A Holiday Toast ~ May you Know Peace in Your Heart of Hearts! And may it know you... when you wake it up in the wee hours of the morning.

“Everyone, 

at some point in their lives, 

wakes up in the middle of the night 

with the feeling 

that they are all alone in the world, 

and that nobody loves them now 

and that nobody will ever love them, 

and that they will never 

have a decent night’s sleep again 

and will spend their lives 

wandering blearily 

around a loveless landscape, 

hoping desperately 

that their circumstances will improve, 

but suspecting, 

in their heart of hearts 

that they will remain unloved forever. 

The best thing to do in these circumstances

is to wake somebody else up, 

so that they can feel this way too.”

  

– Lemony Snicket

"And they lived happily ever after!"

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ "And they lived happily ever after!" ~

 

 

Let's see if I have this right. The prince wanders too far from the castle one night seeking good deeds to be done and a good time, inadvertently crossing paths with a witch of a woman (it's always a woman) that's just stumbled out of crazytown looking for a wayward prince she can undo (in the philosophical sense). Calling on her extensive knowledge of the black arts and the widely accepted truth that amphibians are a buzz kill in the bedroom, she promptly turns the young, impulsive, wet behind the ears prince into a toad. When asked why all the hostility, she grumbles, "...because, Dearie, I can." 

Cue the dewey-eyed, virginal prin-cess: merciful, sincere and a free spirit. This trusting, but clever young thing too big for her britches, strays too far from the watchful eye of those who practice common sense (her royally wary parents) searching for true love in the form of anything-not-resembling-a-toad... and a good education. 

The prin-cess falls head-over-heels for the toad.

The prince/de-cursed and reformed toad is humbled by his good luck.

They are wedded, bedded (in that order) and wake to a Whole New World where they all too soon stand facing the true meaning of marriage, parenthood... and, as is the way of the world and gravity,  inevitably a mid-life crisis in the halls of an empty castle, no longer ripe with their own youthful, wide-eyed optimism and the sweet anarchy which their children so generously delivered. But, glory be, if their luck has held out, they still have each other and all is well enough.

The witch still creeps about wreaking havoc on unsuspecting travelers, and kids with candy . The murky depths of the swamp still  shelters a toad or two. And dewey-eyed prin-cesses continue the search for themselves in fairy tales. Life goes on. The world still holds its place, inexplicably, in the universe. A moral can still be found in a good story.

"And they live happily ever after!"

Here's what boggles my mind, and disrupts my calm. The closer I inch toward the end of my life... Married: check. Babies: check. Empty castle: looming... the less infinite it becomes. (Why yes, I am married in my mid-forties with babies who are all grown up with one foot out the door. Why do you ask? ) 

People, please... for argument's sake:  If any point in an infinite universe, whether real or imagined, is in fact the center of that universe, does the fact that I recognize my own mortality, in my shriveling womb, somehow explain why I no longer feel like the center of my own universe? And if so, why'd I have to go and have a mess of kids that are, ultimately, just going to fly the coop ( the castle, in which, I live ) with their little royal tail feathers dancing in the winds of their own storybook universes, following dreams of their own making in search of their own happy endings? Is this circle of life thing meant to leave us doomed-to-be-empty-mortgage holders floating aimlessly in one gigantic, but limited, universe wishing for our carefree toad and prin-cess days again... and not merely as the victims of the stereotypical characterization and plot?

Searching for the answers to nonsensical questions like these keep this forty-something year old prin-cess up at night. I find the most reasonable path to sanity is to simply take a deep breath, place my head on my pillow, and try to think happy thoughts.

Like this one.

 

When my little prin-cess was still a little girl, I tucked her into bed listening as she, in her still infinite universe, stalled her bedtime with her own questions.  


"Mom," she asked, "what would you do if you were adopted by aliens?"

"I guess I'd ask 'em for a new spaceship," I answered. Why not, I thought. Isn't that what any prin-cess might ask for when presented with their new storybook alien parents?


She looked relieved. "So, you could come back to Earth then... anytime you wanted," she asked.
 
I realized then, of course, what she'd meant was "abducted". What would you do if you were abducted by aliens... not adopted. Not taken in by those who would give you your very own spaceship, dote on your every prin-cess need or whimsy, but rather those who might tear you from this world of castles and toads and fairy tale endings, thereby introducing you to real terror. 

And... there it is. The answer to my question. The very meaning of life all wrapped up in a little girl/prin-cess poised, ever so delicately, in the center of her infinite universe on the very edge of reason. 

