*Life is in the journey!* ~ Three Pines in a Sunbeam

 ♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Three Pines in a Sunbeam ~

 Dad’s Colorado
1946 ~ 2012

For several months now I've been pretty quiet here in this space; not knowing how to speak of Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors. Not a clue where to begin. And so I've done simply what my spirit and my body have encouraged me to do... Just be. We go about the business of living caring for our children, our homes, our careers, ourselves. And when change happens, we adjust. Well, hopefully we adjust. Our only other option is to wither away... and that is not living.

This past October my childhood fantasies brutally clashed with reality. In one surreal moment, I learned that my dad had taken his own life. There would be no last great rumble with a man-eating bear in the wilds of Alaska, nor would the ocean swallow him up and spit him out onto a tropical island somewhere to live out his days as a castaway, an adventurer, a man among men.That was my dad, after all... Robinson Crusoe. Bigger than life! As a kid, the myth was just easier to live with. Reality was too... well, too real. 

The reality was my father suffered his entire life with, what I believe was, undiagnosed Bipolar Disorder. As anyone who's lived with a family member who has this disease knows ~ If one suffers, all suffer. I don't know firsthand how medication or therapy might have worked for my dad. Though he absolutely knew he was suffering from severe depression throughout his life, he refused to acknowledge that he had a problem he couldn't fix on his own. His life choice tore apart, piece by piece, what he might have held onto with those he loved; and ultimately even the relationship with his children. I loved my dad dearly, but if I've learned anything from my experience it is that misery loves company, and to save a drowning victim you lend a hand, most certainly your pride... but not your life by jumping into deep water after them, no matter how desperately one wishes to do so. My own happiness rode on my discovery that I am worth more than that. 

My dad was life in fast forward; always searching for that one thing that would make him feel more alive and less alone with his own thoughts. His journey was ripe with enthusiasm, adventure, a passion for spirituality, and... an overwhelming fear of loneliness and boredom. Though painful at times, I am incredibly thankful for the love he was willing to share with me. There are some lessons in this life, whether we think we needed them or not, that are simply too precious to ignore. 

I joined my brother on a mountaintop in Colorado just before Christmas to spread our dad's ashes among three pines in a sunbeam. Saying good-bye wasn't the hardest part for me. It was heading back down that mountain. That last step in the grieving process doesn't come easy. I guess that's where I am now... trying to find acceptance. Let me just say, it sucks. Everything is not alright. Opportunity is missing. But I know from experience that that too will change. I no longer have the luxury of debating whether or not I should try again with my dad. What's done is done. The question I ask myself now is, Was I true to myself, as only I can be?  And that my friends is a path we must all eventually take. 

*Don't give up on yourself*

"In the path of our happiness 
shall we find the learning for which we have chosen this lifetime." 
~ Richard Bach, Illusions

Love My Friends

... and happy learning!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

"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

 

*Life is in the journey!* ~ Whatever It Takes!

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Whatever It Takes! ~

 

We, the storytellers, delight in bringing illumination to the greatest of lies, and when we’re feeling particularly disagreeable with the way of things, as we are sometimes wont to feel, we especially find our peace in the unraveling of those festering subtleties of truth. And though we accomplish this by introducing our own truth, our own voice to the page, our actions offer the same to those who do not have a voice or are, not-so-simply, afraid to use it.

I think often about the subject of my writing, whether it serves as entertainment (I can dream) or even for the purpose of raising awareness, but never do I wonder about the reasons why I write. There is only one answer to that question, and it sure doesn’t feel as though it’s of my own making. Though, I often wish my inner voice was more prolific on the page, I realize, it just is what it is. Or is it? The thing is – I don’t know the answer to that question.

Today, I find myself wondering who does. Writing certainly does take a heaping heart full of stamina. Well, and the capacity for boldness, restraint when it’s called for, and a whole lot of mettle.  As writers, we know this. But what they don’t tell ya when you first pick up a pen to write your story, is that you’ll more than likely experience more than your share of heartache, leaving you with – and to steal a most famous line – the audacity of hope.

