Being with them was like dancing among the sunbeams and stars. You felt so high in their glow and so alone and dark when they hid in their holy beds. Their darkness was like velvet. It was tangible, soft and suffocating. They were unlike anything I had ever known before.

Spring and summer were brighter and more fresh, autumn more brilliant and the winter more cozy and bearable. Songs meant more and words carried farther when they played and sang. They were the best boys. The incomparable three. The trifecta of delight, artistry and adventure and I wanted to shine just like them.

I loved them instantly. All of them had a unique glow and churp, like any good bird does. Some days I couldn't believe I was one of them, a friend, trusted like the rest. Other days it felt like such a burden to know them and know I would lose them. Once you find something like this, you don't let it go, but it will surely let you go. Such a strength can only last so long with my extra weight tacked on.

I already grieve now and again for those wild boys, though they are safely tucked in my heart and grasp. How could I not?

It is hard to accurately portray their magic. They are bookworthy, movie worthy and each of them deserving of only the BEST women to break their hearts.

My time with them has been short lived so far, but I can tell you, I will never again be the same now that I know them. Everyone who has come into their lives can assuredly say the same and so many stick around to tell the tale. Outsiders of the circle wish to be on the inside and many who were once inside still linger, hoping to catch a stray ray of warmth from the suns cloistered in their dream-like existence of brotherhood pain and joy.

I was no different a short few years ago...

thud

Thud... A kick in the gut. A realization that you will always love that little bundle you never knew. The reminder that you are going to live the rest of your life without ever knowing what will become of so many whom you dearly love. 

I sit for hours, looking through the pictures of their life, wondering what it must be like to be them, to know we are shutting them out. Do they care? Do they weep over us at night when they remember who we are? 

I imagine their big lives, all swathed in glory and moving and adventures and think of my own, weighed down with constant work. Such beautiful people, my blood. 

How strange to grieve over them so often. As I get older, I find myself grieving even more. I wonder if they know my sisters are pregnant or that they are married. Do they know that we are all grown up now? I can so clearly remember wanting to be just like them. I wanted to emulate their sleek dress and fancy way of life. City, suburban sprawl. I was just a chunky country bumpkin, last they saw me. A young lady figuring life out slowly.

Not that I have come a whole lot further since then, but I would like to tell them what I am, what I love, what I've lived. I want to write a whole book of my life and the way my family weaves into it just so they can stumble across it in some little store one day and know all about me and what I did. I suppose that will be how they will know. 

Worse than strangers, for we may never be acquainted...

Simple Man

After a year of waiting, of paining, of crying, of straying from what I desire most, I have received the most wonderful blessing. The golden one has decided to try my heart on for size...

He once sat before me playing "simple man" on the guitar in a cramped new york city apartment with the light fading behind his shining hair. I remember thinking how perfectly the song encapsulated him. I know there is so much to his soul, I KNOW he has battles and strife that he does not show, but he is precious and sweet and he is capable of so much. I have no idea what is next or if I will make him happy, but I do endeavor to do that above all else. I want to please him and make him soar. I want him to unravel and let me collect the pieces that he drops as he finally explodes.

What sweet felicity this could be. What a fall full of promise. I cannot wait til see the days that lay ahead on our journey...

Cornbread soothes my soul

I am sitting in my little cabin, about to run to the store to buy butter for my cornbread. I often eat cornbread and nothin' else for supper. It is cheap, filling and comforting. So little is soothing anymore that I will take the love as it presents itself. Sugar and chocolate are rarities for me, so I will allow myself these little comforts.

Folk music is magical. The fiddle and the banjo are delectable to my senses. Combine the tunes with cricket noise, a sleepy pup and the mingled scents of nag champa and green leaves and you have you a mountain utopia. At least in my mind.

I must always be grateful. I must work harder and harder every day for this life. This is where I belong, I belong in this home, in this life, in this wonder. God is good.

I don't even care that my front view is the back of my landlord's house, the rest of it is so lovely. I feel so fulfilled when I come home from work to my little abode full of canine affection and my little knick knacks...

