Author Archives: mlyndv
One
Who am I on this planet? For 63 years I have been trying to determine my place in the vastness of my environment. My plan was to have all the answers by now. I envisioned myself as an elder statesman educating the young to the ways of the world. Truth is that the older I get, the more questions I have.
I see substance abuse, mental illness, crime, starvation, illness, hurricanes, tornadoes, child abuse, domestic violence, animal cruelty, terrorism, loneliness, accidents. My heart breaks for this world and the human condition. Why all the pain? I do not understand.
In contrast, this planet is beautiful. We have oceans, mountains, rivers, deserts, trees, flowers, rock formations and animals to enjoy. Man has created architectural wonders, music, art, crafts, books and fine dining.
Earth’s greatest asset is the human spirit. It is the deep, inner strength that picks up a town to rebuild after a tornado, a cancer patient to face another bag of chemotherapy, an elderly woman to march on after losing her husband of 60 years, a victim to testify and a drug addict to kick the habit. There are kind and generous people who are on the sidelines encouraging, providing a helping hand, giving financial support, donating blood and being friends.
Today, I know, that I am dust blowing in the wind. My life on this planet is nothing more than a grain of sand, but there is more. I am a spirit connected to all. I may not understand why bad things happen to good people, but the way to improve the quality of life in this world, I learned as a child, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
Chasing the Dream When Reality Bites
Our spirit longs deep within to reach out for today’s desire, the one condition that would bring happiness. The plan is to reach the goal by following the shortest distance between two points, a straight line. The course is set and the starting pistol fires.
When I was a child growing up in the 1950’s, a pre-electronic era when dinosaurs roamed the earth, or so it seems to my grandchildren, I played many board and card games. One that comes to mind is Mille Bornes, a French card game that is still being produced. The object of the game was to win a 700 mile road race. There were hazards, i.e. accident, out of gas and flat tire, that would delay the journey until a remedy card was found. I still remember my frustration to have one of these obstacles slow my progress.
Life is filled with blockades and the unexpected. As in the game of Mille Bornes, the race to the elusive goal has many detours. It is difficult to keep an eye on the prize when crisis and turmoil swirl at every turn. The tremors of despair shake our once firm foundations.
But there are pleasant surprises along the way as the petals of our personal blossom unfold. The key is to achieve balance. Find ways to feed your soul today. Do the simple things that bring joy. My husband loves to cook. My heart sings when I watch him put together a meal. It was only 3 short years ago when he was in the hospital being blasted by two forms of chemotherapy and on a lactose free liquid diet for 19 days as he battled leukemia. Today, after a bone marrow transplant, his zest for life is contagious.
Dreams are the seeds of creation. As we journey through life, we learn, grow, edit and take side trips. There are great gifts along the way if we are open to accept them. Keep the faith, shore up the foundations and keep moving forward. Life is ours to color. Today is a clean piece of paper. Color it any way that you want.
Pot of Gold
Lightening streaked across the western sky. Whitecaps smashed against Key West’s Sunset Pier. Thunder exploded deep into my bones. I shuddered, but kept a brave face. Within minutes it was gone, as quickly as it had come. Brilliant sunlight replaced the ominous black clouds. I looked to the East from the safety of my balcony retreat. A soft rainbow arch framed my world. I thought of the pot of gold waiting for me at the end of the rainbow. All my dreams would be fulfilled if I had that pot of gold.
How many of us race through life thinking we would be happy if we were thinner, wealthier, smarter or prettier, ignoring the gifts that are in front of our noses today? I am guilty of being blind to the beautiful roses at the edge of the deck, turning a deaf ear to the birds’ songs, opting to read a self improvement book instead of throwing the ball for the patient pup at my feet and taking for granted the gourmet meal the my husband created to please me.
My elusive pot of gold is intangible. It resonates in my soul. As I strive to learn and grow, I must never forget that with every breath I take, I am living the dream now in the world that I have created.
