*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!* ~ 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!* ~ Choosing Peace

♥

Life's Inspirational Valiant Endeavors

~ Choosing Peace ~

I have yet to meet another human being who *doesn’t* live with worry, a modicum of regret or feel the steady downward pull of stress in their daily lives. If I could sit down to a cup of tea or even a warm doughnut, and discuss *The Journey* with the Dalai Lama himself, I would be most appreciative and humbled. I am amazed by his culture’s resilient spirit and their chosen path to peace and tranquility.

I, however, spent much of my twenties and thirties practicing the shadowy art of denial. My suffering eased, eventually, thanks to my younger brother’s keen intuition and love for me, when he suggested way-back-when, that whatever it was that I had been doing was apparently not working out so well, and that I might do myself and those around me a giant favor ~ and just do something about it already. Only, I didn’t quite understand what he was talking about at the time, because I was standing on the edge of that river, Denial, soaking wet, a deafening noise in my brain and furious with no one in particular.

Counseling seemed the answer in my early teens. The right someone (someone other than those closest to me, and whom I considered the source of my pain) listened to me for the first time in my young life. I see now it was on that therapeutic couch, literally speaking, that I first began to believe in the existence of my own voice.

Then Life happened. I grew up. I found my voice, but didn’t have a clue how to use it. Like a child with a new toy, I thought it was mine to covet. And rather than feel the uncomfortable process of self-actualization and accept peace into my life, I buried my head deep in the sand, eyes open for effect, and indulged my fears through self-preservation. Food, and the quest for love became my drugs of choice. I married my high school sweetheart. We had a baby, then two, then three. I, and my husband, lived relatively uncomplicated lives (outside of the pain still brewing inside of me, in the form of anger and resentment) on an artist’s meager but gloriously consistent salary, with a dog, two cats, a house full of kids, car payments, and a mortgage.

It was no Shangri-La, but looking back now, it was ~ Everything I always knew I wanted.

*Big Sigh*

Remembering the taste of sand 
between my teeth, makes me want to eat cake.

Here. Now. I am forty-three! My three children are immersed in those pivotal stages in their young lives, where I first entertained low self-esteem and self-deprecating behavior and attitudes ~ 13, 15 and 18 years old. And There, but for the grace of God, go they! It seems, one of my more modest life goals, has always been to try to live in a place of peace ~ without the aid of cake. Somewhere in my mid-thirties, (Yep, it only took me thirty-something years to access that part of my brain, folks.) I felt, for the first time, the irony of Life itself.

No longer drowning in the day to day monotony and the illusion of Life itself, and feeling reasonably confident that my voice would be heard by those closest to me, I lay my heart out on the table and took a leap of faith that no one would stomp on it.

And that is when I woke up. 

"A long time on a crooked road."

~ Joe, "Joe Versus the Volcano"

I awoke to the realization, that “Life is pain. You’ve got to scrape the joy out of it.” I was no novice, no stranger to pain. No one is. “Aye, there’s the rub!” (There, my friends, is the irony in Life. It is with little shame, that I just quoted Rod Kimble and William Shakespeare in practically the same breath!) 

Life IS in the journey! It’s a slow walk, naked, barefooted, and as if that weren’t enough of a lesson for us, bearing the weight in the struggle of those we love and those we despise as well, through ten-thousand miles of our own fear-driven conscience and consciousness. Hallelujah! Pass the gravy!

We are on one great, life-altering expedition into the unknown the moment our little hands and feet, and cheek, meet our mother’s breast, our father’s arms; and if we’re lucky, a warm blanket and a healthy sense of adventure.

Peace lies within, like a flower eager to open itself to the sun.  It has always been there inside of you. It flows through the life blood in each and every cell in our bodies, before we are even aware of the world outside of us. Its purpose ~ to teach us something profound, something we cannot live and thrive without. To teach us how to love ~ ourselves, and others.

It is my wish that, *Life is in the journey!* will serve all those who visit, as a most important and profound reminder, through Laughter, Tears of Awe and Joy, and through Peace... that there is comfort to be found in this journey we share.

We have only to choose to live our lives, "...awake and in constant, total amazement!"

~ 

 

Alexander Tsiaras’, “Conception to Birth” is, perhaps, one of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring stories we, as humans, have to tell. A mathematician by trade, Tsiaras shares his expertise and his talent for minute detail, with humility, in a lecture given ~ Here. 

~ Life is in the journey! ~

 

Peace My Friends!

“The best way out is always through.”

~ Robert Frost

☮It is not my wish to debate in this forum,
when *Life* begins.

It is my intention to celebrate *Life* in all stages and all forms,

here in this place among friends, and with a healthy dose of humility.

~ Thank you!