The evening will be here soon and I will keep to myself, as I usually do. No guilt, no pressure. I am alone and I am so thankful for the ability to be OKAY alone. God has healed my heart so many times. I must be careful with it, I must ensure I don't have to keep starting over, it simply is not worth it. I will always love Caleb and Tadin. Always. They are my boys, for better or for worse. I cannot imagine not knowing them. I think of them as I sit at my table and enjoy the evening serenity.

Thank God my mother raised me to love this life. Thank Him who reigns on high.

I awoke the dawn, saw horses growing out the lawn...

I am moved into my new place, my own apartment. I am living in a tiny, perfect cottage in the woods, all by myself. I am in a home I never thought I would find and it is so perfect and glorious.
God is so good to me. I must remember to thank Him and praise Him all the time. To love and serve Him. It is by His will alone that I have such a beautiful and relaxing place to live. I can control the temperature of my house and the money I put into it will stay with me. I am beyond words, folks.

It is so sweet and secluded. I have thick wooden beams and green furnishings. Nature is all around me, though humanity is but a short drive away. This morning, I awoke to the sound of a woodpecker on my roof. What a happy and natural noise.

My own home. My nest. Finally...my own nest...

This is the first day of my life

I am posting twice today, and that is because in one day, I have managed to feel so much. I feel as though I have lived two lives. It hurts so badly to reflect on so much. But I have to... I have to gain perspective on my situation now so as not to trap myself in the same old misery.

Why can't it ever be simple? Or at least carefree? Why so much stress and worry? I have handled too much. I have seen too much. I have loved too much, but I know that I am but a child and I have any years of misery ahead...

Those songs...there are quite a few that, without fail, every time I hear them, I collapse in tears. The sound is so pure and the memories still so recent that I find myself drowning anew. I can never change the channel though. I can never bring myself to send those thoughts away. As sad as they are, as much as I have lost, I cannot bear to forget it all. The memories are precious...regardless of the outcome.

Love was shared, misery was, as well. BUT love... as Tadin once said, there is always some good in these things. That good thing is that there was love. Even if it was never spoken of, there was love. For everyone of them and from every one of them .

I do often feel like the love only grew after it was over... maybe it was only realized then. We always take for granted what we have, it is refreshing to look back, see what it was like without that person or something to that effect. It would fix our world if we all just took a step back and realized with a jolt how much we have to be grateful for and how much love we truly could have...

Just a thought...

Spring could not be recorded

I decided against recording the rest of the winter and spring as it was purely nothing but regrets, tears, dashed hopes and green shoots that did not make it very.
I spent the first weeks of June rushing around, moving out of my house single-handedly and travelling. My heart was lightly broken and I recovered and am still in a bit of a cautious place in regard to my insides.

I am here again to talk to you about a new chapter of my life, though I my circumstances have not changed very much at all. I am an assistant manager at my coffee shop now and I am working hard to find money for a place to live.  I have only one or two real friends in the area now and I am pretty happy about this, it means more time for me, for cultivating beauty and light. It means I can take the time I need to become the person God would intend me to be.

I want to be a Godly woman, a new Godly woman. New New. I don't believe in newfangled Christianity in the sense that I want to call Jesus my husband or pretend as though I have never lost my virginity or anything along those lines. Rather, I want to realistically take the things I have learned from my experiences, take God's word and put them all together in one.

The Bible tells us that we are meant to be forgiven, that we are meant to love and serve the Lord with ALL our heart. This is so much more difficult than it sounds. Plenty of times in my life I have felt my heart BURSTING with love for the Lord and plenty of times I have wept for the Love He feels for me. However, it is rarely, as I walk through my day, that I find my heart fixated on Him. I will think of my money troubles, my family, my heartbreak, my future, my dog, my horse, my broken shoes, my broken car, my hungry tummy, pitiful Ethiopian children...I digress... None of these thoughts are wicked or unworthy, many are selfish, but not wicked.

Yet...they have NOTHING to do with love for my Savior. Church often brings me back to the ground, but once I walk out that door into the blinding sunlight on Duke of Gloucester Street, I am lost again to the power of the world.

Loving God with ALL our heart is a very "REAL" struggle, as they say.

