FALL 2010 WRITER'S WEEKLY 24-HOUR SHORT STORY CONTEST 900 WD. LIMIT: This fall's entry "TREATS"

TREATS

Jaime’s first awareness is of pain and cinnamon. He struggles to open his eyes, but the left one is caked with blood. The cinnamon smell makes his stomach rumble, while pain makes it clench with fear. He lies quiet. Maybe it’s better with his eyes closed. Better to not know what happened.

There’s humming in another room, and closer, a soft ka-thunk, ka-thunk in time with the humming. It’s a familiar sound that Jaime can’t readily place. He slowly takes in a long, steady breath. He steels himself, then cracks his good eye open. The first thing he sees are bars, cage-like, and his heart begins to hammer in his chest. He wants to scream, but some innate sense tells him to hush, be quiet. Wait. See.

He steadies himself again, and opens his good eye. Immediately before him are the bars, and Jaime sees now that they are flat slats made of wood. He moves to reach toward them to find his hands are trussed together with a stout piece of rough rope. The rope weaves between his legs and around his ankles, which are tied to the wooden bars at his feet bending him into a nearly fetal position. As his eye begins to focus more clearly, Jaime realizes he is in a huge baby crib. He moans, and the ka-thunk, ka-thunk stops suddenly.

There is a creaking and shuffling. Jaime sees a short, lumpy figure moving toward him. At first Jaime thinks it’s another kid, but the figure is gigantically fat, and breathes in a labored, snuffling manner that reminds Jaime of the way his grandpa sounded right before he died. The room is dim, lit only by a nightlight shaped like a merry-go-round and the street lights beyond the room’s only window. The figure is outlined by the dim light. Jaime begins to shake. Short-fingered hands grab the crib rail, hands with ragged nails, dirty and creased.

A misshapen head leans over, the chin just clearing the rail.

“Hi. Hi. Hi. Hi.” It says, spewing out sour breath. The voice is neither high nor low. Jaime can’t tell whether it is a boy or girl, man or woman.

“Where am I?” Jaime whispers.

“Mommy brunged you.” He-She says.

“Where?” Jaime says.

“Here. Our house.” Says He-She. “3428 Leonard Street. 3428 Leonard Street that’s where we live, I membered it and Mommy said I am real smart. I’m real smart, huh?” He-She shook at the crib, and Jaime groaned at the sharp pain in his head.

Leonard Street. He’d been trick-or-treating there. Old Mrs. Samson’s was the last house he remembered, he thought.

“Aw.” Says He-She. “I tell Mommy you waked.”

“No!” Jaime hissed. “Don’t!”

He-She slid his-her hands down the crib bars and settled in a crouching position facing Jaime, who shrank back as he gazed at the enormous moon face, jowls overlapping the chin and neck. The skin was pockmarked and yellowed, the milky blue eyes weepy and red-rimmed.

“You yell at me.” He-She said in a hurt voice. “I tell momma!”

“No, wait!” Jaime whispered. “Tell me your name. How about that? Okay?”

“I Nathan.” He said, poking his thumb into his chest. “Nathan Eldridge Samson. That’s me! And you- you Jimmy! Momma promised you to me!”

Samson? Mrs. Samson didn’t have any kids. That was partly why Jaime always made sure to walk the extra block to her little cottage at the end of Leonard Street every Halloween. She always made such a big deal over his costume and how much he’d grown and never said a word about his weight. She said he was getting nice and round, and she thought he was a handsome boy. She even made him a special bag of oatmeal cinnamon cookies every year, just special for him she said.

None of the other kids ever went down there. They said she was an old, nasty lady. They said she killed little kids but no one ever proved it. That kids who went to the end of Leonard Street just disappeared. Jaime went down there on a dare four years ago and Mrs. Samson was nice as pie to him. So he kept going back. That way he got all Mrs. Samson’s wonderful treats to himself. She was just an old widow, and she’d told him herself she never had any kids- that’s why his visits to her every year were so special.

“What did your mom promise?” Jaime said.