Frightened by what tomorrow might bring, it is in our very nature to try to predict what may happen next week or next year or when we're old as dirt... as our light in this Great Big Universe passes on. Will evil ("the nasty old witch") reign? Will someone ("the strong and handsome prince") come to our rescue? Could I ("the equally strong and lovely prin-cess") summon the strength to rescue him right back? As children we are in constant motion, exercising our bodies and our senses, observing our world around us, asking questions... writing our own stories and our own endings. 

How often I do find myself lost in a fairy tale of my own making, and asking this question... Is my life a comedy or a tragedy? Well, I guess I'd better get busy writing!

Peace My Friends

... and happy writing!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

 

Speak

... and you will be heard.

For my friend.

Love! and Peace.

Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII
Part VIII
Part IX
Part X

~ Sexual Assault Awareness Month ~

*Life is in the journey!* ~ A Dream Is A Wish!

 

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ A Dream Is A Wish! ~

 

 

Thanks for the wish come true, Babe!

Some luck lies

in not getting what you thought you wanted

but getting what you have,

which once you have got it

you may be smart enough to see

is what you would have wanted

had you known.

~ Garrison Keillor ~

When I was young I spent hours sitting in the clover. Soft, cool grass pricked the underside of my bare legs and tickled the tops of my feet, while I searched through a small green patch for four leaves, not three. A journal lay beside me; its pages opened in the shade of our maple tree to neatly pressed rows of little green wishes. Luck seemed to be just a bit too chancy for my tastes. Wishes, on the other hand, well they were perfectly attainable as long as I believed in them.

Four-leaf clovers, shooting stars, eyelashes and wishbones; a full moon, dandelion puffs or pennies in a fountain. Perhaps it's not the totem you choose, after all, that heeds your wishes and answers your prayers. I believe the magic we are searching for is of our own making, even in times of darkness and despair... Especially in times of darkness and despair. When good fortune seems to skip right over your head, without so much as a "duck, duck, goose", and your wishes leave you feeling a bit like Cinderella's ugly step-sister... perhaps it's time to get busy with a little spring cleaning. Clear out the cobwebs. Open a few windows. Sing a gay little song out loud for all of the forest animals (and the neighbors) to enjoy! After all... a dream truly is a wish your heart makes. Why not dream big!

Listen to your intuition. 

Open your eyes, and your mind, and your heart to possibility. 

ACCEPT responsibility, 

IMAGINE good fortune and...

EXPECT happiness. 

The secret to Life is no secret. 

It is simply to SHOW UP.

 Where luck is random,

and lacking ambition;

a WISH,

made in earnest...

is fearless,

resolute,

and undeniably

of your own making.

The world is a big place, ripe with compassion, charity, and good will; as it is also with anger, greed and general discontent. And though it is, oftentimes, a very scary place to try to live and grow and prosper, our wishes be damned, it is all we have for now. Despite the capacity for resiliency and beauty residing inside each of us, we humans tend to cling desperately to those attitudes and beliefs which we've convinced ourselves to be safe havens, forgetting that it is this very determination that sets us apart from the vegetables. No offense to carrots and broccoli and Brussels sprouts! (Well, maybe to Brussels sprouts.)

It has been almost six months since my return to this blogging community ~ a world in and of itself, dedicated to searching for the answers to Life's most difficult questions in the name of Peace. In that time, I have been introduced to so many beautifully creative, funny, talented and loving spirits. It may be only a small piece of the pie, but it is abundant with fresh perspectives, clean sparkling ideas and enough optimism for us all to turn over a new leaf. And if that leaf happens to be of the four-leaf variety, then let us close our eyes and make a wish... quickly now; for as much as wishes never run out, and never expire, they do have a tendency to wilt when our imagination is out of focus. 

There are really so many of these individuals who open up a space for me, and others, to share in their dreams and wishes, and fears and insecurities ~ mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters ~ Life's students of all ages really, who want simply to be happy and to always follow a path of Peace. All of them wishing. All of them taking charge of their dreams. Stop in and say, Hi. You won't regret it.

♥ 

 My Friends

Catherine@ Catherine Denton

Em@ 35 Jupiter Drive

Intricate Knot@ My Blog & Role Fantasy

Mark@ Aloha! Mark Koopmans says hi from HI

*(4-leaf clover photo: Rick Stokes)

Peace My Friends!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*I Cook Barefooted!* ~ Spinach Lasagna

Barefoot Love!

Years ago, 

I started searching for ways to get my kids to eat their vegetables!

The rule was always the same in our house:

Take it or Leave it.

But, if you take it...

Green always comes first!

And... No Gagging, Squalling, or *Fake Choking Allowed.

* Real Choking, of course, would earn you a one way ticket to the Heimlich...

followed by a stern lecture to use more sense when stuffing your green beans into your mouth.*

So began, the infamous Green Bean races.

