Passover the cheesecake........

Here I am back in the kitchen. I had sworn off cooking, particularly baking, a couple of days ago in anger. The week before I had made a pumpkin pie, rice pudding and a Guinness Cake, which is similar to a spice cake, in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. All were made from scratch. Well I did buy the can of Guinness that was needed. Sacred ingredients notwithstanding, the pudding, pie and cake were made from scratch over the course of the week. A couple days later I noticed the pie plate in the sink and washed it. A little while later I experienced a sinking feeling when I noticed a small piece of pie in the trash. The following week I saw crumbled remnants of the Guinness Cake being disposed of in a similar fashion. The where abouts of the rice pudding are still to be determined although I believe it was all eaten. In my anger I decided not to bake anything for the next year. In reading this you may be concluding that the desserts were bad. That’s not the case. My family is just spoiled. They just don’t care for left overs so they devour what they will fresh from the oven and then pretend there isn’t any food in the house. Anyway, it all made me really angry. I read recently that anger is addictive and I believe that’s true. I’ve seen that in my own extended family. It’s usually those that respond first and the loudest to any inconvenience so I decided quietly and with some thought to not feel hurt. I thought I’d change my own behavior and stop baking, for a year or more. It worked for a couple of days and then tonight my youngest child suggested I make a cheesecake for dessert for tomorrows Passover dinner. He made the suggestion just as I was creating a shopping list for tomorrow, needing brisket and turkey and more. I began to rant. I began to rave. Then I began to check out the Philly cream cheese package recipe and add the ingredients to my list. Four packs of cream cheese, coconut macaroons for the crust, oranges and strawberries for the sauce, etc. etc. As I write this, the cake is in the oven. It was the youngest child in the house that asked the four questions.

1. Why are you so angry Mom?

2. Why don’t you just live in the moment?

3. Who is coming for dinner tomorrow?

4. Can you make this cheesecake for Passover?

I never made a cheese cake before but it looks like a happy thing. The edge is slightly cracked and it’s a beautiful creamy color with flecks of orange rind throughout. Tomorrow it will be adorned with a strawberry orange sauce that I will spike with Grand Marnier, to make it an even happier thing. Is it Serendipitous that during my own Holy season of Lent cooking dinner for Passover would remind me of the power of love?

Blessed Be

1. Blessed be

   Every note in the uni-verse

   Resonating in the heart of those who listen

   In endless arrangements of form and beauty

   Inspiring infinite blessings

   A gift of depth and expansion

   Creating ascension

   With all that is Holy in song

   
   

   The Abbey of the Arts Blog is having a Poetry Party until March 26th and this was my contribution to the theme "Blessed Be." Whether it be a song derived from nature like the 'heavy metal' chirping of the birds currently these Spring time mornings or a song written in any music genre or culture as an expression of human nature, all songs are woven with a thread of holiness. The sound created by the chirping of birds in the Spring is believed by some to help the grass, trees and flowers grow. Take notice in Summer how mornings will be quieter as their work has slowed down. The effect of music on the brain is believed to have helped create human nature. Music affects the body on a cellular level so deeply science is just beginning to tap the surface of the relationship between sound and growth. In the beginning was the word.......spoken word created the universe. Music is a powerful gift to all and one of the keys to the universe. Blessed Be.

Fire, Earth, Air and Water

In the Astrology class I began in March it was suggested that we meditate on the four elements ~ fire, earth, air and water ~ to gain understanding of how they influence and affect the sun signs of the zodiac. The month before I had read a book I picked up at the Rubin Museum in New York by Tibetan Lama Gehlek Rimpoche that discussed the Buddhist beliefs of life, death and reincarnation. To my surprise the elements were integral to the understanding of these Buddhist concepts. And now, this Lenten Season, I noticed my favorite blog devoted to spiritual practice, the Abbey of the Arts, is offering an e-course on the Christian practice of praying with the elements.

Three signs pointing in the same direction and then I remembered Anam Cara. Anam Cara translates from Gaelic as soul friend and refers to the Celtic Spiritual belief of souls connecting and bonding. The Celts believe when you are blessed with an Anam Cara, you have arrived at that most sacred place, home.

My deepest frame of reference for all that the elements encompass is within the heart of Celtic Spirituality, a spiritual practice woven with nature and its oneness in relation to religion. My ancestors are from Western Ireland, which may explain my emotional connection. I’ve never visited Ireland yet have been profoundly touched through my Grandmothers love and music. Simply transcendent, Van Morrison’s lyrics in ‘Into the Mystic” convey and channel Celtic spirituality, the elements and Love. Written in the 60’s the language is a bit archaic although even when he wrote the words it was. My belief is that he was speaking of the timelessness of being and so it served his song. It occurred to me out of the blue that this song that I, like so many others, hold dear to my heart contains my knowing. The understanding of how the elements are within the universe, uni-verse, one verse and that verse is Love. Listen with your heart.