“She promise you!” Nathan squealed. “Special little brother. For my birthday five-zero. For Hello-Ween!” He jumped up suddenly and went to the window. He clambered into the rocking chair placed before the window. Deep grooves from the chair were worn into the wood floor. “I love Hello-Ween! It make the leaves beautiful! Hello leaves!” Nathan waved out the window.

Out in the kitchen lids clattered on pots, and the humming became more discordant. Jaime could hear the scraping of a knife on a sharpener.

“Nathan.” He croaked. “Untie me. Please.”

Nathan whirled away from the window on his unsteady feet. “Oh, Jimmy, no!” He said, clambering back to the crib. He reached through the bars and touched Jaime’s cheek with a scabby finger. Jaime cringed. “Momma be mad!” Nathan began to stroke Jaime’s face. “And you so chubby. Smell so good.”

Jaime swallowed, saliva working in his mouth. “What’s momma cooking, Nathan?” He asked.

Nathan smiled.

Writing Prompts

Aaaahhhhh... we are all fond of writing prompts, are we not? Was thinking this might be a good place to post them. So, I am going to try to come up with some and pop them here on the site.

You feel free to do the same.

Also, I am thinking of starting a local writers group. If you are interested, please contact me. The forum would focus on sharing writing each week, mini contests, and adding to a community writing prompt jar we can write from.

Today's prompt is ...

CHARACTER has been a failure all his life, and realizes he needs to redefine success. Evil or good? Rebuilding or retribution? You decide. Change gender if you wish. Just for fun, let's say he has an unusual trait that he feels has contributed to his life-long failure. How does he use this trait to aid in his newly found success, be it for good or evil?

Feel free to post your ideas, stories and poems here on this blog site.

Happy writing,

Dev

Short Story Topic

Sorry folks,

Guess I should have posted this too, so you knew what I was talking about... here is the story topic they sent that I had to work from:

The young girl pulled another pair of pants from the pile of laundry. Between the hot black iron and the fireplace, it was stifling in the small kitchen. The only relief she could hope forwas a small breeze coming from the window overlooking the distant waves. Her arm started moving methodically once again and, just as she started to fantasize about a forbidden swim, the iron stopped at a bump in the pocket…

WRITER'S WEEKLY 24-HOUR SHORT STORY CONTEST

Hi all,

This weekend I participated in the Writer's Weekly 24-Hour Short Story Contest. Basically, on Saturday at noon they email you the topic and word count (in this case word count was 950 word limit-mine ended up being 948- whew!) and you have 24 hours to come up with a short story based on the story line. You can change things like gender of characters and place, etc, but it has to be obvious you used their story start. The top prize is $300 plus lots of great writer schwag, 2nd place is $250 + schwag, and 3rd is $200 + schwag. There are a bunch of schwag prizes as well (85 in all), and if I remember right, only 300 people are allowed to participate. Maybe it was 500. Anyway, here is my short story, which I wrote up North at the cottage. (Had to drive into town to connect to WiFi a couple of times to do this, but it was a good experience.) Hope you enjoy.

Dev


SOMETHING OF HIS
A ribbon of cool air brushed across the girl’s face, her chin lifting to it like an animal scenting blood. She placed her hands on either side of the fissure in the wall, and pressed her eye to the crack. She strained to see some glimpse of either sun or moon on the waves that delivered such soft relief through the split. She imagined she could taste salt on the air that billowed sweetly off the cool water she longed for. The heat at her back beckoned her to the endless task, but still she pressed her face to the crack, and dreamed of her lost world while listening carefully for the quick step of His Lord on the stone stairs.

He would come soon to collect his trousers. Patience turned from her respite to the inferno she labored in. It consumed her, the blazing, never-ending heat. Reluctantly, she bent to the fire for the heavy iron. She smoothed the trousers on the board with a raw hand and began to press, moving the heavy iron up the rough cloth.

She moved methodically, more machine than human. And truly, was she human still? After all she’d done? The ruin she’d caused herself? Was she in any part who she used to be? Or was she becoming- like Him? Made inhuman, a monster. She put a hand to her dirty hair, her blistered skin and was thankful that in this dark, sweltering place no reflective surface revealed her ruined countenance.

