Gothic Granola

Q is for Quinoa. Quinoa pizza bites are all over the ’nets. Google it. Figured I’d throw my hat into the ring, my colonial tricorn into the Coraline other-world ring, that is. The particular recipe I deconstructed and rebuilt is from a blog called “The Way to His Heart Blog,” taking its title from the phrase, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

“What does the Q stand for?” is at the top of my FAQ about Q. Especially since I work in a public place, people either see the tattoo on my arm or see my nametag. Yes, it’s my legal name. No, it doesn’t stand for anything, hence no period after the letter. Read here and here for details.

Another day, another dollar, another job application, another recipe…lest this gets boring, remember that you are alive, you can move, and you have the use of your five senses and third eye. Reverend Justin Terry’s take-home message from the Sunday evening service at Arlington Metaphysical Chapel was, God is blessing you, whether you can see it or not. But it’s always there.

This is my plush cat Cobble, and this is Cobbler, Peach.

I went to the Library at Alexandria yesterday and borrowed a few books. I get such a kick out of saying I went to the Alexandria Library when in truth I patronised the Public Library System of the City of Alexandria, Virginia. While I was on the search for fiction, I checked out the cookery books as well. The few vegan or gluten-free titles they had were classed with the “health food” and “reducing diet” cookbooks. Really?

Four Pieces of Advice What did my mother teach me how to do? What didn’t my mother teach me how to do?! Let’s not go there. We are spiritual beings having a material experience, and material experiences have limitations. Meta-discussion out of the way (not sorry, as a religion scholar, I must always make such concessions), here’s a recipe and the advice.

  Every artist is a cannibal Every poet is a thief Both kill their inspiration And sing about the grief --U2, “The Fly,” from Achtung Baby (1992) Why am I sharing my signature dish? Why not. It’s carried me through pre-ganism (when I was testing out this vegan thang because I thought it would keep me safe from other issues with food…subject for another post). It’s carried me through breakfast, lunch, supper, and snacks as a vegan and likewise when I became gluten-free.

Circle 'round the wagons and pull up a rock or log to the firepit, folks... While walking on Friday morning, that small, still voice said to me, There will be voices and they will tell me what to do. Let's take a step back and not breathe in the smoke from the fire too much. In the abundant sunlight as I was walking outside, I felt warm when I heard this. I was reassured. In recent memory, this is the second conviction I have had, have received. From whom or what, I can't tell you because I don't know.

You'll receive what you give And this is like nothing I feel like shit But at least I feel something "Disconnected" by In Flames Artistically and technically, the above song isn't hot stuff, but I appreciate the directness of the lyrics. For a rainy Monday, I made this spiced cake to warm up the space, to edge out the creeping voidness, the damp, cold snot of springtime. More specifically, the limp, clammy grip of another spring spent alone. I used to look with scorn on the coupled people I'd see holding hands around town and on Princeton's campus. Now I see I was jealous. Still jealous! A little self-care can go a long way to putting me in the right place to alleviate said loneliness, even while still alone.