This past Saturday, April 28^th, was a birthday of note. Pulitzer Prize-winning author, Harper Lee, turned 86. Her novel, “To Kill A Mockingbird” is not only my all-time favorite but it remains for me after all these years, a beacon of hope…yes, but more so, of faith; the belief in myself that I can achieve in my writing, what I long for in my dreams – To make a difference and to be heard. 

Nelle Harper Lee is, no doubt, a tough act to follow. What set her "coming-of-age" story apart from the rest was that it didn't end with her characters, Scout or Jem, Atticus or Boo Radley. She had something spectacular to say, and boy did she say it; dropping out of law school, devoting eight years of her life to finishing the story inside of her. 

I guess in the end, that is the answer to my question. Do I have what it takes to drag my story out of me, kicking and screaming like the child that it is? It's soul-stirring questions like these that my great grandfather's words come back to me, gently nudging me forward, with a boot in my rear! 

"Whatever it takes, I happen to have it!"

~ Grandpa Willie Ball 

Now, that's some mettle I'd like to wrap my brain around!

Peace My Friends!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*I Cook Barefooted!* ~ Summer Pork BBQ

Barefoot Love!

April Showers Bring Summer Barbeque!

I saw my first firefly of the season tonight.
They lit out over the yard; pint-sized orbs of light just out of reach.
It's early. April, ya know.
I'm not ready.
We're still busy gearing up for baseball season,
cleaning out gutters, tilling the garden, making way for Spring... 
singing, "Adios, Winter! It was nice knowing ya! Don't be so shy next year!"


But, Summer is practically on our doorstep.
Ready or not, Here it comes!
Cool green grass and kids running with jars across the lawn.
It makes my mouth water just thinking about what's cooking in the kitchen!


Fresh Squeezed Lemonade
Homemade Potato Salad
(with the skins on!)
Devilish Eggs
Roasted Ears of Corn and Asparagus
Fresh Fruit Salad
Sweet Cornbread 
(with honey butter)
 Homemade Salsa
Fruit Pies and Cobblers
Marshmallows on a stick
and
Sweet and Spicy Summer Barbeque!

Well maybe, 
just maybe...
I am ready.
***
 
 
☮

Summer Pork BBQ

2 boneless pork loin roasts

1 cup of water

2 tsp. salt

2 cups ketchup

1/3 cup steak sauce

1/4 cup packed brown sugar

1/4 cup vinegar

2 tsp. lemon juice

Cook roasts in crock pot on medium low heat,

till tender and falling apart.

Sprinkle roasts with salt.

Add water.

Shred with fork and set aside.

Skim fat and drain all but 1 cup of broth.

Add meat back to pot, along with

ketchup, steak sauce, brown sugar, vinegar and lemon juice.

Cover and cook again over medium low heat for 1 to 2 hours.

Serve on kaiser rolls.

You want reviews?

How 'bout...

"That'll do. That'll do."

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!* ~ Happiness

♥

  Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Happiness ~

I'm not sure when, exactly, it happened. Somewhere along the way reality and practicality replaced my childhood dreams and fantasies. When I was young dreaming came easy. Mine was a long list, waxing and waning with my every childish whim. There was always time for dreams. There were no preconceptions of who would hand over the rent, feed the kids, or take care of me when I grew old. Growing *that* old was never part of the dream. It was a simpler time then. I would be indefinitely frozen, most likely in a twenty-something year old's body, and never wanting for anything. 

I liked wrapping my stuffed animal's heads and legs and tails in gauze, pretending they were sick. I wanted a horse of my own to know freedom. I hurt when we had to give away our farm dog because we lived in an apartment, and when our cat grew sick with cancer. I wanted to save all animals who were sick, or lonely like me. I would be a vet.

I was entranced by what lurked beneath the waves of the ocean and what peace lay hidden in its darkest depths. I longed for adventure on the Serengeti plains. I could wear khakis, and spend my days in the dirt with a toothbrush unearthing dinosaur bones and Egyptian tombs in the desert. I wanted to save something; even if it was just our history. I would be an oceanographer or a game warden or an archeologist. 

I wished I could ease the pain of others. Those wounds that often go unnoticed on children's faces, in their eyes, on their hearts. The heartbreaking, soul-jarring pain that we all carry through life, but sometimes... just sometimes we can't seem to let go of. I wanted to save those who were having trouble saving themselves. I would be a counselor.