I currently have a man in my life who is also struggling. He loves me, he wants to be with me, he feels I am a good match and a Godly woman, but he cannot settle into this relationship. He will be happy for a few days, then he sinks into a depressed and doubtful state. He pushes me away and questions me, he stays out of touch, he stresses himself out and makes himself miserable. He has already once told me he needed to be alone, so I walked away and moved on with my life, keeping him in my prayers.

He has since begged me back and asked to start over, to which I agreed...but the wavering has already started. I could walk away easily here, my heart is not much invested because of the damage it has accrued. My heart is preserved nicely by the scars. BUT...I can't seem to walk away. I feel like I have some sisterly, motherly, lover's duty here. To fulfill my role, I must encourage him, even if this falls apart, I must encourage him, for he is a child of God and I cannot see him suffer without offering my help.

But... if he chooses to walk away...I cannot keep him. I cannot cry for him. I cannot hold him. I can only pray for him and continue on my ladder. I've only one way to go and that is up.

Playing Catch up

The gluten free quiche I made nearly a month ago was a delight. I was so surprised by the flakiness of the crust and the fact that the tapioca starch and whatnot that made the gluten free flour was so delicious, rather than overly dense and too powerfully flavored.

Tuesday I was asked to make a vegan pie for work so I made this incredible creation:

This, my friends, is a vegan, gluten free pear frangipane tart.

It is to this day, my favorite creation and I look forward to making many different versions of it in the future. 

Essentially, it is an almond crust with a beautiful almond custard or frangipane topped with tender, sweet barlett or bosc pears. I kinda press the pears into the custard then layer them until they show above the custard, once baked I lightly coat it in Apricot jam. Just enough jam for a finishing glaze. 

The crust is crunchy and nutty, the custard leaves the most wonderful sensation on your tongue and the moist, thick pears create a clean break from the sweet almond. 

Of course, as I am not a vegan, I would totally recommend for those of you less veganly inclined, to top it with handmade whipped cream. It is plenty delicious without it, but man. WHIPPED CREAM!

When you willingly follow the wolf into his den...

That most profound of sensations, when one finds oneself holding the tail of the wolf as it calmly sashays into his den full of bones and flowers. Flowers once in the hair of sweet-faced innocent girls trusting his bold eyes and sure jaw. What is one little adventure to the den? It can only be so painful since we know what to expect. Yet…somehow, it is still such a painful sting. He lays down on the cool stone floor and with his brown eyes, implores you to be seated, which you cautiously do. He slowly places his head onto your lap and you cradle it, running your fingers tenderly through his coarse, earthy hair. You stroke the face and jaw of this powerful creature, so innocent and prone in your arms. He has lowered himself into YOUR lap, YOUR caring hands, YOU alone seem to be his surrender. You bask in the idea that this vicious wolf that so many fear and warn you of has decided to come to peace in you. Oh, that cunning, pitiful wolf. He roams and howls with lonely abandon, he feels it truly, but he will never change it. He is bred to wander and devour the happy and innocent.

Now that he seems to be more vulnerable than ever before, you relax and begin to dream of the beauty the wolf could see through your eyes and you through his. The wooded trails, the mountain tracks, the cool streams and blue skies, you drift. You steep yourself in the bliss of what could be, feeling special, feeling unique. You close your eyes and relax onto his warm strong neck, scented with woods and cedar…

…before you know it, he opens his mouth and you fall into the gleaming jaws and deep empty beyond. He has demolished you and left your flower crown and ribbons on the floor of his cave. Just one more lassie among the many. Tricked, wooed, betrayed.

Tree of Knowledge

Tonight, weary from 10 hours at work and the constant stream of demanding customers on this rare, freezing snowy day, I walked through my door and yelled and screamed and stomped my feet. I took out all of my anger, anxiety, grief and suffering on the room full of friends that I hardly knew that my roommate had gathered to watch a movie. They seemed entertained, but I was not. I just stormed through the room, throwing layers of damp clothes as I went. Grabbing a bottle of Kahlua and the carton of Almond milk from the fridge, I began my preemptive strike against further explosions. I heated the almond milk to just below a boil and mixed it with pure, organic cocoa and a dribble of honey, then in went the Kahlua. About a shot or so. Just to mellow the tone quickly settling into my bones.

