Photo Challenge: Breakfast (Dutch Babies)

These are simple, beautiful, and yummy.  Why don’t I make them more often?

My sister Cindy taught me how to make Dutch Babies:

Dutch Baby Recipe

preheat oven to 450 & put 1 tbsp butter in a large pie plate – place in oven while preparing the following batter…  (be sure to get the plate nice & hot)

2 eggs beaten until very frothy,  then beat in 1/2 cup flour 1/2 cup milk

Remove HOT pie plate from oven & swirl around the butter to coat it. Pour in the Dutch Baby mixture.   Then put it back in the oven and bake for 15 minutes (top should be bubbly and slightly browned.)

Fruit Topping Use the fruit you have on hand – I used diced strawberries, blueberries, sliced banana

Make a syrup of ~ 3 tbsp lemon juice and 3 tbsp powdered sugar Mix with the fruit

When Dutch Baby is done, slide it from the pie plate and top with the fruit & syrup mixture.  Sprinkle with powdered sugar, if you like.

Serves one or two.

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Florescence

Coral tinged fingers of his stamens
pointed motionlessly with eloquent
yet fragile strength toward the brilliant sky.
As Spring rapidly swiveled into Summer,
the bloom anticipated
the cleaning of his filaments and anthers –
the precious pollen and nectar must be shared.
Safety and survival of his species
hung in the balance!
Where were the Bees?

Inspired by the words of the latest Sunday Whirl – Wordle #30

Dawn on Hales Passage

The latest wordle words from the Sunday Whirl.

Rusted-out glaze smears through
ragged clouds and the crystal crusted
mountain echoes that rosy hue
marking a fresh beginning.

Leaning from the edge of his craft,
the gnarly purse-seiner
straightens stretched webs –
the net’s necklace strung with floats
rolling over into the icy sea;
the little skiff dragging it ’round to bridge the gap ‘tween.
The bottom now prepared to be sewn up tight as a purse,
boiling and shimmering with terrified sardines.

The blades of eel-grass nod
and bide time with our fisher;
waiting for a flood of the
incoming and phosphorescent tide .

Water Fall

Swirling shallows rush indignantly past the dam and
then drop 800 hundred feet to the gorge below.
A sizzling bolt scars the indigo of the nocturnal desert sky.
It strikes, then topples the ancient and contorted fir-tree
(“Old Man” he is called by the Ones who live here)
into the boundless and unforgiving chute.
His broken limbs are first gathered up then flounced away.
Bursting and dancing,
he is swept through the thundering canyon,
riding through on the river’s back to his next world.
This awesome sign causes the Ones who live here to pause
with their hoops ‘round their shoulders
and sigh.

Inspired by Sherman Alexie’s poem “The Pow Wow at the End of the World” and using the words from the Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #26 (below)

Yearning For a NEW Kind of SAD

 Intoxicating exhilaration of the
azure, golden-light season
had bathed and nourished
each and every cell deep into my soul
so convincingly, I thought (ha!)
the impending dark equinox veil
could evaporate, at MY will
and, THIS year refrain
from penetrating Summer’s shiny bright shield.

Ah yes, there were all the
usual and positive Autumnal clichés…
the quivering leaves were
displaying such richness of hues and
oh, isn’t that a crispy Fall breeze?
A cozy time for walks and talks,
clarity, hugs and gratitude,
fires, smoke and candles,
savoring naps, books and gravy-rich meals.

The ides of September cleverly infected
my deceptive bottomless-buoyancy
with just a nuance of restlessness and nostalgia
now gently evolving into a
general malaise of fatigue and
sinking into an all too familiar
tempo of hibernation, depression and solitude.
Is it futile – this annual S.A.D. gloom-contest:
Melatonin versus Serotonin?

Or just maybe, one day, my Autumnal journey
WILL take me somewhere new?

Using the Theme Thursday October 20th theme of NEW

Notes:  Each year I join countless others (especially up here in the North) who experience Seasonal Affectation Disorder (S.A.D.)  And each year I head into the season with optimism that THIS year, somehow, it will be different.  I have used various methods to keep my Spring/Summertime “sunny” disposition: meditation, medication, exercise, light therapy, prayer. 

The darkness of the season ushers in a period where I crave sleep and carbs.  At its worst, one can be hardly motivated to just get up and get dressed.  This year, I am purchasing a larger, more convenient SAD light (which I will be using without making a conscious effort) and in the spirit of this “theme” of “NEW” I am (ahead of time) scheduling NEW activities into my life (pray that I don’t cancel out in a fit of depression.)  I am determined to keep an even keel.  My doctor and I have discussed using a certain medication starting just in October and weaning off it towards April.  But I’m holding out to find a more natural way to cope (moving VERY South for the Winter might help!) 

 

Balboa Blues

Isn’t it crumby?
That I never did
get to go and see it inside…
Oh, my folks could be
     such a drag back in ’65!
The next year it burnt down;
clear down to the ground.
Its site sat fallow until
a “better” use could be found.

Maybe an encroaching Pacific tide-pond outside
would lap automobile and surf buggy tires,
then tickle the toes of rambunctious surfers,
stopping to admire their ride.
Out in the (my parents said so) infamous parking lot,
they’d be sneaking their underage swallows
of brew, and smoking (not pot,)
and maybe taking a leak in a neighboring garden.
Oops! Begging your pardon.

I’m imagining that once inside,
their Pendleton flannels
tossed up on a hat-rack,
surfers hangin’ ten,
going trippin’ and stomping –
those aging floor planks
and Socrates Sandals a’ clompin’.
Dancing to the blasting surf beat – Cowabunga!
Dick Dale, King of Surf Guitar – we love ya.

The bell at Our Lady of Mount Carmel tolls and oh a
big parking lot now skirts big condos in Balboa,
where a plaque remembers and saves it from doom
the famous but obsolete Rendezvous Ballroom.

IF YOU WANT TO HAVE SOME FUN WITH THIS TOPIC CLICK ON THE PICTURE LINKS TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE 60’s SO CAL SURFER CULTURE!

Well, I couldn’t get the middle part of this poem quite right, but decided to go for it and maybe I can fix it later?

 

My muse drudged up some Southern California memories and lore (and patiently coaxed me during my attempt at rhyming!) The words in bold are from the Sunday Whirl – Wordle #25

Catskill Mud

The jolt preceded just the week before
and that quake was No Big Deal.

Irene, then Lee, cut through
each Catskill hollow and hamlet –
where ancient streams flow and pass.

Now bold, roaring rivers of mud
scrape away trees, bridges, buildings.

The Simple details of life
are Urgent or Not.

Hands in her pockets,
the waitress said with dignity,
“We were So Lucky, we only lost a car,
and just the downstairs flooded.”

While visiting my sister in Phoenicia, NY, we witnessed the flooding devastation inflicted by hurricanes Irene and Lee. The last line of the poem was uttered by our waitress as we sat at the counter of the Sun Frost café located somewhere between Woodstock and Bearsville. We found that the most current flooding news was always at the diners and cafés. It was heartwarming to see such generosity and compassion – people who weren’t totally wiped out eagerly offered whatever they had left to others – furniture, clothes, vehicles.

The words are taken from Wordle #21 from this week’s Sunday Whirl.