I didn't know what to do with today. It was a bonus. I solved the problem by donating it to Africa. Colorful clothes came to mind. Wearing my red stretchy hair band, I felt slightly Native. It was the best I could do with blue jeans and a red gingham shirt.
In the "Jump Up and Kiss Me" cookbook I found a recipe for North African Lentil Stew. I love cooking with vitamin-rich kale. I peeled and chopped a butternut squash. The base was chopped onion, jalapenos and garlic sauteed in olive oil. Chili powder and ground cumin added the fire. Red lentils, chopped tomatoes and vegetable stock tied it together. Moroccan-Style whole Grain Couscous complimented and quieted the fire.
On the Couscous box, it says, "The Sultans of Marrakech knew how to party. In the countryside around the city walls, they built parks and pleasure palaces designed to set the scene for elaborate feasts and and other festivities. Menara Gardens is a legacy of that era, a place where modern-day Marrakechis come to stroll amid palm trees, olive groves, and roses, and to picnic on couscous and other Moroccan delights."
I raised my bowl in a toast to Africa, "Thank you for your gifts to our world. Grace and Peace to you." Digging in, I shut my eyes and am there. Delicate, olive-skinned young women, wearing tiny bells and carrying large trays of food, wait on handsome, turbaned Sultans seated on cushions in the tent. I smell curry and dates. White silk drapes flutter tickled by a silent breeze. The dry desert heat whisks the moisture from my body. The essence of roses mingles with citrus. Camels grumble in the distance. A custom-made emerald green Mercedes waits just beyond. Merriment and money, side by side.
2008 Red Convertible Travel Series
Friday, February 29, 2008
Monday, February 11, 2008
There has to be a triple nine in here.
Schatzie dreamed of spring and butterflies, woke up, and it was still winter. Bored, he played triominoes - with himself. Madchen, the obnoxious kitten, was too busy making mischief with the petals of the miniature rose plant. She would rather ski through the triominoes and see how many she could scatter. I call her a push-button cat. Touch her and she purrs.
copyright 2008 Red Convertible Travel Series
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