Patience leaned her back against the crack in the wall wishing for another breeze as she ironed His Lord’s clothing. A rancid odor rose up from the breeches as the heat touched them. She moved the iron back and forth, accustomed to the stench. After all, she’d been here such a long, long time. She listened for His Lord. She would need enough time to hide the crack in the wall that had been her touchstone to the life she’d lost. If He knew of it, He would surely close it up. Without it, Patience feared she would go mad.

She wiped the sweat from her eyes, and moved the iron up and up. At the trouser pocket, the iron made a soft thunk, and Patience ran her hand over the cloth to find that something had been left in His Lord’s pocket.

Patience sucked in her breath. There was something in the pocket! Something of His! In all her time here, all the years of heat, horror, monotony she’d never dared hope. How did the verse go? She pressed her fingers over the lump in the pocket, trying to remember the adage. Then, like a siren song, another sweet breath from the far-away ocean floated through the crack in the wall, kissing her face, and the rhyme came to her like a lullaby lost: “All ye are belong to Him. Ye give up all to pay for sin. He possesseth yer worldly finery and yer Soul infinitely. But find ye a thing belongs to His Lord is like a golden key unlocking every door, freeing ye from His unearthly Hell to return to all ye loved so well.”

Patience fumbled with the breeches, her heart hammering in her chest. Her fingers snaked into the fetid trouser pocket and closed on the precious thing that could return her to the world of sweet air, salty water. It was smooth in her fingers, and she slid it out into the devilish light of the room that imprisoned her. She took a breath and opened her trembling hand.

His Lord’s mummified finger lay in her palm, shining in the light of the room’s terrible fire. Patience sucked in a scream, as the door above her crashed. His Lord roared her name and began to ka-clump his way down the cobblestone stairs. Patience looked from the finger jiggling in her shaking hand to the blessed crack in the wall and back again. His feet continued to clack down the stairs.

“Here I come, precious!” His Lord bellowed. Patience swallowed her own bile and stuffed the rotted finger in her apron pocket. He let out a roar that nearly caused the girl’s bladder to let go. Patience tried in vain to replace the ragged piece of cloth that kept the crack in the wall hidden, but the door to her chamber crashed open before she could conceal her secret.

“Well, now,” He said as he stepped in on his cloven hooves. “What have we here?” He came forward, stroking Patience’ cheek with a dirty fingernail. Patience shrunk back against the crack, the sea breeze teasing her shoulder. “So, that’s what you were hiding? A little crack in the wall?” He paused. “Stupid girl, I knew it was there, enticing you, making you long for the world. It was just another way to torture you, sweetness. And what fun that’s been!” He laughed.

Patience began to shake, but with anger this time, not fear. How dare he take away the only thing that’d been her deliverance? She lifted her head and looked into his hideous eyes. She took the finger from her apron pocket and held it aloft for him to see.

“M’Lord.” She said. “I also hid this.”

For a moment uncertainty registered in his glowing eyes. Then he growled and made a swipe at her with his four-fingered hand. But Patience was quick.

“A golden key unlocking every door.” She said, and she popped the finger into her mouth and swallowed.

The crack in the wall burst open as the water rushed in. Patience was borne up on its swell, and floated free in the water, free under a blue, blue sky.

THE END

The Big Day Arrives

Well, folks, Saturday is the big day. Tomorrow (Friday) will be spent getting everything ready for set-up. The Riverside Art Fair opens bright and early Saturday morning (10 a.m.) come hell or high water.

Admittedly, I am a little nervous. I have not participated in an art fair in more than 12 years. I have more than 45 new creations ready for sale, priced from just $8.50 all the way up to $225.00. Something for everyone I suppose.

Above is Elvi. She took me most of a month to finish. She is about 20 inches tall and has a clay face, hands and feet with a cloth body. Most of her clothing is hand sewn. She has glass eyes. I wonder who she will be going home with ????

In any case, I think I am ready to go. The tent is purchased, signage executed, and all the dollies packed and priced.

I'll report back and let you know how I did. Come down and adopt a few friend. I have 45 of them to choose from....

Adios!

RDN

Bwa-ha-ha-ha! Dr. Deverstein Is At It Again!