My husband, I admit, did his best to play along.

His nostrils may have flared, 

(probably always will)

his eyes may even have watered... on occasion,

and he may follow anything green with his milk glass...

But, he ate them! 

He ate them because he knew little eyes and brains were watching.

 But really, he ate them because he's awesome!

At the start of supper, 

after *Thanks* and *Thoughts* were given 

for what we were about to receive,

green bean-thirsty forks hovered over our plates waiting to dig in!

Some finesse was necessary here.

I mean, the whole point of the game was, in fact, 

to get the green beans past the taste buds 

and into their stomachs 

without them catching on to our manipulation techniques. 

What can I say?

It worked.

And the kids...

Well, let's just say this was one race we Always let them win!

*For the record*

No Child or Adult was harmed in any of The Great Green Bean Races.

All were willing participants... 

Because that's just how we roll. 

Eventually, we graduated to eating "trees" (Broccoli florets)

and the occasional green salad, 

most often loaded with sugar-rich dressings for the kiddos 

(gotta start somewhere)

and a boiled egg, for good measure.

However, it was pure genius, on my part,

(Thank you, Thank you very much!)

the day I first substituted Spinach in one of our family's favorite dishes.

They never noticed the beef was gone.

And they're still coming back for more!

It doesn't get much easier than this recipe.

It's not overly loaded with sodium and sugar and preservatives, 

like most pre-prepared frozen dinners (depending on the sauce you use).

And it's Oh, so yummy...
with a loaf of French Bread and a nice Salad on the side.

***

☮

Spinach Lasagna

3 cups Ricotta Cheese

3 cups shredded Mozzarella

3/4 cup Parmesan

2 Eggs

1 (48 oz.) jar Your Favorite Spaghetti Sauce

1 pkg. Frozen Spinach, thawed and drained

Lasagna Noodles

Cook noodles to desired tenderness.

Mix Ricotta, 1/2 cup Parmesan and eggs.

Thaw Spinach and add to cheese mixture.

Layer in a lightly greased 9x13 baking dish:

Spaghetti sauce, noodles, cheese mixture, mozzarella.

Repeat layers.

Bake at 400 degrees for 30 to 40 minutes.

Let stand to cool and thicken.

Enjoy! 

*I sometimes use Large Curd Cottage Cheese, in place of the Ricotta, 

when I want to cut down on the fat and cost of the Ricotta. 
Not quite as rich, but still very good!*

*I also tend to use whatever form of spinach I happen to have in my fridge. 

When I have fresh Baby Leaf Spinach I just stir in, roughly 3 cups of uncooked spinach, to the cheese mixture.*

***

You want reviews?
    How 'bout,

"I'm Popeye the Sailor Man,

I'm Popeye the Sailor Man.

I'm strong to the finich

Cause I eats me spinach.

            I'm Popeye the Sailor Man!"  ヅ

 How 'bout You?
Have a recipe you want to share on 
*I Cook Barefooted!*?
Show some Barefoot Love and...

Send it here:  scarlettcolleen@yahoo.com 
Want to include a photo? Fun!

What's on your table?

“Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions.

All life is an experiment.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

 *Barefoot Love*Airbrush By, Colleen 
2012

*Life is in the journey!* ~ These Boots

♥

  Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ These Boots ~

Around these parts people know our place as, Barefoot Acres. It’s a little bit o’ land, barely five acres if you count the parts that serve as playground to the deer, squirrels, birds, and a mess of kids let loose to scout for trails, tramp through the creek, and swing like the von Trapps from the trees. You won’t find a nicely manicured lawn or meticulously landscaped trees and shrubs here on our place. Wildflowers, cedar saplings and the occasional ant hill pop up where the tractor doesn’t reach, and like I holler back to my husband when he’s called out of the garage to see what the ruckus is all about, “I swear, that damn rock wasn’t there yesterday!” It’ll never make the cover of Better Homes and Gardens, but it is (almost) perfect in our eyes.

When I was little we moved *a lot*, but Kentucky, the place where I was born, and more specifically, my grandparent’s small farm just outside of Bardstown was always home base. I’ve spent the better part of my grown up years trying to recreate my memories there, like missing puzzle pieces; solid, steady puzzle pieces that gave me something to hold onto and a better sense of who I am. I see now I may have grown a little too enthusiastic in my search, just a little bit.

