The Purple Orb

Once upon a time, in the Land of Tallers and Smallers, a young girl followed her mother into Whole Foods. She was given free reign and hopped her way through the produce department. Her long golden hair bounced off her back as she lept from sunny oranges to cherry red apples to prickly pineapples to green zucchinis to crimson red bell peppers.

As she danced about her favorite colors of the rainbow, her eyes set upon a deep purple orb. Small hands stretched out to grasp a mysterious vegetable, whispering her name.  She raised it high, calling out, "Please, Mama? It's purrrrr-ple! Please?!" Smiling her mother replied, "Yes, Princess." Into their basket went the gorgeous ball grown from the ground.

Returning to their castle, carrots, red onion, and the beautiful purple orb find themselves sliced and grated into a large bowl, where they meet up with two tablespoons of sugar.

While the vegetables soften under the sweet, the Taller places olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt, pepper, and chopped green onion or shallot upon the counter for the Smaller Princess to make the dressing.

After a couple hours of the clock pass, the Smaller pours on the dressing as the Taller gives the Purple Cabbage Salad a thorough mix.

The Tallers and the Smallers - including one Princess - of this castle devour this crisp delight all year round.  And what left overs the Tallers can keep the Smallers from gobbling up, are even more delicious the next day, and the day after that.

The End.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Side note:  The Queen of this castle made this once before without sugar and while there was plenty of taste, it is far far crunchier.  The sugar softens the cabbage as it 'cooks' it and the King insists the sugar is necessary.  So, in this Land it all depends on who is slicing and grating when the vegetables first meet.  Thankfully, they can meet in the middle and keep the sugar to hopefully, a non-obscene amount - a li'l less than two tablespoons for a large batch when she makes it, a li'l more when he makes it.

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Link with Love Inspires Change

Source: linkwithlove.typepad.com via Karen on Pinterest

I've had the Link with Love badge on my left side bar since Kal Barteski started this campaign (she loves Pinterest and shares her thoughts here).  It's all about linking our images & pins back to the ORIGINAL source.  Whether you are a writer, photographer, artist, or foodie & post your original recipes, your work should be credited when all the great information and inspiration are spread across the interwebs.

When I pull a pin from Pinterest and put it on my blog, I hunt down those original links or I don't use the image.  And sometimes that's taken a lot of time.  Why?  Sometimes the links are simply broken, but often an image is pinned from the main site, not the specific url, linking directly to the page where it came from.  Other times, it is pinned from someone else's site, but not the original source.  That means going back three, four, sometimes five or more links to find the original source.

Kal has had her original artwork spread across the web (which she's not objecting to) and then copied and sold for profit by others (which, of course, she does object to).  I applaud her proactive effort to encourage everyone to be the change.

Will you be the change?  Go to the Link with Love site (here's the link to the specific page with this image) and pin the above image to one of your Pinterest boards.  Spread the word, join the movement, and as Kal says, be the change!

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Twenty-Twelve Color Pattern

Last year (actually, beginning at the end of 2010), I seemed to be drawn to pinks, yellows, and reds over and over.  I found myself using them for my own projects and pinning others' projects or photos from that palette.

And I'm quickly seeing a pattern of reaching for pink and teal this year.  I just naturally gravitated towards the two colors, paired with gray, for my One Little Word album - they're great colors for my word Animate, don't you think?

Since I've noticed the emerging color theme, I thought I'd share a page from my art journal that I created last month.

Must admit, it was rather meditative to keep writing nearly the same words over and over again, across the page. I imagine it's similar to what I hear knitters feel like as they repeat a simple pattern.

Add in some pearlescent watercolor paint, my stand-by acrylic paints, and an assortment of black pens for this word doodled page to come together.

For me, it was a simple, colorful way to welcome in the new year. And a month later, I'm realizing that those colors I reached for first thing at the start of Twenty-Twelve, have developed into a personal trend. I'm curious to see where they'll appear again.

Do you ever find yourself riffing on your own personal color trend?