Well, the application is in and there is no going back now....WitchStitchery and Dr. Deverstein will be selling wares at the YWCA/Studio 23 Annual Riverside Art Festival in Downtown Bay City June 12 and 13. I will also be participating in the Art Battle.

I have had about a 12 year art festival hiatus, so.... it feels a little daunting, but exciting too.

Cut out 14 doll bodies this morning and will start stitchin' this afternoon. Be on the lookout for some witches and creepalicious Halloween dolls. I can't wait till they are done. It's hard to sell them sometimes tho... these little beings I create. You get a little attached to them.

The booth will also have some of my "greenies" clothing line- stuff that has been rescued from the landfill and recycled into art clothing, jewelry, handbags and cute little kitchy clutch purses (retro bags redone), there is even a cool pair of Salvador Dali/Alice Cooper collaged shoes (size 8.5). Never know what you will find in the WitchStitchery gypsy wagon.

Let's see..... recipe du jour...... how about something fresh, like Greek farmer cheese?

This is an easy one. All you need is some cheesecloth, string, a large plastic container and a carton of plain yogurt. Get good yogurt with cultures like Dannon or real Greek yogurt (available at health food stores- Kroger in Saginaw has it too.)

Fold the cheese cloth to double and cut a big square, like 18 x 18. Pour the yogurt onto the cloth and then gather the cloth up to form a bag. Tie the bag tightly at the top. Take another piece of string and make a long tie around the top of the bag.

Now here is the tricky part: Put one end of the tie on the lip of the plastic container and push the lid down on it to hold it down. Pull the other side of the tie tight to the opposite side of the container and push that side of the lid down to hold the string. So what you have is the bag of yogurt suspended in the closed container.

Let it sit in the fridge like that for two to four days, depending on how moist the yogurt is to begin with. All the liquid will drain from the yogurt and form a nice ball of fresh farmer cheese.

Remove it from the bag and serve it with some fresh fruit or veggies. I like berries and peaches myself. Yum! This is fun to make with your kids. It's like.... well.... Magic Cheese.

More Later,

Dev

Creepy Dolls, Witches, AWAD and My Studio is a Disaster

So the Hubs came home from work yesterday and these guys were on the kitchen table and he said, "Ooooo, creepy!" At which I smiled a bit , toothy, creepy smile.

"You think?" says I.

"Definitely!" says he.

"Cool" says I.

So, Spelling Bee and Whoh, Whoh, Whoh She's A Ladybug are now drying in the studio. I just have to fashion wings, paint and embellish them. I like how they are looking so far tho.

These guys to the left are two paper clay heads I did about a month ago.

Crow and this weird faerie dude are in need of bodies and I am not quite sure what those are going to be comprised of as yet. As I said in an earlier blog, the dolls take over and become who they want to be. These guys are not talking yet. Hubs is anxious for me to finish Brother Crow as Crow is his chief Talisman. Patience, Hubs, all in due time.

As you can see, the studio is a shambles. Not hard in a space that is like 6x6. I can't wait to move to the new house. My new studio will be about 14x16 and has windows on three sides. I am muey excited about that.

This is a collection of some of my Halloweeny stuff in my studio. Cool, huh? They inspire me to craft my Creepies.

The AWAD is (heh heh heh) CALLITHUMP. Isn't that a fabulous word? And it is exactly what it sounds like (Max in Where The Wild Things Are would have loved this word.) It is, in essence, a WILD RUMPUS! I think we are all about due for one of those, doncha think?

Let's plan one soon!

More later...

-Dev

Sassy Molassy

Today's word is (hahahaha) SASS. As in sassy. Sassy molassy. I am tickled as this is a personality trait I possess in spades and hold near and dear to my heart.

Needless to say, I did not have to read the definition of today's AWAD, as I am the embodiment of it. Funny bone moment tho. And so much more enjoyable than CATHECT, which I still don't feel I used correctly in a sentence.

I am busy making two new pieces, insects this time, kind of wackydoodle ones (of course). A bumble bee and a lady bug. I think the bee will be a Spelling Bee (why not). Not sure what Miss Ladybug will be up to. They are going to be assemblage pieces with a paper mache base.