We were born before the wind

Also younger than the sun

Ere the bonnie boat was won as we sailed into the mystic

Hark, now hear the sailors cry

Smell the sea and feel the sky

Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic

And when that fog horn blows I will be coming home

And when the fog horn blows I want to hear it

I don't have to fear it

And I want to rock your gypsy soul

Just like way back in the days of old

And magnificently we will flow into the mystic

When that fog horn blows you know I will be coming home

And when that fog horn whistle blows I got to hear it

I don't have to fear it

And I want to rock your gypsy soul

Just like way back in the days of old

And together we will flow into the mystic

Come on girl...

Too late to stop now...

SNOWBOUND.........

The Winwood/Capaldi lyrics in the song Many a Mile to Freedom include the words, ”Then together we flow like the river, and together we melt like the snow”…. From one of my favorite songs, the exquisitely beautiful imagery creates my most favorite description of love. The shape shifting quality of snow, the way water ultimately cannot adhere to or be confined to a boundary. How motion and change take place in the infinite essence of water. Since reading “The Hidden Messages in Water” by Masaru Emoto, I’ve taken the time when it snows to look at the individual snow crystals as they redecorate my world. It’s awesome to really see the temporal design and to be aware how the world is truly being changed with serenity and great beauty. To see an individual snowflake with the eyes of love is much like seeing the sparkle in someone who you share love. My brother was a human sparkler, a Gemini with Aries ascending which may explain to some why he was such a sparkler. Sometimes the sparkle would feel more like a burn, as I would lack patience with him and not take time to see the glow. I am older, he was younger and I would be tough on him. However the last time I saw him, as I turned to leave, he told me he loved me and my Capricorn restraint melted and I told him I loved him too. Like water, Love cannot adhere to or be confined by a boundary. It is eternal, shape shifting so that I now carry him in my heart and see him in his daughters’ smile. She was everything to him and is part of the shape shifting magick that runs through the eternal. Returning to his house several hours after those spoken words, midnight snow crystals were just beginning to fall, very delicately, as if they knew not to disturb the peace that had found my brother. He had truly changed my world with his ability to ignite everyone around him with Love and the snowflakes reminded me so. They still do. It’s almost three years and many a mile…

Geronimo

Once upon a time it was 1970 something and the radio was playing in my mothers kitchen. The song was about Geronimo riding in a Cadillac and I was young enough to not quite get it although I really liked the song. My Dad was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a Budweiser and checking his lottery tickets. I asked him what it was about. I had never heard of Geronimo’s Cadillac and didn’t understand the song. He replied it was one of the ways the government tried to dehumanized Indians by allowing cars to be named after their people or their tribes. He said the car companies would never think to name a car after an English King or any other ethnic group. You could never call a jeep a Grand Jew or a mustang after Mussolini.

Fast forward to 1990 something and I’m watching a late night talk show and an American Indian musician is playing the flute. The music was a beautiful enchantment and I watched not wanting the song to end. He then sat down for a brief interview and the enchantment continued. He was engaging, interesting and just had a way about him that was infinitely cool.

The next morning I remembered the whole scene……….. except for his name. Whenever I found myself in a record store I would ask for help, not able to offer too many details other than he was Indian and he played flute. An obliging employee would walk me over to the World Music section and hand me a CD of R. Carlos Nakai. While I can appreciate Nakai’s music and I have seen him live, for me it doesn’t hold a candle to the man I heard playing the traditional wood flute that late night.

His music remained in my heart and I never stopped looking. One day in the World Music section I saw a CD by Bill Miller. I was convinced he wasn’t the musician I remembered because he primarily played guitar on this CD but the last song was Geronimo’s Cadillac so I decided to buy it anyway. For some reason that early interaction with my Dad regarding the lyrics remained etched in my mind. Four of my Dad’s step brothers were raised on the St. Regis Indian Reservation in Canada so my Dad had insight to the American History that the teachers in school never taught. I learned those stories at home instead.

Anyway, I had found him! The CD was Reservation Road. Part of it was live and all of it was wonderful. I became a repeat offender catching his shows at Music at the Mansion, The Towne Crier, Bergen Community College and Cabin Concerts in Wayne. That was my favorite show because he asked if anyone had a request. Several people called out songs and I was the last to summon up the courage to ask for Geronimo’s Cadillac. He looked up from where he sat and asked, “Who said that?” I was so shy. I tried to blend into the wall and whispered “me” at the same time. One month from today however this wall flower will be ever so pleased to present Mr. Bill Miller at Mexicali Live in Teaneck. It will be a great honor for me. It is his first area show since winning his THIRD GRAMMY. And so the enchantment continues. Can you hear my smile?

