Wednesday, March 31, 2010


SO MARCH IS FINISHED...that was fast!  Here we had the whole enchilada of weather..snow, a heat wave..yes really!! Into the 70's, I actually peeled off my scarf, gloves, hat, winter bundling..went semi-delirious , flung myself into springtime..really saw an overheated young thing wearing a strapless dress..they do that (the young) because nature calibrates them.  I'm long since on a chillier thermastat, so I can either sneer at her or just be envious.

And then the torrents of rain sloshed the Eastern seaboard, and cars and pups and lawns bobbed along as if they were born to float.  And I decided to not ever go out again, at least until I'd eaten my last strand of pasta and had noticable chocolate withdrawal.  Now, today...brightness sailed in through my we had endured the wettest March EVER!!  Not exactly 40 days and 40 nights, but enough to attract me back to prayer. And now out of chocolate..uh oh..time to venture forth...this is what I'll be preparing, the reward for having survived March!! And it is Wednesday, my chocolate day... because!  So please join me...



cooking spray
1/2 cup plus 2 tbls. sugar, divided
3 tbls. all-purpose flour 
3 tbls. unsweetened cocoa
1/8 tsp. salt
1 1/4 cups fat free milk
3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 large egg yolk
6 egg whites


1 tbls. butter
1/3 cup sugar
2 tbls. unsweetened cocoa
1 tbls. all purpose flour
1/2 cup fat free milk
1/2 ounce bittersweet chocolate, chopped

Preheat oven to 425 deg..  Position oven rack to the lowest position.

For souffles, lightly coat 6 (8 oz.) souffle dishes  with cooking spray.  Sprinkle with 2 tbls. sugar and set aside.

Combine remaining 1/2 cup sugar, 3 tbls. flour, 3 tbls. cocoa, and salt in a med. saucepan over med.-high heat, stirring with a wisk.  Gradually add 1 1/4 cups milk, stirring constantly with wisk.  Bring to a boil.  Cook 2 min. or until slightly thick, stirring constantly.  Remove from heat.  Add 3 oz. chocolate, stir until smooth.  Transfer mixture to a large bowl, cool to room temperature.  Stir in vanilla and egg yolk.

Place egg whites in a large mixing bowl, beat at high speed with a mixer until stiff peaks form.  Gently fold 1/4 of egg whites into chocolate mixture.  Gently fold in remaining egg white mixture.  Tap dishes on counter to level mix.  Place dishes on a baking sheet, place baking sheet on the bottom rack.  Immediately reduce temp. to 350 deg. Bake 40 min. or until a wooden pick inserted in the side of the souffle comes out clean.

To prepare sauce, melt butter in a small saucepan over med. heat.  Add 1/3 cup sugar, 2 tbls. cocoa, and 1 tbls. flour, stir with a wisk.  Gradually add 1/2 cup milk, stirring well, bring to a boil.  Cook 1 min. or until slightly thick, stiring constantly.  Remove from heat.  Add 1/2 ounce chocolate, stirring till smooth.  Serve warm with souffles.

Monday, March 29, 2010

Magpie/ Prompt #7

photo/willow/magpie tales


She said her name was Marple.  Miss Jane Marple.  She knocked on the door shortly after that piercing scream rang through the mansion.  Fontescue let her in, a seemingly harmless little old lady.  He took the card from her gloved hand and showed her into the library.  And summoned me, Lady Daphne.

We had all gone to tea in the sunroom, celebrating the arrival of Prince Victor of Romania, and the reading of the will, when suddenly there was a noise at the window.  A blackbird crashed into a pane, Livie dropped a scone, and Percy tripped over poor Lady Agatha's body, which must have been lying behind the sofa since before any of us had arrived.  I was the one who screamed, as who wouldn't at the sight of a beloved sister-in-law, lying wide eyed and dead at our feet.

"Oh, Miss Marple", I exclaimed, having been fetched to meet her in the library.  "What brings you here?"

She exclaimed, " I heard a scream as I was crossing the footbridge, and just knew that a body couldn't be too far away.  But, not in the library, I see."

"No", said I, "Not this time. In the sunroom."  She looked knowingly around the room, a tiny smile lifting the corner of her lightly rouged lips. 

"Did the the blackbird die?"

"Yes", I exclaimed, amazed at her prescience.  I clutched my throat.  "It's lying in a bed of daffodils".

"Can you show me, please", she asked.  I walked quickly with Miss Marple at my side, to the sunroom, Fortescue rushing ahead to open the door for us. 

Since all were still assembled around poor Lady Agatha, Miss Marple had no need to gather everyone, as she solved the mystery. 

Pointing to the garden, and the very dead, very black, blackbird, she bent over the spilled teacup, and the delicate yellow daffodil petals lying at poor Lady Agatha's feet.  "I presume that poor Lady Agatha was to be the recipient of the entire content of the will, that you ", she pointed at Sir Clive, "were about to read.  If you please, do begin.  We'll probably see who the next in line for the fortune will be in the event of poor Lady Agatha's unfortunate demise.  Ah, such lovely daffodils all around...and who here has recently prepared a daffodil honey"?

Everyone looked around and the gazes fell on one person.  "Who here is so familiar with the ever present daffodil, and its most unique property"?  Miss Marple scanned the room as she spoke.  "Who left the jar of honey unguarded, knowing that poor Lady Agatha had a tendancy to arrive before anyone else for tea, so she could have a surreptitious spoonful of honey?  Unknowing at the time, of course, that a dose of the daffodil's dark side was being administered.  I refer of course to the poisonous Lycorine, in the leaves, in the bulb.  Really unexpected in the beauty of the flower of Springtime, but ever present nevertheless.  As poor Lady Agatha was doomed to find out". 