Your recipe for the day, appropriately, uses molasses as an ingredient. It is a poofy-poo-poo kind of appetizer you can serve with a nice Auselase or Claret.

This appetizer looks beautiful on a footed cake plate. One with a little bit of a lip works best. Get a nice hunk of good bleu cheese. Now seriously, spend a little bit of money and get good cheese. Unwrap the cheese and place it on the cake place. Drizzle the cheese with some light molasses and sprinkle coarsely chopped walnuts over the molasses. (If you really are opposed to molasses, you can use honey as well.) Next, thinly slice crisp pears (Asian pears are nice) and Granny Smith apples and arrange around the edge of the cake plate. Guests slice off a little hunk of the cheese and place it on a slice of fruit. This is a great appetizer for guests who are avoiding gluten products like crackers and breads.

And the bleu cheese? Well, it has SASS!

More later,

-Dev

If the AWAD Fits.....

OK, so I got into this A Word A Day thing (AWAD), and this morning's word just make me kind of giggle:

CATHECT (kuh-THEKT)

It's a verb that means to invest mental or emotional energy in an idea, object, or person.

Wow, if the shoe....er...AWAD fits, baby.

This is a perfect word for me, as this is something I struggle with. Just had a giant conversation with Patticake about this yesterday. (Kismet!) Ok, to use it in a sentence.....hmmmmm...

"I realize I cathect with my job to compensate for a nonexistent social life."

Not bad. (and no, I don't do that anymore.) So, I am wondering.... cathect...cathected? cathecting?

Essentially, if I am grasping this, when you cathect, you are creating a mask or wall to hide behind, to compensate for something that is missing in your life, it is a denial. I've done that a lot. Sometimes it sucks to have your eyes wide open and just face it- but then again, it is pretty rewarding too. Even when, or maybe most especially when, one has to face something distasteful or unpleasant. I guess what I am saying is, I would rather have the sugar than the Splenda. If you are getting me..... More later.

-Dev

Witches and Wings

I was going through some pictures this evening and found this one of my Friendly Witch custom made for my witchy friend, Patticake for Yule (Christmas) this past year. She is made from a collaged paper image sewn to upholstery fabric and watercolored. She says "Friend" across the breast with rub on lettering. The broom is made from branches and grass from my yard and tied with red embroidery thread.

I will be crafting more of these witchy Victorian ladies in time for Halloween if you are interested in purchasing one. They are approximately 8 to 12 inches high and have a weight in the bottom so they will stand on their own on a shelf, desk, or table. I can make customized witches with your face on them as well, which is pretty funny/cool. Thought I would share this one.

I also make tree branch ghouls. I will try to find a pic to share on the blog.

I have neglected my recipe share for a day or so, and I would be remiss if I neglected to post this wing recipe. Yes, we had the Wild Wingy Dingys tonight and they were frickin' awesome (a technical culinary term.) We did a dozen wings which turns out 24 pieces.

Get a dozen wings, and if they are a little frozen yet, they will cut easier. Separate them at all the joints and throw the little wing tips away. Spray a broiler pan with cooking spray and place the wing pieces on it. Sprinkle with salt, lots of pepper and lots of powdered garlic. Seasoning at this juncture is most important. Bake for about 25 minutes at 425 degrees.

While they are baking put (and these are approximate measures- doctor up as you see fit) about 1 cup of applesauce, 1 cup bbq sauce (we love Sweet Baby Rays), a healthy shake of garlic (yeah, yeah, get the breath mints again!), cayenne pepper (a little or a lot depending on how hot you want them to be), a squirt of mustard and a few shakes of Red Hot. Zip up the bag tight and start rubbing the contents of the bag together between your hands to mix up the mess.

Take the wings out of the oven and let them cool for about 10 minutes. Then throw all the wings into the bag with the sauce. Zip up the bag. Make sure it is really zipped or you are going to have a holy hell of a mess. Start tossing the wings in the bag, and when they are well coated allow them to rest for about 15 minutes in the sauce.