 Love!

"Just Keep Swimming."

2012 is kicking the crap outta me.

My only saving grace?

It is day 10.

There are only 355 more to go, before I can start all over again.

Well, 345, if you believe the end of days are upon us.

(Really? Must I also add this mass delusion to my long list of worries?)

“The only thing I can’t stand is discomfort.” 

~ Gloria Steinem

I have plans.

I have lists of plans.

I have lists of lists of plans.

I have no time for giving up or giving in. 

(Even IF all life as we know it will cease to exist... someday.

Of course it will, my friends. Someday. But NOT Today.)

This is the ultimate irony that is Life, after all.

TODAY I do, however, have pajamas at noon.

“Let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

STAGE DIRECTION:

They do not move.

~ Last Lines of Waiting For Godot ~

Well, it’s not quite noon yet, but if yesterday was any indication of how my Today is going to go, I am almost certain that I will still be wearing my pajamas at noon. Though, I do still have hope. I do have that.

I am now making lists (in my head) of the most mundane variety, such as:

#1 Crawl out of bed. Drag self to kitchen. Pour self a stiff drink to greet the day. Put something, anything other than those three week old cookies you’re staring at, into pie hole.

#2 Prepare thyself for No Writing Today (without the aid of that most beloved four letter word).

#3 And Remember: YOU are the Master of Your Universe. Begin.

“Nothing is so much to be feared as fear.” 

~ Henry David Thoreau

Sometimes, I just wish I wasn’t. Oh, acting as the master of my universe *sounds* great and all. But, if I am the master of all that I see, think and do, then who the hell am I supposed to blame when it all goes to shit when life gets hard?

I guess there is no mystery, as to why I am still sitting here at this keyboard, contemplating this swill, in my pajamas at this hour. This is what it must feel like to give up. Who are you kidding, Miss, you have been here before. You are no novice in the art of denial. You did spend the better part of your thirties trying to wipe that slate clean, after all. And you can wipe that smirk off your brow. You know you’re right.

As I sit here, I realize, shamefully, that I am simply looking for someone else to make the big decisions, the little tiny and seemingly insignificant decisions, and everything in between. I want someone, anyone, to run my life for me.  That’s funny. Not sounding quite so freeing now that I see my dimwitted plan in writing.

“If you want to win anything

–        a race, your self, your life –

you have to go a little berserk.”

~ George Sheehan

See, here’s the thing about lists. They do serve a function outside of providing a, somewhat, true account of both my accomplishments and my failures. By the time I got to #3 this morning, it hit me. Like that three week old cookie stuck to the bottom of my gullet. What I must do is, Just DO IT! Get Off My Buts.

Years ago I read a book. *small grin* It was a simple Guide To Living Your Dreams. I have thumbed through it many times over the last twenty-something years, folding down corners, breathing in the smell of its yellowing pages, searching for the important messages inside that seem to be speaking just to me. I have laughed. I have cried. I have thought to myself, “Right. Now begin.”

“DO IT! Let’s Get Off Our Buts” by Peter McWilliams is my go-to place for that all important, albeit in-my-face ironic, reminder that I AM THE MASTER OF MY UNIVERSE.   

So, I ask myself Here, Now, Today, why is this so hard? And the only answer I can come up with is the age old answer: If Life was meant to be easy, Michelangelo would have painted the floor instead of the ceiling.

I can only hope that my choice of brush, color and composition are complementary of one another, creating one magnificent canvas! I just need to remind my sometimes tired, needy self to get up off my back and Buts every once in a while, stretch my legs, my mind, and my voice, and then begin again.

                           "Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming."

                            "Just keep swim-ming, swim-ming, swim-ing."

                                           

When Life gets hard, as it inevitably will, you can start by getting dressed. That's always a very good place to start. Take a deep breath. In. Out. And when you feel alone, simply look in the mirror. There in front of you, peering into your eyes, is You. 

One-Of-A-Kind, Amazing, YOU! 

There is no other human being in this universe, or any other, who knows you better than you know yourself. Not your mother. Not your father. Not your brother, sister or best friend. Just You. Learn to Love Who You Are. No small feat, I know. But, accomplish this and you can accomplish anything. 

Now go make your list! 

Be generous with your dreams, your goals and your strikethroughs!

Begin.

“Life moves on, whether we act as cowards or heroes. Life has no other discipline to impose, if we would but realize it, than to accept life unquestioningly. Everything we shut our eyes to, everything we run away from, everything we deny, denigrate or despise, serves to defeat us in the end. What seems nasty, painful, evil, can become a source of beauty, joy and strength, if faced with an open mind. Every moment is a golden one for he (or she) who has the vision to recognize it as such.”

~ Henry Miller