Our place here is where family and friends gather around the campfire to play music and roast hot dogs and marshmallows on cool autumn nights. It’s where the kids gather in the summertime to catch lightning bugs in the tall grass across the road, ride ponies and chase chickens. It’s where Matilda and Flopsy bunnies were paraded around in a stroller and doll pajamas when our daughter was a little girl, a rat, named Daisy was taken outside for tree-walks on her leash and our dogs play search and rescue with the kids (not cops and robbers!) in the woods. We don’t keep a milk cow, pigs or goats, though it has been suggested we should more than once. We do keep a small garden, which may or may not produce anything of substance from year to year, depending on whether Little League season takes over. And we do, occasionally, gather in the pool on a starry night and lay on our backs searching for constellations and satellites. 

The cousins call it, Barefoot Acres Camp. We call it, Home.

But what I really want to talk to you about are these boots of mine.

I. Don’t. Wear. Shoes. (Much) I bought a pair of men's work boots in a thrift store, roughly ten years ago when we picked up our brood and moved them further out into the country. Two bucks. They were everything I hated in a shoe; laces practically to my shins, heavy as bricks (when they’re caked with mud and god knows what), and ugly as sin. How’s a girl supposed to breathe in shoes like these? I’m a slip-on, flip flop, sandal kinda girl, when I must wear something. My brother asked me many years ago when he noticed my footwear, “But what would you do if you *had* to run from an assailant?” I’d never thought of that before. I wondered, what possesses a person to dwell on questions that only raise one’s blood pressure thinking about it. I think now though, if I found myself in such a predicament, I would probably calmly unlace my boots, hand them over and tell them, “Hey, I hope they bring you the happiness you’re searching for.” I might also kick them in the shins first, for good measure. They are the proverbial shit kickers, after all.

These boots of mine do serve a purpose, I realized just last week, though I finally see them now as more of an old friend than as that albatross around my neck. Despite the fact that I’ve experienced heart palpitations and slight nausea, on more than one occasion, upon discovering that warm, furry, and somewhat squishy mice are drawn to that place where the toes go. These boots, in fact, have protected my beloved digits from frostbite, snake bite, playful Shetland temperaments, old horse Alzheimer’s, mower blades, hot campfire coals, sticks sharpened into spears… a la “Lord of the Flies”, errant holes dug in unsuspected places by unsupervised children, dogs chasing fly balls and Frisbees and cats, shovels and rakes left blade up in the garden, blood-thirsty tiller’s tines, and poo. Let us not forget the poo; chicken poo, horse and pony poo, and bunny poo (that's Bunny POO, not Foo Foo). These boots have seen some poo in their day. They’ve trudged through it, slipped in it, been practically bathed and baptized in it. When I was little, I wanted to talk to the animals. What I didn’t know then was how often I would find myself in lively conversation with their poo.

In this place, and in the small petting zoo that’s grown up around us here, our family has fought bravely… in our boots… through some of the more mundane lessons LIFE has to teach us. Loving a home is hard work. Loving the life it supports is harder. It’s in our daily feeding chores, the back-breaking work of barn building, ditch digging, fence erecting... and even in the graves we’ve had to dig for those we’ve loved that have passed... that these boots, and theirs, have helped us through the real work ~ of Living.

Last week we buried another beloved family pet. I thought, as I pulled my boots on and then slowly laced them up, in the early morning before the frost had disappeared, just how much I was not looking forward to this part. The hardest part. The real work. As many times as I have cussed and cried in these boots, I reminded myself then that I have also laughed and loved, lived and learned in them. Our journey is a difficult one. If it came too easy, what would be the point?

These two dollar boots have taken me farther than I ever thought possible, even when I sometimes find it slightly hard to breathe in them. Who would have thought I might actually have been running from myself? I *have* learned many things along my journey, but one of the simplest lessons I have finally come to accept is, sometimes it’s easier just to lace ‘em up and get to work. Before you know what hit you, it’s time again for starry nights and search and rescue. At least, that’s how it works around these parts... in these boots.

***

 Be Brave My Friends!

"The best way out is always through."

~ Robert Frost

*Life is in the journey!* ~ If I Were Brave

♥

  Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ If I Were Brave ~

I was brave once.

I spoke my mind,

stood up to bullies

and loved with all my heart.

I was brave once.

I lost those dear,

but kept them close.

I was brave once.

I asked, “How are you?”

and then

waited for an answer.

I was brave once.

I stood up and said,

“I do dare. I do.”

I was brave once.

I believed in truth,

I believed in hope,

I believed in integrity.

I chose ‘right’ over ‘easy’.

I was brave once.

I believed…

in the power of my voice,

the power of my words,

and the power of choice.

I was brave once.

I claimed responsibility,

and opened my heart to forgiveness.

If I were brave,

I would do it all over again...

in a heartbeat.

If I were brave.

***

“It takes courage to grow up

and become who you really are.”

~ e. e. cummings

 Courage is not the absence of fear.

It is action in its presence.

  Be Brave My Friends!

"The best way out is always through."

~ Robert Frost