6:35AM or 6:40AM load up car, head to coffee shop

6:45AM or 7AM coffeeeeeee

Get on I-15 to work

7:30AM or 8AM woooorrrkkk

5:30PM clock out

6:00PM home, prep meal or leftovers

7:00PM clean

Make time to read, call Kayleigh, yoga, prep for bed

Get your beauty sleep

“Some schedule you got there...” Former Marooned Islander Kyle points out. I track his gaze and see my new personal schedule I forgot to pin up on the fridge. Trying to keep conversations going is a struggle sometimes. There’s hope I feel, but schedules are like my thing.

I’m not quite sure what to say, but I can’t function without a schedule, without order. If I fall or miss a beat, everything gets out of whack and becomes disorienting. I’m one of those people that need some sort of structure, y’know? I try to find something witty to say, but I get flustered. It’s my schedule.

New Acquaintance Kyle just smiles. He meant no harm, but this also means he’s the complete opposite to some effect. He tries to remedy the current mood.

“Well, nice place you got -” His attention gets pulled away and he reaches in his pocket. I close the front door behind me and proceed to place my stuff on the dining table which shifts the floral place mat just a tad. 

“Sorry, give me a moment,” he apologizes. He doesn’t like interruptions.

“Hello?” Thank goodness someone called Kyle, maybe I can shift the topic elsewhere. Today was different. I fixed the place mat and just leave my canvas bag on the empty seat since it’s not occupied.

I make my way to the fridge to grab us some water, but his conversation catches my attention.

“Yeah, it’s me, Kyle. Jake?” I overhear Kyle’s voice behind me. I take two Dasani water bottles out of the fridge and make my way over to Kyle.

“Thanks.” He lifts his chin in approval, but his forehead wrinkles as he’s trying to listen in on what Jake is saying.

“You what?” He pulls the phone away from his ear, “Mara, are you okay if I go out into the balcony?” I nod. Phew, I got time to straighten up my place. 

Honestly, I don’t know why I agreed to let him hangout. I just met him. I’m super awkward and uncomfortable meeting new people. What Jake did is unforgivable. At least, Kyle is nicer. 

Dammit, I don’t have anything to straighten. I scan the room one more time for a slight error. Nothing. I take a deep exhale. This is depressing. 

Having new people over makes me anxious. I remember I used to do this a lot when I was in my early twenties, but now that I’m an “adult”, I feel that I have to hold some sort of standard society instills on “adulthood”. 

I was about to take a sip of my water and Kyle’s muffled voice from outside reaches my ears.

“Dude, we just got back. No, I’m at Mara’s.”

Oh hell no, Kyle knows Classic Jake. I try to hide a wicked grin on my face. Nope! I’m not going to sit on the couch and pretend to read. I make my way over to the balcony to see what the commotion is about.

“Okay, seriously, you should have thought this out better. You left us.” he grunts. Kyle looks over when he sees me peep my head out.

“Are you okay?” I inquire...still trying to hide that smile! I lean forward as if I’m on Broadway. Kyle smiles, but his expression changed to something dark when he hears something from the receiving end.

“No,” He pressed to Jake, “I’m not driving back up to get you. It’s a Sunday night. Mara and I have work tomorrow.” 

Ah fuck it, let’s be spontaneous. I pull myself into the balcony and join poor Gentleman in Distress Kyle.

“Kyle, give me the phone real quick.” I reach my hand out. Kyle suddenly realizes what’s about to happen, he shakes his head. He pulls the phone away from his ear.

“No, Mara. He does this all the time.” he whispered loudly. I roll my eyes. He doesn’t know where this is going.

“Jake,” I sing (I always dreamed of being on Broadway), “we’ll pick you up!” 

Kyle’s face drops.

“Okay! Great! See you two in a few hours!” Jake sings.

Kyle hangs the fuck up.

“Mara.”

“Look you don’t have to come.” I start as I head back inside my quaint apartment.

“No, you need me. You need another driver.” Kyle trails behind me and I hear balcony door shut and lock. What a good boy.

“Alright, let’s go.” I winked back at Kyle. His face is turning red and he shifted his gaze on his phone which lit up. Good, Jake still believes he’s on good standing.

I grab my canvas bag once again, “We’ll take my car, you navigate and on the way...let’s devise a plan to get back at Jake. Got it?”

“It’s not bad. You’re right, a bar ain’t a good place to chat.” He was on a mission.

We walked up to this door sandwiched between two packed restaurants. I’ve seen this door, but I never cared to open it. I walked by it and thought it was attached to the other restaurants. For crying out loud, all the doors down this block looked the same, even the restaurants. The smells were different, but this...

His hand drifts from my waist and he takes my hand. With the other, he opens the door. The door led to some stairs that was dimly lit...by ivory candles. They were shielded by opaque glass sconces and danced as the door swung open. He makes his way inside and closed the door behind us before leading me up the stairs. 

“Need to keep the doors closed at all times so the breeze or wind doesn’t blow out the candles.” He says.

‘Where does this lead to?’