At this point you can finish them off on the grill (yum!) or in the oven. If you are putting them back in the oven, reduce the heat to 375 while the wings are resting in the sauce. If you are putting them on the grill, you should have been getting it ready already for Pete's sake. Bake or grill them for an additional 15 minutes.

You will only be sorry you did not purchase more wings!
All we heard at our table was NOM NOM NOM....

-Dev

Sasha and Selene

This is Sasha, our Husky/Karelian Bear Dog mix. I lovingly call her Shirly the Fuzzy Office Assistant because she is invariably under my feet whenever I am working. Every now and again she gives me a big "woo woo!" to let me know I am doing a good job. OK. She could be telling me I am screwing up, but being a glass half full kind of girl I prefer to think she is complimenting me. Look at that face. Doesn't she seem to be saying, "Hey, you're fabulous!" Or maybe "Hey, mom, do you have any of those green dog biscuits left. Wanna fetch one pronto?" Yeah, it could be that.

Here is Selene, nearly complete. Sasha helped me with her. Ok so she didn't do any gluing or painting. But she hung around and watched me work. Jimbo is napping his rotten cold off. Poor guy. (It has hung on for 2 weeks now.) Selene will be mounted on a round stand with an invocation to her written around the base in a spiral.

Well, that's three dolls fairly complete in as many days. It's really felt great working on them after about a three year haitus. I have some article deadlines, etc. And I probably ought to be a decent mousewife here spiff up a bit. As always...

-Dev

Kali- Full of Piss and Vinegar

Here is Kali, in progress and finished. Soft body with a Fimo mask, glass beads, ribbons and dyed feathers. She has a red and gold glass snake at her feet.

Creationism Update....

Meet Odin, my newest creation. Odin is soft scupture with a Fimo mask and breastplate. This is the guy I worked on today. Still want to make a spear for him, but don't have the right materials yet.

He is about 10 inches tall and turned out pretty well I think, for not doll-ing for a while.

Also started a Kali doll that is about 8 inches tall. I'll be doing some beading on that one. Got five doll forms sewed and stuffed and now it is all embellishing and painting.

Getting ready for the fall art shows here in good ol' Mich.
Enjoy!

My Journey Into Creationism

Back in the day, I was quite the art doll maker. I would show you examples, but I don't have any left. I sold all of them. As an artist, you would think that this told me something. Hmmmmm.... let's see, there are about 60 finished paintings in my basement and.....zero dolls. As a working artist, I probably should have stuck with the dolls.

The thing about making one-of-a-kind dolls....wait. Let me explain that. Some doll makers use a mold to pour the head, limbs and sometimes bodies (tho they are often soft bodied) of a doll. They make several from one mold that are hand painted and numbered. The one-of-a-kind is just that: you create it from your own pattern or mold, sculpt it, paper mache it, whatever it. They are often made from mixed media, soft and hard materials. They're damn cool is what they are.

For me, a doll never came out the way I "planned" it. I would make a sketch, a pattern, set off down my own doll making path and then.....

...the doll takes over.

It becomes what IT wants to be, who it wants to be. It's scary and exciting. You are creating this little being with a personality. It's a very cool feeling.

Some ideas have been brewing in the noggin (ideas are always brewing in the noggin- the real trick is to turn them into something concrete-ooooooo concrete! There's an idea! I could....) Wow. See how easy it is for me to get off track?

This is a great book- Anatomy Of A Doll. If you are a doll maker or just like dolls, you have to check it out. Some very cool folks in there. And my fav of all time, Lisa Lichtenfels who makes the most fabulous dolls ever. She used to work for Disney. Her stuff is amazing.

Anyhoo, I went out early and got some really fabulous fabric remnants, the latest Cloth Paper Scissors, some Fimo (on sale!!! 97 cents a brick for petes sake), and a new face mold. Last week I made some face molds using air dry clay. I tried them out today and they worked great.

So, I have some heads baking in the oven at this moment. Who knows who they shall become... I'll keep you posted as I continue on my journey to creationism... it's a little heady.

AWAD: A Word A Day

I re-subscribed to A Word A Day (AWAD) this morning. (We used to call idiot schoolmates wads I recall... "Yeah, he's A WAD.") Nevermind... I suppose I need more coffee.