It had the desired effect and I began work on a quiche I had promised to make for my friend's birthday brunch. It did not take long for me to release the tension and sink into the task at hand.
There is something about dough, ANY kind of dough, that makes me into a different person. The most basic of baking knowledge is required to make dough. It is less skill, more experience. KNOWING when you have too much or too little flour. KNOWING the consistency of a hearty protein loaf as opposed to the tender flake of buttery pie crust. I long to work with all kinds of flour and and yeast. Nuts, seeds, honey, berries, apples, cheeses. I NEED to bake, to cook, to create and re-create.

I am not much of an artist and I have very few ideas that are original, most being the same recipe my mother used or my mother's mother and that I know by heart. I cannot come up with incredible new ideas or recipes, but I can tweak and perfect oldies.

Being gluten-free has been quite a challenge. I can no longer sample the warm zing of my favorite Jalapeno Cheddar bread or crunch on the floury dust of a pumpkin pie crust dipped in coffee. I have found ways around these sad fates and I still bake these timeless classics of mine for others, but I am determined to find a way to make gluten-free cooking and baking just as delicious as regular baking. I know it will be near impossible, seeing as how almond, tapioca and rice flour just don't fluff, but I will find a way and I will share my journey with the rest of you...it's only fair.

So...I made a gluten free pie crust for my quiche...clumsily working about my kitchen with a fuzzy head and slightly unbalanced feet. I did not burnt it and it smells very "normal." The proof is, indeed, in the pudding...or the quiche. Tomorrow will be the reveal and I will come back to tell you all about it!

Ain't no shame...

...in feelin' that way...

It is bitterly cold and I have spent my morning mucking stalls and trudging through the snow. Such a strange thing that just a week ago I was dismissing the snow in my mind and wishing it would stay. Now that it's here, I want nothing more than for it to leave. Or at least to give me a chance to enjoy it when I do not have to work alongside it.
Perhaps that is why it has been so difficult. I am working against it, rather than WITH it. Nature commands that we listen and work, covered in it's control.

I, who have been working in the elements all of my life, seem to always forget this little detail.
Nature and nurture, I am a product of both and now I must nurture through nature. When I tend to the fields of horses and break the ice on their trough, I get reward when as I watch them drink greedily.

This year began in a wicked way and it has a been a rollercoaster since, but it is only January and I trust that it has decided to get the worst out of the way before the month is up. I trust that the rest of this year will be spent in splendor and growth and realization.

My wish extends to you all.

Tuck tuck tuck tuck churp churp

I nest.
Horsehair here, little feather down there...
ribbons tied about door handles,
yarn strewn from the beams,
paper stars on the windowsill...
I nest.
nest nest nest.

Don't we all want someone for whom to build a nest?
Someone to flitter to the brim and peek in and say, "Churp cheep, what a sweet little nesty nest! How precious and silly your little bits of home are!"

silent shroud...

It is the middle of January and I am sitting crossed legged on my bed, playing guitar and watching the snow sift gently to the wet ground. It will not stick...not today, not enough cold and not enough snow. But the way the flakes lazily drift and dance is so beautiful, I don't mind the lack of snowball fights or canceled work. I am enjoying the beauty of something much bigger than my job or play. The beauty cast down in nature.

Of course, secretly, I want it to stick. To stay around for a day or two and let us enjoy ourselves merrily in it's white blanket. Children will dirty it with their excited and naive feet and those of us old enough will tread lightly, trying to preserve the few hours of purity and cleanliness left by the grey sky.

Welcome to the daily musings, cooking adventures and confusion that is the mind of Beatrice Rose. Through this blog I endeavor to reach out to those who may find themselves on my plane of thinking for the day and will benefit from feeling a mite less alone. I hope to also release some of my own bottled up emotions to a computer that cannot possibly understand how a human lives, but is supportive regardless.

I will do my best to be a light.

Namaste and Cead mile failte!