The Day After

It’s the day after. 

I have a vendor space at a local Farmer’s Market every Wednesday.

It’s the day I have the most fun all week, and get to clown around, show off, shout, laugh, give free hugs, make acquaintances, make people happy, listen to the “Mmmmmmm,” and maybe even offend by accident.

I work hard all week to prepare, and the long hours are getting to me. 

I miss the time in my garden, time with my animals and time to enjoy this beautiful place I live in.

It all started when my daughter asked if I wanted to start a cupcake business with her.  I said, “Yes!”

So, we started, invested, promoted. We had some regular customers, did a few big events, and offer free delivery.

  Fast forward to the day after.

I’m running the business alone, and always trying new things. It’s hard for me NOT to try new things. The cupcakes, though organically made, weren’t the big hit we had hoped for. 

I added French Macarons, for which I have developed a small following. 

Then came the organic, vegetarian, real fruit turnovers, cookies, breads,

all home made with love and the finest ingredients.

I do offer my homemade preserves and other canned delights every week, and fruits, when in season.

In between, I am sewing retro aprons, in a signature style, and quite wonderful, too.

This year, I have donated 50% of all proceeds from my apron sales

to the North Coast Marine Mammal Center here in Crescent City.

It’s getting to be too much.  My dreams of writing are sliding around like a kid on roller skates for the first time.

It doesn’t feel good.

People ask for things and never come back.  I believe they are being truthful when they make requests,

and they are likely, just talking to talk.

Today, the day after,  I have made a decision to stop making breads for the public, keep my eye on the macarons, sew a little more, offer my signature organically made cupcakes and turnovers, offer fruits in season and that’s about it. 

There is so much creativity in me that it’s screaming to get out. 

I have never been fond of baking sweets, but I am fond of making people happy. 

I do enjoy making the macrons, though!

Macaron shells waiting to be filled.

This situation reminds me of my thoughts of not finding readers, reaching people, with the big difference of time.

If I spend as much time writing, as I have in the kitchen each week, I’d have a book finished in no time.

After an exhausting week, and the realization that I am just not going to have the resources (financially) or regular assistance, (an extra pair of hands) besides my dear husband,

I am not going to have much of a business in rural Del Norte County.

There, I’ve said it.  Ouch.

I’m certain that if I lived in a metropolitan area, my clientele would develop quickly.

Everything tastes SO GOOD!

Just before bed last night, I received three inquiries for my French Macarons. 

I will follow up, and expect nothing.  There will be no disappointments. 

And writing and creating art with paper, fabric and other media, will feed ME, deep inside.

What are your thoughts? 

I would love to hear from you. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment.

 

Jammin’

Life is tough in far Northwest Coastal California. 

We like to take it easy.

Tickle me, Thursday!

Before Mark and I moved to the far north, coastal California,

we frequented City Buffet in Hemet, California. 

It was decent, and offered seafood and other shellfish regularly, which drew me in.

We never overstayed our welcome and the folks there got to know us.  We teased and joked with them, and never knew if they actually understood our jokes or were patronizing us.  No matter, we had fun and they were okay with it all.

One day, as we were paying our bill, the manager looked up at Mark and asked,

“How many plate you eat?”

Mark is 6’4″ and is a slim 235 pounds. 

We laughed and I responded by telling the manager that I could eat far more than Mark could

and he wasn’t the one she should be concerned with! 

In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the day I saw a young man hovering over, guarding, a stainless steel serving tray which had shortly before held a huge mound of king crab legs and now held none. 

The tray was filled, the boy nearly emptied it, transferring the contents to his plate.  The boy then turned to walk toward his table and as I watched in horror, all the crab slid off of his plate on to the floor. 

I wonder if anyone asked the boy, “How many plate you waste?” 

That was the last of the crab for the day, sadly. I was more than a little perturbed at the greed and disregard for other diners, such as ME. I would have eaten it off of the floor.  After all, the crab legs are in their own little safety packages. 

It’s good to start the day with a laugh!

What do you think of this?

Not the same restaurant I talk about, but entertaining, nonetheless.

 

 

If it’s brown, put it down!

I don’t like a meal of brown food. I won’t eat it.

Wait, is that a sliver of yellow I’m seeing?

This morning, while looking through my feeds on FB, I saw two photos of meals consisting of brown food. One image was a meal at local, popular restaurant by the harbor. I do see token green and miniscule orange and purple, but not worth considering.
Wait, there’s yellow in there!

The second meal was a tofu scramble, vegan sausage and hash browns.
If a person chooses to become vegan, why make the effort to create a brown ‘sausage,’ which obviously resembles a slab of meat in taste or texture?