I wanted to share all of my dreams, my fears, and my realities through stories. Because everyone can relate to a good story, and EVERYONE knows what it means to long for adventure. Words helped to raise my voice. They became my friends. I wanted to teach others that we are limited in our dreams, only by our imagination, so... I would be a writer.

I found my way, eventually. Though my dreams took me to places, honestly, where I never thought they would. I never did make it to vet school, or to the bottom of the ocean, or to the Serengeti. And I can't say that I've ever set up my own psychiatry booth on the side of the road. But somehow, and I can't say when, I found Happiness anyway.

Charles M. Schulz

Today, I'm thinking less about my dreams and more about our kids' dreams. So much for never growing *that* old. What do *they* want to be when they grow up? And when, if it hasn't already happened, will they begin to trade in their dreams and fantasies for reality and practicalities? Our oldest child graduates from high school this spring. He's off to save the world... or conquer it. And all I can think is... I hope he knows Happiness wherever he goes. Whether he falls into it or hunts it down with every breath in his body and soul, I hope he is Happy.

I believe in Happy. 

 Be Happy My Friends!

"The best way out is always through."

~ Robert Frost

*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!* ~ Origins

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Origins ~

“What are YOUR origins?”

Hi and Howdy! 

I'd like to say, Thank YOU!, to DL Hammons (Cruising Altitude 2.0), Katie Mills (Creepy Query Girl), Alex J. Cavanaugh and Matthew MacNish (The Quintessentially Questionable Query Experiment) for hosting the ORIGINS blogfest today!

 *Tell us all where your writing dreams began. 

It all started somewhere and we want you to tell us your own, unique, beginnings.*

Life is in the journey!

To LIVE with eyes wide open, 

inspiring ourselves and others, 

finding the courage to do so, 

as we strive toward a greater purpose...

This is my journey!

The first time I heard the question, “So I hear you’re writing a novel,” I wanted to crawl into a hole where I would, first, be free to contemplate the imminent tongue-lashing (followed by much kissing, of course) of he who must be named – my cheer-leading husband – for ever having mentioned IT to anyone *not on the list*... and second, a place of solitude where I could count the multitude of foolish, foolish dreams which had led me, oh so willingly, into this predicament.

For the record, those few brave souls *on the list* were to be read the following disclaimer upon their induction into this writer's (yes, that just happened) circle of trust: “I, (that's me) being of questionable mind and weakened spirit, do hereby admit to writing something, resembling but not limited to anything, of which will be referred to from here out simply as, a book, and of which, I do not expect (lie) to actually be considered (lie, lie) by any reputable agent (liar, liar pants on fire), because I know in my heart that, even though I am a wonderfully nice person (three weeks out of every lunar cycle), everyone knows (I want names) that publishing is likened to winning the lottery (I want names and I want my happy place back)!”

My love for writing began the moment I broke in the binding of my first paperback romance, at the tender age of thirteen. A whole new world opened up to me, teeming with Love, Loss and Lust. I remember the look on my mother’s face as she passed by my bedroom where I sat, huddled, with my head buried between the pages. It was that same look I gave my daughter when she first discovered Stephanie Meyer’s, “Twilight”. I was instantly hooked on the language of storytelling. Words were my new love, and to quote Edward Cullen, “… like my own personal brand of heroin.”

Raging hormones aside, publication or even the light of day eluded my characters once real life happened.  Stacks of writing journals, ripe with cliche characters and weak plot outlines, sat idle and stuffed into bottom drawers throughout my roaring twenties (which were rather dull actually, unless wandering from state to state in search of myself is considered roar-worthy). My characters, my make-believe, turned out young women, lost like me, but who had found the courage to fight for their truth and their voice. Women stronger than me. Women defined more by the fight within than their insecurities. 

By the time I hit my thirties, I had fallen willingly into the life of a devoted, though painfully lost, mother to three little monsters and, as such, had neither the time nor the energy to pursue what was still my dream ~ to write stories. 