Key West- A State of Mind
Today I am writing from a hotel room in Key West, Florida. The air is hot and sticky, the water, an inviting turquoise. I have been here three days, but feel that I could meld into the landscape, a soul living the dream of creativity and barefoot freedom.
When the Boeing 737 screeched to an abrupt halt on the short runway and taxied to the terminal, I felt that I had arrived home. The sign read “Welcome to the Conch Republic.” The words rang true of what the United States was founded on, the beliefs of rugged individuals. It is a state of mind that I fear has been lost as our nation struggles to find equilibrium. Technology is taking us to unchartered waters where we marvel at the advances, but fear the loss of privacy. In search of political correctness, we often change laws for the few, forgetting about the rights of many.
Key West has a mix of culture, race and sexual preference where people live and let live with mutual respect. The hens run free and the roosters crow of independence. Tomorrow, I fly back to Connecticut. Besides the baggage I have carried for sixty-three years, I hope to bring back the flip-flop state of mind. Long live the Conch Republic!
Pepe’s Key Lime Pie Recipe
Hi Gang,
On a personal note: My husband, Roger and I LOVE this key lime pie and everything else at this Key West eatery. It is a locals hang out, as well as, a place for tourists to experience Key West. We love their fish sandwich at noon, fresh squeezed margaritas, key lime pie and friendly service.
Pepe’s Café, Key West, FL
Key Lime Pie Recipe
For the graham cracker crust:
- 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs from about 12 (2 1/4-inch by 4 3/4-inch) crackers
- 1/4 cup sugar
- 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
- 5 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
For the filling:
- 2 large egg whites
- 4 large egg yolks
- 1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
- 1/2 cup fresh or bottled Key lime juice
To serve:
- 1 cup heavy cream
- 3 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar
Read More http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Pepes-Cafe-Key-Lime-Pie-394349#ixzz2VCZNl9tz
Margarita Recipe
Garret’s Key West Margarita
Fresh squeezed juice of 6 Key Limes
1 jigger of silver tequila
1 jigger of Triple Sec
1 jigger of Rose’s lime juice
Shake vigorously. Pour over ice.
Float ½ jigger of Grand Marnier on top
Enjoy! Repeat as needed!
Remember
When life has you down
Remember
There are always strawberries
When you think you cannot take another step
Remember
The salmons’ trek upstream to lay eggs.
When you cannot bear the pain of this world
Remember
There are always hot fudge sundaes
When the light of passion has extinguished
Remember
There are flowers, dance, music and art
Always Remember
To feed your soul
And seek the light
Beloved Sloopy
Fiberglass, aluminum and sailcloth are the bones, but the spirit lives in the heart of anyone who sailed her. Sloopy is the 36 foot sailboat in the Liz Adams Mysteries, Murder in Mystic and Murder in Newport. She is named after the 30 foot Catalina Tall Rig that my husband, Roger and I sailed for 14 years. Initially docked in Westbrook, Connecticut, she spent most of her days with us in the homeport of Mystic, Connecticut. As in fiction, Sloopy was our water home and carried us to adventure in New England waters. Our boys, Scott and Ron, then 17 and 14 respectively, named her. A combination of the lovable Charles Schulz beagle, Snoopy and the two sail sloop design, the handle, Sloopy, stuck.
The time we spent on Sloopy was priceless. It took us away from a hectic lifestyle as owners of a popular photography studio to a world where time stood still. We enjoyed our sons and their friends without the distractions at home. Meals shared in the cockpit as the sun slipped into the sea are forever burned into memory. Lifelong friendships were forged with other boaters.
Sloopy is a Champion. In 1998, she won the National Catalina 30 Tall Rig Cruising Class race in Westbook, Connecticut.
Sadly, we sold Sloopy in 2002, but she continues to be the inspiration for the Liz Adams Mystery series. More to come.