I’d rather not eat, than pretend to enjoy this brown meal. 

Just the look of it makes me feel kind of oooky.

Brown ‘sausage’ poser. ^^^

What are you hiding, little blue foil?

I wandered into the recesses of my mind and found the classic school lunches, in brown.  Brown school lunches have always troubled me.  I understand that bread can be brown, baked beans can be brown and some other select foods.  But the whole meal?  Brown?

If the school used a brown tray, then nothing would be visible,

except for the hidden brown treat dressed in a pretty blue.

A half dozen blues with a shadow of white.

There are some school lunches that add some support  or interest to the brown food. 

Probably pesticide laden, but prettier to look at.

Cafeteria lunches are equally brown.  You can add a little color to your brown meal by picking up a banana or other fruit.  You can also buy artificially colored fake foods, such as jello.

This one has some whitish yellow in it.

Who eats this?  And where’s the napkin? 

Catered food is often brown, or contains an overload of brown food. 

There’s that yellow and white thing again. I have to check my color wheel to see how this works.

There are quite a few brown foods, clean and natural. 

I can select one of these to accompany colorful foods in a meal. 

choose well, my friends

Some of these brown foods need this to help them along.

Doing my part to add color to the menu.

 

Still, the best brown foods are brown naturally, and not man made. 

I proclaim this day, August 19th, GOOD BROWN FOOD DAY! 

Have a colorful day!

 

Whoa, Nelly!

My, oh my, oh my! How much things have changed here on WordPress.

It’s time to resurrect my blog. Has anyone stayed with the classic mode or moved forward into the new and exciting WordPress?

Darylann

Art-ificial Flower

 “I’d rather view a corpse than an artificial flower.”

Decades ago, having read that quote, (author unknown) I thought it odd, glib, even morbid.

In a contest between a corpse and an artificial flower, the corpse reigns supreme?

  The meaning of the statement can be applied far beyond the simple components – ‘corpse’ and ‘artificial flower.’

Here, they serve perfectly for points of discussion.

An artificial flower:  imitation of a living flower, the essence of a natural flower, a stand-in for longevity.

  When I read the quote decades ago, flowers were plastic and wire and a poor copy of living, fragrant flowers. They looked cheap, manufactured, pitiful. They smelled like plastic and lasted for as long as the dust could be washed off if their limited colors didn’t fade.  They were placed by gravesites, in permanent arrangements at home and even in public gardens.  The artificial flowers were a small indicator of a very large lust for longevity.

Though we see the hopeful creation of real flowers essence in paper, silk, ribbon, fabrics, more delicate plastics and other materials of the art-ificial flower art-ist, there is no equal for a living or even a cut, dying, genuine flower.

The volatile components of a real flower, incomparable, the optical spectrum, brilliant.  Bees and birds dance on real flowers, our sense of touch, should we so wish to summon it, evokes delicate, unequaled perfection on our fingertips. Wind moves flowers, shuffles the leaves, immersing us in a glistening hush.

What of the child who sees in the dandelion, flower or seed head, the love of Mother?  The child selects the living flower, crushes the stem with eager little hand and offers the gift?  The flower becomes more than a living thing, more than a dying thing, and is further saturated by love.

How, then, does a corpse become more remarkable than an artificial flower?  In all cases, the corpse, having once lived, all the fragility, beauty, strength, uniqueness and complexity of a human being parallels the simple, natural flower.   No artificial flower could be nearly as memorable as a life, of any kind.

Another day at the (prehistoric) beach

Breaking from chores, we went to the beach a few days ago to breath the clean, moist sea air.  As we walked a short distance ahead, I was attracted by color –  a dark yellow and brick red and somewhat circular form on the sand.  I approached, witnessed movement and gathered the creature into my hands.

The creature closed into a more rounded shape.  You can see that the outside edges of this creature are ruffled.  It was heavy, dense and about the size of my two fists, combined.

I know, it appears to be smiling…

I wanted to look inside again, but the creature was uncooperative, and this was as far as I could open it using my own strength. Once I let go with my right hand, the creature slowly closed up again.  No hurry.

It’s one mass of muscle!

When our dog wasn’t looking, my husband threw it back into the ocean.

Here we have a Giant Gumboot Chiton, or, Great Pacific Chiton.  I didn’t see any of the typical plates on it’s back, but then, I may not have noticed.

What’s most fascinating is that this creature hasn’t changed for 50 million years!  A chance happening with a prehistoric creature – thrilling!