My writing journey, my origins, are what’s given me my education. For that, I am grateful. And though I dreamt (yep, still do) of being whisked away to the land of publishing by a fairy godmother (a reputable agent) ~ because I'm just that good ~ it is simply telling a good story that drives me to spending hours, days... nay, a LIFETIME of pulling at my hair and holding my breath, as I hover over my keyboard in light and in darkness. Stepping outside of myself to captivate an audience, attempting to master the English language (Ha!) in the details... There is the true magic. And if it just so happens to irrevocably change the course of another human being's existence, then win-win.

As much as I have struggled over the years with the fear that I am not good enough to call myself ~ A Writer ~ I think I have finally accepted the truth of my calling. It matters little, really, that I keep up with the big boys and girls. Winning the trophy is oh, so nice, I won't lie, but the path, in which I continue to discover more about myself in search of that road less traveled, is truly the reward in itself. It's in the journey that we discover who we are and who we want to be. Not the destination.

Happiness, contentment, and fulfillment 

are found in the enthusiasm we carry for Life.
Here and Now. 

To write, is to dream.

To dream, is to let in hope...

opening up your world and the world of others 
to infinite possibility.

It is in our lifelong search to achieve,

Life’s Inspirational Valiant Endeavors, 
that we are most alive.

And there is nothing greater in this world 
than finding You Are Not Alone, 
within the pages of a good story.

*Life is in the journey!* is a weekly series here on Scarlett’s Tattoo.

Please DO join in the conversation!

Every voice matters.

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

*I Cook Barefooted!* ~The One, The Only, The Great Cincinnati Chili Recipe!

Barefoot Love!

Born in Cincinnati, Ohio, 

 the youngest of eight children, 

my husband, Rick,

learned quickly never to be late to the supper table! 

SPAM loaf was a family favorite... go figure.

Ham soup, which just happened to be the color of peas,

(little Ricky didn't like peas, hence the name)

was also a traditional dish served up to the troops,
... as well as,  homemade pretzels,

 a yummy, albeit odd-tasting oatmeal breakfast sausage, 
called Goetta,
and occasionally, to our (we in-laws included) dismay 
Green eggs and ham!

All of them, loved family traditions.

But it is his strange addiction, 
dare I say love affair with,

Cincinnati's Skyline Chili 
that still earns him bragging rights!

Cincinnati may be better known for

Pete Rose and 'The Big Red Machine',

Pigs that fly 

and maybe even this song...

"Oh, I went to Cincinnati and I walked around the block,

and I walked right in to a bakery shop,

and I pulled two donuts out of the grease,

and I handed the lady a five cent piece.

She looked at the nickel,

she looked at me,

she said, 'This nickel's no good 'ya see,

it's got a hole in the middle

and it's all the way through.'

Said, I to the lady,

'Oh, your donuts do too!'

but it's because of this thin, bean-less, noodle-less chili

with hints of chocolate and cinnamon

that Cincinnati will forever live in his heart...

and possibly his lower intestine.

***

☮

The One, The Only 

The Great Cincinnati Chili Recipe!

2 Tbsp. oil

2 1/2 lbs. Ground beef

1 quart Cold water

1 can Tomato Paste

2 large onion, diced

1 1/2 Tbsp. Cider vinegar

1 tsp. Worcestershire

1 clove Garlic, crushed

2 Tbsp. Chili powder

5 Bay leaves

2 tsp. Cinnamon

1 tsp. Allspice

2 tsp. Cayenne pepper

1 1/2 Tbsp. Cocoa or 1 oz. semisweet chocolate

Salt & Pepper to taste

*on the side*
Hot dogs, buns, spaghetti, onions, red beans and CHEESE!

Heat oil in a very large pot. 

Add beef and cook till browned.

Add onions and water; boil.

Reduce to a simmer.

Add tomato paste and all other ingredients.

Simmer 1 1/2 to 2 hours.

Salt and Pepper to taste.

Remove bay leaves.
 (Serves 6 to 8)

"How do 'ya want it?"

1.Cheese Coney, Hot dog w/mustard, chili, onion and cheese

2. Regular Coney, Hot dog w/all of the above, minus the cheese

3. Three-way, Spaghetti, chili and cheese

4. Four-way, 3-way w/onions and red beans

5. Five-way ~ Gluttony ensues!

6. Spaghetti chili, w/onions, cheese and beans

... If 'ya like it that way!

You want reviews?

    How 'bout,

" Thanks, Honey! You're the best!"  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