Wild and Whirling Words

Last Tuesday before the snowstorm I opened my book of wild and whirling words. The book is really a journal I keep reserved for poetry quotes and notes from family and friends that hold great meaning to me. I need to know where it is at all times even if my life keeps me too busy to open it. When I get a chance it’s usually to add words that I believe are enlightening or heartfelt. On Tuesday, February 9th, I unexpectedly came across something I want to share. It is a ‘Thank You’ that I had received in 1966. My Mom had saved it for many years, giving it back to me a while ago. Cards and notes she saved for me trigger many of my early memories. My mother also was adept at telling original bedtime stories all of which began with ‘Once Upon a Time’. It may be that my reverence for words is based on this oral tradition common before people believed tv could entertain a child better than a loved one. Anyway, most of her stories centered around three little girls that went on adventures and interacted with a myriad of strange characters. Meanwhile, at times my own childhood could have served as a script. My Dad had very few friends that were not crazy and within this circle Mr. Ramisch was without a doubt certifiable. I write that with great affection for him. On the first occasion of meeting my Mother and myself he came to the house with a baby squirrel that he had found. He entered the house never mentioning the squirrel. It was climbing up his pant leg and immediately following introductions he unzipped his pants and to my Mom’s horror a baby squirrel scattered out. This tiny squirrel became mine and was kept in a birdcage in the kitchen and feed with a baby bottle. Maybe it was my love of this little squirrel that endeared me to him. Mr. Ramisch lived with his Dad in Northwest Bergen County. Their house was on a piece of property where hehad found many Lenape Indian artifacts and I loved them all, especially the arrowheads. He was kind enough to share with me, allowing me to bring them to school. To read between the lines of the note is to understand how he liked me…… however he hated his Dad. I remember as a child being surprised to hear how Mr. Ramisch had gotten into a fight with his father. A couple of days later, still angry, he cut a hole in the floor just inside the front door. He also cut the carpet and fitted it back in place. When his Dad arrived home and walked in he fell one floor to the basement and broke a few bones. Imagine reality tv in the sixties……

Anyhow, above is his ‘Valentine’ note to me that I treasure. The morning I had unfolded it I had just come in from feeding the birds and squirrels in the backyard because the next day the winter storm was to arrive. Seeing the date on the note was exactly 44 years ago when he reminded me not to ‘forget to feed the birds’ created wild and whirling happiness looking back on ‘Once Upon a Time’.

Blowin' in the Wind

A few years back I unexpectedly heard Steve Winwood singing on a Saturday afternoon Celtic radio show. I had never heard the song before. The lyrics and his voice were haunting and absolutely beautiful. I learned it was a Davey Spillane song from his CD ~ A Place Among the Stones ~. Davey Spillane is a player of the uillean pipes and the low whistle. An accomplished musician on his own, their collaboration in the song Forever Frozen left me breathless.

It was a hide and seek story with this song until it was recently posted on youtube. I found it on the night of the Wolf Moon last week. I have tickets for the upcoming Winwood tour and am looking forward to seeing him on the 13^th. The happiness in finding Forever Frozen reminded me of a serendipitous Winwood incident when I was 15. One Saturday in winter my friend and I had walked to the Garden State Plaza from Wood-Ridge to hang out in Sam Goody’s record store. Perusing the albums in the TRAFFIC category I came upon an album I had never seen or heard of before. The cover was a sepia toned picture of Steve with WINWOOD printed in bold black letters on the side. It was a double album anthology of his work to date, from Spencer Davis to Blindfaith. There was only one and it was $4.99. I had all of two dollars and my friend had one. As it was we already planned on walking home so we could save the .75 for the bus and instead eat. I went home thinking of nothing else but the album. I had loved his voice since I was nine. My brother who had endlessly played the first TRAFFIC album introduced me to it. Not allowed to touch his records I would sit on the steps near his room when he played the album and listen. Winwood’s voice always stopped me in my tracks. Dylan, my brother Brian’s favorite, would keep me going.

On Monday morning I walked to school as usual going up the hill of Marlboro Road. I wasn’t happy about reaching the top because it was so windy and the steep incline of the hill offered protection. I was walking in the gutter because the sidewalks were so crooked from the oak tree roots and should I encounter other kids I wouldn’t have to walk around them. The second reason speaks directly to my teenage years. As I reached the crest of the hill something was blowing directly toward me, in a hurry. I thought it was a leaf, but it was green, not winter brown. I reached down and picked up a $20 bill. There wasn’t another person out on the block. I was amazed. That night I begged my Mom to take me to Paramus. She worked full time and I’m sure it was the last thing she wanted to do on a Monday night after cooking dinner. She relented after I explained there was only one though I believe she too was amazed how the money had found me. As I write this, the album is on the table next to me, thirty something years later still one of my favorite things. I guess on some level I was listening when Brian played Dylan and he sang, “The answer is blowin in the wind”.