Ode to Deck
Peeled and worn
Scarred by snow shovels
Blistered from Summer sun
Faded beauty needing love
Dreading the chore
I gathered the tools
Sandpaper, stain and brushes
A day of play given away
Cedar smeared along the grain
Rejuvenating oil filled the flaws
Each stroke caressed the thirsty pores
Wood’s magnificence was restored.
More than lifeless planks held by screws
A deck embraces family and friends
Breaking bread, making memories.
Refreshed, it’s time to party.
Love of the Land
Smoke rings circle the old man’s head as he rocks back and forth, deep in thought. His favorite spot after dinner is the southeast corner by the kitchen’s wood burning stove. The January snow cover is 2 feet, deeper than usual at this time of year and the daytime temperatures hover around a frigid 12 degrees Fahrenheit. Chores start before sun up and continue long after the sun dips into the West because the cows need to be milked every twelve hours. His stooped frame aches from the extreme cold and he wonders how many more winters he will be able to work.
Gnarled fingers pull the pipe from his mouth. He tamps down the tobacco with his left thumb, sucks in air through the chewed mouthpiece a couple of times and tamps it again. Satisfied that the flame will last, he returns the pipe to his lips.
Weathered by the elements, his face is pitted and lined, causing him to appear older than his 82 years. Unruly shocks of grey hair surround compassionate blue eyes. The family lost the best milk producer today. She slipped in the free stall barn and could not get up. It hurts to put an animal down, but it had to be done and as the head of the family, it was Alfred’s job. When it was done, he took her to the edge of the field, near the woods, dug a hole with the John Deere bucket and buried her near the stone wall, under the maple tree. He never gave death a thought until recently. It always seemed a natural part of the life cycle. But as his time grows nearer, his grandchildren’s laughter is sweeter, the hawk circling the cornfield in search of prey appears more majestic and the daffodils poking through the frosty ground are brighter as they blast the arrival of Spring.
The rhythmic creaking of chair runners against the worn, wide-board floor sounds farther and farther away. Alfred’s chin sinks toward his chest, but he catches himself, snapping his head back with a jolt. The work day had not yet ended.. He parks his pipe in the dented, pewter ashtray to his right and forces his weary body to a standing position.
Still dressed in his faded denim blue jeans and threadbare, red flannel shirt, he scuffed across the kitchen floor in his turned over fleece lined leather slippers. Stacked in neat piles on the steel farm table were the month’s bills. The milk check was deposited this afternoon. As was his habit, he would face the bills tonight. Heaving a sigh, he sinks into the white, painted chair and pulls a pile towards him. With a quick flip through the pages, he sees that this month is no different than any other. He owes more than he can pay. The cost of grain, electricity, equipment and building maintenance skyrocketed, but milk prices have not risen proportionately. Alfred’s heart aches for his son who spent his entire life on the farm and expects to pass it down to his son. Five generations lived and died on the land. How could he tell his son that they were going under?
A rap at the door pulls him from his thoughts.
“Dad, are you still up?” a voice calls from the other side of the door.
“Yup.”
Will enters. He is a 25 year younger version of his father. He pulls out a chair and sits down
Fidgeting in his seat, Will struggles for words.
Without looking up, Alfred asks, “What’s on your mind, son.”
“I found a way to keep the land.”
Alfred looked up in disbelief. “What?”
“I know we’ve been in tough shape for a long time.”
“You knew? Sorry, I didn’t know how to break it to you.”
“That’s OK, Dad. I’ve been trying to get up the courage to tell you that I made a deal with a guy from New York who wants to start a winery. He’s willing to sign a long term lease and hire us to work the place. Best part is we can stay here. Dad, say you’ll sign the papers.”
Alfred looked from the piled bills to his son’s eager face. “Son, this is your decision and your future. I didn’t think there was a way to save the farm, but you came up with one. I will be happy to spend the rest of my days watching the sun set over the vineyard.
Will smiled.
Son, I’m proud of you.
Marilyn Dalla Valle 