AWAD is a writer's spice cabinet, and although some of the words are quite obscure there's a lot that get you thinking about crafting sentences in different, more exciting ways. And admittedly, I need it. I'm getting stale, getting bored with myself which leads to a lot of self-doubt and lack of confidence as a writer.

Today's word is "Achates" (??????? Have YOU ever heard that one? Am I am idiot?) which means "a trusted friend or companion". So how does one use that in a sentence? (Which is my daily goal, you see.)

How about this:

"I jumped across the stream, losing my footing in the slippery mud and rock on the other side. Jimbo, my Achates, was immediately at my side, his hand on my forearm steadying me. "

Wow. That was terrible. And I wonder if you are supposed to capitalize Achates?

From the AWAD site:

"After Achates, the faithful companion and friend of Aeneas, in the epic poem Aeneid by the Roman poet Vergil (70-19 BCE). In the story, Achates is called fidus Achates (faithful Achates) and he accompanies Aeneas everywhere in his adventures."

Hmmmmm.

Anyhow, spicy cooking, spicy writing...I want to be all over that.

-Dev

Bring Me Some Figgy ..... Figs

I long for fresh figs. It's Michigan. It's spring. There are no fresh figs for mamma. However, my figgy sweet tooth can be satisfied via Poached Figs with Cream. Yum!

Try this. No, no, no don't tell me you don't like figs. They are sweet and complex and intriguing- have an open mind. THESE ARE NOT YOUR GRAMMA'S FIGS....

You will need a package of dried figs, a little sugar, water and heavy cream.

Put the figs in a sauce pan and barely cover them with water. Add about 3 tablespoons of sugar and set on medium heat. When the water starts to steam, turn the heat down- the idea here is to poach the little buggers, not boil them. Be gentle. After about 20 minutes, they will plump up nicely. Turn the stove off, but leave the pan on the burner. Let the figs cool slowly to room temp.

To serve, place a few figs in a pretty dish. The pretty dish is important. It's all about presentation and ambiance, baby. Drizzle a little of the fruit syrup in the figs. Now drizzle with heavy cream.

Enjoy these with a nice dessert wine, like a Spatlace. You will not be sorry, nor mad at me for making you try figs.

Oh, yeah, the painting above is mine. It's called The Bitter Fruit and is for sale. That's my pitch for the day.

....And the Leftovers

Ok, you know that Italian dressing you just made? Well you have some left over. I know you do, cuz I did. Wash and cut some tiny new red potatoes in half and boil them. Let them cool to room temp. Wash and cut some compari tomatoes in half, chop a few scallions (you have those two things left over from last night's salad, right?), and grate a carrot. Layer all that stuff on top of the potatoes on a nice platter and douse liberally with the Italian dressing. Matchstick a few slices of good Swiss cheese and sprinkle on top of that.

We had this dish with some green sun tea into which I infused one Yogi Tea (brand) Mexican Sweet Chili tea bag. YUM!

And of course Jimbo did the obligatory Cornish (they're not really from Cornwall) game hens on the grill slathered in Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce. Enjoy!

