Vegetable Soup

My friend Kim has sent me this soup recipe twice now.  To keep from losing it again, I'm posting it here to the cloud.



It is every bit as good as it looks.  I made it this week, and plan to have a pot of it going much of the time this fall and winter.

It's completely vegan, as long as you use a vegan bouillon - but I imagine if you diced up a mess of sauteed beef, an omnivore could enjoy it, too.

The pot in the picture is a double batch.

And Kim suggested using a product called 'Better Than Bouillon' in place of the bouillon, so I did, and am really happy with the results.



Vegetable Soup

1 large can of whole tomatoes (or fresh tomatoes out of your garden)

1 small can (14.5 oz) of diced tomatoes

1 can corn 4 large celery stalks

4 large carrots

1 large onion (or two smaller ones… you can’t overdo it)

1 large or two medium/small potatoes

4 cups fresh spinach (optional)

1 small pkg frozen green peas

3 T. vegetarian (beef or chicken will do) soup base or granulated boullion

2 T. oil (lighter flavor olive oil or vegetable oil)

1 t. salt

1 T. pepper

Wash, dry and chop celery.

Chop onions. Saute celery and onions in oil on medium heat until onions are translucent. Salt and pepper in veggies.

Pour juice from tomatoes into pot. Rough chop whole tomatoes (I put them in a bowl and rough chop into fourths)

Put tomatoes into celery and onions. Fill large tomato can ½ full with warm water and dissolve soup base in the warm water. Pour into soup.

Slice or dice carrots and add to soup. Peel and dice potatoes into 1 inch pieces. Put into soup.

Bring to slow boil and then turn down to simmer. After one hour add spinach (rough chopped) corn and peas Add more soup base if necessary.

Ready in two hours Makes about 6 servings.

Six Months Since Back Infection

Today is a landmark anniversary for me.  This is the six-month anniversary of my ambulance ride to the hospital – possibly the worst day of my life.  My lower back was so infected and painful, that I was totally immobilized – it took me three hours to roll over on the couch enough to reach into my pocket for my cell phone to call Maddie and let her know what was going on.  My kid was awesome; I am amazed and delighted by the way she kept her cool when she got there; working through who we needed to notify, what furniture we would need to move around for the paramedics to get me out of the house, and making sure Jazzmine was taken care of.  

The next six weeks are a blur of hospitals, skilled nursing facilities, and a diet rich in opioids – which I hate, but absolutely needed.  I didn’t set foot into my house again for three weeks; and when I did, it was only with the help of a walker.  

What I remember clearly, even through the drugs, is the kindness: Paul and Jendy showing up in the emergency room to stay with me as the doctors tried to figure out what the hell was wrong; Pam visiting me, and being my advocate – drawing on knowledge she has earned through too much past experience; Andras and Adrianne lending me a room in their home for as long as I would need it, so I wouldn’t have to climb stairs; and Maddie, who—along with Cindy—visited me, and took care of things to make sure my house didn’t fall into its foundation while I was away; and the people who dropped by to cheer me up when I was stuck in facilities where cheer is in short supply.  

I didn’t post much about this on Facebook at the time (and, aside from this note, probably won’t again).  I was feeling so sorry for myself, that I don’t think I could have faced the sympathetic response.  

I’m not 100% back, but as long as I take precautions, do my stretches, and don’t short myself on ibuprofen, I can do much of what I could before.  I am is very, very lucky – lucky that this was something that can get better, and lucky that my kid was nearby, and able to help.  But mostly I am lucky for the love and support that surrounded me when I needed it.  I probe my memory for some of the sincere oaths regarding all the ways I would become a better person, if only I could get better – but somehow, I can’t recall most of them. 

 But I will not forget the kindness.      

Grocery Store Checkout

Note to the woman in front of me at the grocery store this weekend …

It seemed to catch you off guard—after your newsy little conversation with the checker—that the store was going to want you to give them money in return for all those groceries. 

Well, I’ve been to a lot of grocery stores, and have found that this is usually the case. And many shoppers prepare for this eventuality by getting their purse or wallet out, and beginning the process of getting their money ready, even before all the groceries are bagged.  I’m not saying one way is any better than the other – just different. 

Oh, and that drawer where the checker put your money … you know, the one with all the coins and bills?  In the event that a shopper can’t find the precise amount of money needed to pay for his or her groceries—even after an exhaustive search of purse, wallet and pockets—they can just give the checker a little extra, and the checker will take money out of that drawer and enough back to exactly cover the cost for the groceries. 

They don’t mind doing that, and they’re pretty good at it.  

Pokeman Go ... Away

The contrast at the Six-to-Sunset concert last night was stunning.  The littlest ones were in the moment; joyfully dancing, twirling, and chasing each other to the music.  Meanwhile, many of their parents, big brothers and sisters were totally checked out from their surroundings; numbly bumping into one another, as they stared at their mobile phones, searching for imaginary creatures.  

It was like a scene from some dystopian science-fiction movie – I can’t imagine Ray Bradbury coming up with a bleaker contrast.  

Birds

We so love and admire birds;
their grace and beauty – their freedom. 

We wish to be like them – to be near them.

We have no wings to join them,
so we bring them to us.

We set them in a gilded cage
near a window,
and as they gaze out –
we listen to their beautiful songs
of the sky, the trees,
and freedom.  

Rain-Words

Rain-Words

The Inuit are said to have
a dozen words for snow. 
Each describes a picture of
the sky, a mountain up above,
or quiet valley blanket down below. 

In our valley, we don’t see much snow –
or mountains – or the sky. 
Our winters – quiet, gray and dull,
but poignant, and so beautiful
that every passing cloud can’t help
but open up and cry. 

And for these tears we have a few
expressions on our list. 
It can shower, sprinkle, rain,
or pour - like cats and dogs
who beg our door
for shelter from the drizzle, spit, and mist.   

Intermittent, only partly clear – 
the meanings we ascribe.
But these rain-words, we all understand –
we denizens of sodden land;
as snow-words speak to members of that 
bundled northern tribe. 

Each year we say we’ll leave this place
of scant, infrequent sunshine.
We’ll scrape the moss from ‘tween our toes,
and go where only cactus grows,
and everything is warm … and dry … and fine.   

But with the spring, the sun returns
(or with the summer, maybe).
Our hearts rise up to greet it, like a daisy. 
In its heat we get forgetful and so lazy,
that we can’t imagine why 
we’d ever want to leave our valley.  

Pieces of My Heart

If you have loved many, do not say, ‘My heart lay in pieces along the path of my life.’ 

Rather say, ‘my heart has been nourished at many tables; it has been warmed and sheltered in those homes, and has drunk deeply from the wells there.’  

Consider not just what you left at these tables, but also what you brought away.  An open heart will heal, and the warm memories of past feasts will continue to fulfill and nourish you through your lifetime.