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Friday Fun: Star Wars Geek Love

In honor of Star Wars being re-released in 3-D today, starting with Star Wars: Episode I - The Phantom Menace, I thought I'd share with you a li'l Star Wars Geek Love.

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... "

Source: boingboing.net via Karen on Pinterest

...there was Steampunk R2-D2, made from a beer barrel...

Source: boingboing.net via Karen on Pinterest

...and he has a scrap metal, steampunk friend.

But, in case these aren't the droids you're looking for...

Source: ffffound.com via Karen on Pinterest

...there's always Google to help a Stormtrooper out.

"You've never heard of the Millennium Falcon? ...

Source: shitterwasfull.tumblr.com via Karen on Pinterest

... It’s the ship that made the Kessel run in less than 12 parsecs."

But, if ships don't do it for you...

Source: mimuller.tumblr.com via Karen on Pinterest

"Laugh it up, Fuzzball!"

Let's get serious now...

“These blast points — too accurate for sandpeople. Only imperial stormtroopers are so precise.”

Source: manmadediy.com via Karen on Pinterest

Now, that's precise!

And in the end, Darth Vader has the right attitude...

Source: weheartit.com via Karen on Pinterest

...who knew Darth could be so zen?!

Maybe this is just before Luke pulls Anakin Skywalker's mask off, ya think??



"May the Force be with you."

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December 31st

Sitting at the only table left out – the rest had been cleared for the party - was the silver coifed woman.  Her wooden chair, at the corner table, faced the bar’s interior, including the front door.  Eyes wandering, they never failed to stop briefly at the glass door with each meandering sweep.

Singing out from speakers on either side of the stage was what young people today considered music, though she didn’t.  Tonight, she was glad her advancing years had taken half her hearing.  Only two more hours to wait; if he didn’t show, she’d be back again next New Year’s Eve.

All those years ago, when her raven hair tumbled from her head till it bounced upon her shoulders, her indigo eyes were clear, and her ears never missed a pin drop, they’d had a wickedly wild affair.  She had never known a love could be as intense as its lust, until him.

He was a trademark tall, dark, and handsome.  He was smooth, charming, and utterly lovely.  Filling their days with the excitement of parties, the quiet of arm in arm strolls around the park, and all the murmurings of long nights in bed.

And he couldn’t stay, he’d said.  He had to go; he couldn’t explain why.  He told her wanted out, but was in too deep.  Logic screamed at her that whatever he was into couldn’t be good.  Intuitively, she knew he wouldn’t bring harm to her.

Forty years had passed since they parted.  They agreed to meet again, if he could get out.  He promised her, if he could, he would meet her at this bar, on New Year’s Eve.  So, Betty came.  December 31^st of every year, for the last forty years; she came, sat, and waited.

Anticipation filled the first five years of waiting.  Her eyes would never leave the entrance.  She eventually met a man she could love; she even married him.  Loving her husband, building a life with him brought her metered joy as they grew older together.  But, she never stopped coming to wait for her soul mate.

Midnight rang with its usual clamor.  The excitement in the room, conversely matched her own disappointment.  Rising, she shuffled her way out, struggling to stay on her feet amidst the hugging and kissing and jumping and dancing from the partiers.  Her waiter found her; offering her his arm, he escorted her out.

On the street, the night’s excitement was still pinging through the air.  With a heavy sigh, the weight that nearly buries her the last days of each year dissipates into the chilled night air.  Looking back through the bar’s glass door one more time, she says good-bye.

Come this new year’s December 31^st though, the silver coifed woman will be waiting in the bar, at her table, hoping for her heart to come back home.

This week, Write on Edge pulled a prompt out of the Red Writing Hood vault from The Red Dress Club days.  We were to pick four random numbers, 1-10, which would give us our character, setting, time, and situation.

Looking for the first four numbers I saw in my twitter stream, I chose, 7, 3, 1, 7 for an elderly woman, a party, winter, and reminiscing how things change.