Redefining Success

The day is starting out to be one of "those" days. You know the ones...you accidentially spill the old coffee grounds on the floor as you (blearily) attempt making a new pot, dropping things, articles rejected, bad hair, arthritic knee, and mental lamenting about crap that happened in the past putting a general pall on things. And I am kicking myself because it is sunny and fabulous outside and here I sit in my wacky pajamas and old man sweater being a big, fat curmudgeon with breasts. A couple of months ago I lost my job. I'd worked my way up (in about 4 short years) to the position of VP at a large nonprofit that shall remain nameless. I'd developed 7 successfully functioning programs in the community and I was damn proud of them. It was devastating to walk into my job on a Monday morning and find my office pack and the CEO telling me my "services" were no longer needed. Talk about a defining moment- or an opportunity to REdefine my working life. Since I was a little child, I dreamed of writing for a living, and honestly had been thinking about phasing my job out over a period of 24 months. Was this the Universe shoving me off the Cliff of Procrastination and forcing me to make the move now? I guess it's how you choose to look at it. Admittedly, I have had a few really bad days. I still miss many things about my job and the people I worked with. I grieve them in fact. But there is another part of me that is relieved. Relieved that I no longer have to deal with the incredible, political, serves-no-purpose bullshit I put up with on a daily basis. I'm sleeping better. I am finishing projects that have been sitting on my drawing table, easle, and computer for months and years. I am accomplishing something. And....I'm writing; as a freelance journalist, researcher and creatively. I finished a draft of my first full-length play and am in the process of rewriting. I finished the illustrations for my children's book YOU ARE LIKE A RAINBOW and sent it off to a publisher (waiting to hear). I have been through boxes and piles and have pulled out a bevvy of things dreamed and wished and have begun to COMPLETE them. What a feeling that is. This morning one of my articles got rejected and it just put me in a bad frame of mind. Rejection of any kind has a way of pushing REPLAY on those bad tapes in our heads and making us feel less than, even for just a moment. However, taking the time here, just now, to remember that I am going forware, I am accomplishing, I am making a positive movement on the path I am creating- it's monumental. This sign on my office wall says "If at first you don't succeed- Redefine success." Indeed.

The First Recipe: Dev's Delectable Fresh Italian Dressing

So, last night Jimbo put some steaks on the grill. I don't know exactly what he does to them, but the man is the best steak-a-teer I have ever met. As soon as the weather breaks, we haul out the grill and head to Jack's for some prime beef. I am not much of a red meat eater, but damn that Jimbo can cook steak, I'm tellin' you.

My job, when Jimbo is scaring the steaks on the grill, is the salad. Last night it was fresh lettuce, baby portobello mushrooms, campari tomatos and scallions- and this fine dressing inspired by the early (Holy shit it's only April!) reappearance of the herbs in my petit gardin du herbes...

You need a food processor or blender for this one- I probably should have opted for the blender, but I forgot to put the food processor away from the day before (hummus- yum!) so I kind of blew dressing all over the counter, but it was fun licking it off my fingers while I was cleaning up.

So here it is:

A handful of (combined) fresh thyme, lemon balm, chives, basil
4 cloves of garlic (that's right FOUR- stop whining and get yourself some breath mints)
1 tablespoon (or there-bouts) oregano
About 1 1/2 cups of oil (I used half olive oil and half veggie)
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
Salt and pepper to taste

Blend the whole thing till it is really creamy and pour over your salad. Wow! You will want to take a bath in it. Yum!

Don't forget the breath mints.

-Dev

Why "Devereaux's Caldron" ???

So, it came upon me yesterday how much I missed blogging. Hey, Facebook is pretty fine for finding and messaging and posting blurbs- but I miss the MySpace blog. And I guess I wanted something that was...seperate.

So, why the "Cauldron"? A caldron is essentially a big, heavy pot used for cooking or spelling or conjuring- and I guess what is what I want most to do. Create....something.

When I was a little kid, I dreamed of being a writer slash artist slash singer slash movie star.... necessity (i.e. shitty relationships slash divorce slash single parenthood) forced me to be a babysitter, seamstress, preschool teacher, pastry chef, counselor, grant writer. And some other stuff. Like working at a party store. That was an interesting one. You can't believe some of the people that come into a liquor store in the middle of the night. When you're not quaking in fear, you're laughing your ass off.

I am of Cherokee/Huron/Celtic descent as well... and as such have a great interest in the Earth-based religions. My spirituality plays a big part of my life- not that I thrust it on others, cuz I hate that- but it is a large part of who I am, who is in my life, what I do and how I deal.

The Cauldron is a place I can stir up ideas, chop up emotions and thoughts and observations. Throw them in and cook them for a while. And like anyone who likes to cook (and I really really do), we love to have people over to share the result.

So, why don't you come on in. You might find a cool recipe or a story or poem or song, a new piece of artwork. Something in progress. Because it's all about movement, isn't it?

And yeah, okay, some of the stuff in the pot is going to taste pretty rotten. Sorry in advance for that. But some of it is bound to turn out tasty as well. Come hungry. We can feed each other.

-Dev