"But resistance doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just refusing to look away. Sometimes it’s staying engaged when disengagement would be easier." Thank you!
We have plenty of cooking shows. There are few who are brave enough to offer delicious recipes and common sense politics at the same time. Bravo to you! And, thank you for a snippet of sanity in these crazy times. Now I’m gonna shut up, try to be kind, and go wash my behind. 🌸💗🌸
1. I learned a trick when travelling in Greece: If all you have are English or hothouse cukes, shred them and then dry them in the sun (provided its out), for about an hour or until they look lightly dehydrated.
2. Your description of how being in the kitchen is hard to divorce from politics hits a chord deep in my heart. This poem by Joy Harjo hangs on my kitchen wall. It brings chills every time I read it and really think about the ramifications of her words:
Perhaps the World Ends Here
By Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
In order to build towards outward resistance we have to build it up inside. Watching, listening, reading. Feeling it in our hearts. When the moment comes we will be ready if need be. This sounds sacrilegious but could you substitute pasta for the beans?
"But resistance doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes it’s just refusing to look away. Sometimes it’s staying engaged when disengagement would be easier." Thank you!
Thank YOU.
Thank you for the recipe and the words of encouragement 🤗
Thank you for being here, Deborah!
Thank you for the delicious recipe and being an important part of the resistance! ☮️
Thanks, Sharon.
We have plenty of cooking shows. There are few who are brave enough to offer delicious recipes and common sense politics at the same time. Bravo to you! And, thank you for a snippet of sanity in these crazy times. Now I’m gonna shut up, try to be kind, and go wash my behind. 🌸💗🌸
Thank you! And two things:
1. I learned a trick when travelling in Greece: If all you have are English or hothouse cukes, shred them and then dry them in the sun (provided its out), for about an hour or until they look lightly dehydrated.
2. Your description of how being in the kitchen is hard to divorce from politics hits a chord deep in my heart. This poem by Joy Harjo hangs on my kitchen wall. It brings chills every time I read it and really think about the ramifications of her words:
Perhaps the World Ends Here
By Joy Harjo
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.
It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.
At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.
Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.
This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.
Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.
We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.
At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.
Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.
Copyright © 1994 by Joy Harjo.
In order to build towards outward resistance we have to build it up inside. Watching, listening, reading. Feeling it in our hearts. When the moment comes we will be ready if need be. This sounds sacrilegious but could you substitute pasta for the beans?