It's official.  My muse is still not with me.  I'm not giving in though and attempting to write it out without said muse.

Typically, I hear the stories and characters chattering away in my head and I write from there.  But, there's something about a new year that shuts down those voices and immerses me in color, shapes, and textures, taking creativity in a different, more visual and tactile direction.  I suppose the real challenge is finding a way to intersect these two paths.  I'll keep working on it!

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Ten Years Ago

Ten years ago, I was living in the same home I'm click clacking across the keyboard from today.

Ten years ago, this home was occupied by only my husband and two cats.

Ten years ago, sleep was only ever disturbed by one noisy and one bed stealing cat.

Ten years ago, scrapbooking was leisurely and liberally enjoyed.

Ten years ago, a craft room, guest room and office occupied the other bedrooms.

Ten years ago, I happily began converting said craft room into a nursery.

Ten years ago, I had zero appetite and world numbing nausea.

Ten years ago, I didn't know fresh grated ginger steeped into a tea helps calm nausea.

Ten years ago, pregnant with our first child, excitement seeped through the stomach churning.

Ten years ago, our home was happy and quiet; but in ten years how a family, noises filled with laughter and animation, can grow.

Writing along with Mama Kat today, using her second prompt: Start with the phrase "Ten years ago on this day, I was…".

I have no idea what I was doing on this particular day ten years ago, but I remember how our world was beginning to change while in my first trimester with our first child!

Red Writing Hood - Waiting

Sitting between a woman in a suit and a man in sweats, holding his lunch in a crinkly plastic bag, she waited to be called.  The head of sandy hair in front of her belonged to a man, tapping out a rhythm on his book.  Several people looked his way, but his rhythm never faltered.

One at a time our names were called.  After a few quick questions, answers that were never quite as quick, the Judge either told them to sit, stay, or go on their merry way.

Young woman, after young woman exited; they were all excused from serving.  Whispers circulated; Tapping Man slowed his beat when the Judge spoke up.

“They’re all college students, in the middle of their semesters.  This case is a capital offense and expected to last at least five months, which would delay their ability to graduate by an entire year, creating undue hardship.  So, ‘no’, I’m not just excusing pretty young women.”  Chuckling, he returned his eyes to his list and the next person on it.

Tapping Man’s rhythm picked right back up, but the beats shifted more erratically.  The process of waiting to find out if she has to serve seemed more tiresome than actual jury service.  If selected, would they call her yet again when another eighteen months pass?

Silence was suddenly startling; it was Tapping Man’s turn.  Three abrupt pounds to his book signaled he was asked to stay.  Sitting, his rhythm resumed fiercely.

The institutional room was still quite full.  Tapping Man’s drumming was so incessant, she began pairing notes to it in her head while she waited.  She always waited; not many people had last names that came after Zavattoni.

Waiting might as well be taken as a middle name.  She was waiting, always waiting; waiting to take her path, waiting for her family’s path drenched in tradition to take her, waiting.

Eyeing her wrist’s new tattoo, she heard Tapping Man’s staccato end to his beats.  The Judge had reached the ‘T’s and had as many people as the lawyers needed for this round of jury selection.  Abruptly, they were excused.

Reaching the door to leave, the clerk recognized her, “Computer sure does like you.  Guess we’ll see you in another eighteen months, huh?”

Adrianna returned the clerk’s impish smile.  But, she was done waiting.  Walking out the door, she was sure she would not be back.

My fiction muse has been on vacation, it would seem.  Not quite sure she's back, but like Adrianna, I don't want to wait anymore.  When I realized the last bit of fiction I shared was at the beginning of December, I decided to just write.  Maybe she'll see me waving flags filled with color - begging her to return! lol

In the meantime, I've jumped back in with Write on Edge's prompt this week to use music to inspire a character or move a storyline.  It didn't need to be any specific piece of music, so I ran with the beat of Tapping Man's drumming fingers here. Does it work?

Adrianna is part of a close friendship of four kindred spirits and this takes place in the week after Loose Spring.



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