Katie got a hint from one of the top angelic chefs in the warrior’s kitchens. With his help, she cooked an unusual kind of casserole in European style. Needless to say, the entire Council Of Twelve enjoyed that particular dinner enormously. Zachariel even went as far as to smirk and say: “This doesn’t taste half bad. Maybe there’s hope for your wife, Rafe.”
This recipe needs a very particular European style pot, the so-called “Romertopf”. The pot can be ordered on Amazon. It isn’t a cheap product. But it’s a fantastic way to cook healthy and collect the food’s own taste.
Take the pot: read its instructions carefully: if it’s a pure clay pot, water it sufficiently before starting to cook. If it’s glazed, like mine, just butter it with the tablespoon of butter. It’s easy to clean. (But NOT dishwasher-proof!!)
2. Prepare the potatoes. Wash them, peel them and cut them into cubes. (or do it as I did with the baby potatoes, which I didn’t peel and cut them into 4 to 6 pieces. Cut the tomatoes into pieces, peel the scallions, or peel and cut the onion into small pieces. Prepare the cup of chicken broth.
3. Prepare the chicken drumsticks, unpack them, wash them, dab them dry and season them with only a bit of salt, pepper, and paprika, on both sides. You can also buy a whole chicken and cut it into 4 – 6 pieces. (I decided on drumsticks because, as much as I like chicken, I’m not a doctor and autopsies aren’t my favorite thing to do.)
4. Fill the bottom of your pot with the small cut onion, the potatoes, the dried apricots, and the broth. On top put the drumsticks. Cover the pot and put it into the cold oven. Heat it up to 425 degrees F and leave it for 50 minutes.
5. After these 50 minutes, add the tomatoes to the pot, cover it again and leave it for another 15 – 20 minutes.
6. Remove the lid of the pot and leave it for about 10 minutes in the oven, uncovered.
7. Remove it from the oven, prepare a few plates and serve it. Enjoy.
Pleaserespect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
A hooting owl
Sits on a bare branched yew,
While shadows from the moon
Creep across the tombs.
Fog rolls in from the east
And the churchyard sleeps.
The chiming of midnight
Is a doleful sound.
It wakes up the corpses
Who live down in the ground.
One by one
They moan and taunt,
And go a-haunting
As is their want.
They rattle their chains
And scream with all their might,
The living hear them and fear
All things going bump in the night.
No one is safe
Until daylight seeps through
The bare branches
Of the aforementioned yew.
Please respect each authors’ and poets’ copyright. The rights remain with the writers. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without expressed and written permission from each of the poems author’s is strictly prohibited and violates copyright laws in the country you are reading this work in as well as in the country you are trying to re-publish this work in. – Aurora Jean Alexander
Whispered to me, on the holy Wiccan hour.
Fool’s searching answers from the Page of swords. The crucible in his poison-lips. My hands turn cold.
Poised for the lovers to show me the mystic.
Eyes so sad, desperate for the eternal witness.
He tasted of a street corner- malice curiosity,
birthed with the caul, with foresight he led.
My body performing for him. He will never want me deeper.
Drink my offering – pray in threes: have me, have me, have me.
Tongs dance with serpents in figure eights.
Hands nailed open, from the past I asked for.
Fingernails chewed to the wick- a warning of fouls profits.
Blistered saws- snubbed out black candlesticks.
He tore away flesh as I fastened my grip.
Powdered salt lips- gently playing to contort.
Bulling out the needle, not thinking of the scare.
Obscurity startled the black ally cat.
Talking in tongs of a lover that meant more.
Standing mute. Under the harvest full moon.
Inspecting my entrails for answers to leave.
I gave thanks to the sacrifice that tended my needs.
The body crumbled, as he revealed his true vengeance.
The spell, broken. I saw behind the seven veils.
This creature of the night. Christened by spite.
Hands over eyes- I was left dancing in crop circles.
When I started off as a writer, I decided my purse needs to get bigger. Next to all the necessary stuff we women consider indispensable to be carried around in our purse, like Makeup, nail files, Kleenex, wallet, checkbook, credit cards, membership cards, half a dozen receipts, hand sanitizers, headphones, emergency phone chargers, phones, pens, notepads, nail polish, knitting stuff and the last edition of the ‘Cosmopolitan’… I felt the need of carrying my WIP with me at all times. And with the WIP comes a big paper notebook and pens, pens and more pens…
Instead of a ‘regular’ purse, I got myself a tote and then changed to a laptop purse. The bags I carried around got bigger and bigger.
The ones familiar with my writing process know that I draft the first version of every book by hand and later on will type it into the computer. It is easier to carry a paper notebook around than a laptop at all times.
Still… my paper notebooks got bigger too. At times it seemed to me I was constantly on the edge of traveling somewhere. I loved the opportunity to write whenever I had the chance to… be it at the doctor’s waiting room, a library, waiting for someone in a restaurant or anywhere else… an hour in the park or wherever else possible.
But lately, about six months ago, I had to re-think. I’m not talking about my writing process, I’m talking about the fact that I felt a huge relief every single time I set my purse down. My back finally got some rest, and there were moments I was almost scared to pick it up again and swing it over my shoulder.
That was the moment I knew I had to change something. I was getting older, and I couldn’t take the weight of all that stuff in my purse anymore. Of course, I didn’t want to accept the truth. I don’t want to see my age. Letting anyone see that I was suffering under the weight of my own purse would be humiliating.
That’s why I finally, heavy-heartedly took a few steps to make the changes that were necessary for quite some time.
I still have the laptop purses – but I keep them for the rare opportunities I really travel and have to take my laptop.
The knitting work (which I was basically kidding about), stayed home, I reduced the number of pens, shrunk the necessary notepad to a mini-version. I reduced the makeup bag by half, removed the nail polish, decided to read the Cosmo at home and bought a couple smaller purses.
In the meantime, I got used to a much lighter ‘baggage.’ I also learned to carefully plan my appointments and only take my WIP, in a separate tote, if it’s really necessary, or if I plan to write anyway.
I love my writing, I love my work, I love being a writer. But I also love my health and the health of my spine and back.
As hard as it is to admit: I’m not a vampire and I age, like everyone else. No matter what I do, no matter how much I love writing. If I want to do what I love, I need to keep myself healthy.
And so should every woman with a purse. Apparently, there had been bad injuries done to women’s backs and necks with far too heavy purses. Who knows, maybe after this post, more women are clearing out their purses and decide to go smaller?