Miss Marple made a strange gesture, scratching the back of her hands.  "And the murderer is giving a bit more away...having daffodil itch!  Hyperkeratosis, as we know, is an almost unbearable dryness and scaling that comes from the calcium oxalate in the sap.  And someone here does not seem able to resist an impulsive scratch. 

"The poison in the honey"?  Miss Marple slowly turned, and exclaimed, "If you look in Lady Daphne's sagging pocket, you will find the jar of honey, next to the red herring, laced with poison.  The killer obviously is..."

...and she pointed to me, as I scratched my hands...

Great thanks to Willow at magpie/prompts#7 for giving us all this fun opportunity!

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Mr. Danvers

Polly Danvers, on her wedding day

WE CALLED HER MRS. DANVERS.  And of course it was wondered in the village, where and who was Mr. Danvers?  There must have been one, right?  At Manderley, the truth was known. 

Not always the tight lipped and cold guardian of the shadows and secrets of Manderley, Polly Danvers arrived with a smile on her face, as a blushing bride, (see the wedding photo above) always full of life and looking for a good time, yet simply dressed in her stylish black gown.  Who could have known at the time that her story would take a negative turn?

Barney Danvers, devilishly handsome, regal in bearing, was brought to Manderley as head of security. He brought his bride with him, to fill the position of housekeeper.  They both immediately fell in love with Rebecca, but that's another story.  He proved to be a strict taskmaster indeed.  Not only with the staff, who trembled at his very footsteps.  Standing at attention, you can see them lined up behind Mrs. Danvers, awaiting inspection.  Mrs. Danvers herself, had been prepared at the estimable "Lady Hawthorn's Finishing School for Exceptional Housekeeping", who's motto was,

"You will find the dust". 

The transformation from that sweet young bride to a basic crazy bitch, had begun.  And the last straw was when Mr. Danvers insisted on piping Muzak into their bedroom.  Could madness be far behind?
Barney Danvers, stayed in the shadows when an inspector came to call.  It was said, mostly by us, downstairs, that he had something to hide.  It was  discovered too late that he was an American actor, just trying to acquire an English accent, which of course proved to be impossible.  It only works the other way around.

So, Mrs. Danvers slowly sank into maddness, having to portray, night after night, the major female roles of the English repertoire, so that Mr.Danvers could rehearse Hamlet, or Lear, or even Jeeves. Waiting for his big chance. 

Mad and embittered, Mrs. Danvers spent the rest of her miserable life driving poor what's her name, bananas. And yet, even after Barney fled back to the states (what ever became of him?) she longingly watched the horizon for his return and the good old days.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Card of the Day...

Medieval Cat/ US Games Systems

I'VE SHUFFLED THE TAROT DECK, and this is the card I've come up with. My card of the day.  The Judgment card.

This is also known as the Resurrection card.  Which in ancient times signified the time when souls are individualized and taken Home.  This is the Great Reunion that is supposed to happen once in every age.  Going home to the source, the beginning.  Then a wondrous thing will happen...a new group of souls is scattered in this world, and the process starts all over again.

Every soul that you have walked the earth with, worked your life with, in all your incarnations, joins with you to complete the Great Reunion, to finish the process in that cosmic realm that you played with in this world.  Did you really think you were finished?  It is believed that here, and now, we can celebrate and have knowledge of this process, every year on our birthday.

This Judgment card today tells me personally that I will have freedom from inner conflicts, that gifts of the past and my hidden talents will finally start to emerge in this lifetime.  If I am told to believe in the process of opening myself, trusting...I think that speaks to all of us, and that we can all take this Judgment card personally.  If I am a being built up to believe in myself, to be a multi-faceted soul, why not you too?

I have always believed myself to be a bit of the whole, that God sent my soul to earth so that he could see it through my eyes.  The ego is mine.  God just likes to play.  He doesn't have another like me..or you.  I think of myself as the Lyn of now he knows what it's like to be little Lyn from New York City!  As I've said before...God has a role for everyone.

Why do I even write the word, God?  I think because God put the yearning in there.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Pieless Apples

SO YOU FEEL like having some apple pie for dessert.  But you didn't bake one or buy one.  You do have a few apples lying around.  Everyone one does since Eve.  Here's a recipe for a crustless pie...OK, it's really just broiled apples, but the taste sensation's the same.  And no crumbs. 

6 firm apples, (MacIntosh, or Rome Beauties), peeled, cored, and cut into wedges
1/3 cup fresh lemon juice
4 tbls. sweet butter, melted
3/4 cups sugar 
1/2 cup maple syrup
Vanilla ice cream

Heat broiler.  Toss the apples with the lemon juice, butter, and all but 2 tbls. of sugar.
Arrange on a baking sheet in a single layer.  Broil about 8 inches from the heat for about 10 min., or until tender.

Sprinkle with the remaining 2 tbls. of sugar and broil until melted.

Heat the maple syrup in a small saucepan over low heat.
Serve the apples warm with the ice cream.  Drizzle with the syrup.

About 7-8 servings.

For a nice wine, choose a medium bodied Riesling to go with this almost Pie a la Mode'.

Chocolate next week!!

Monday, March 22, 2010

Magpie/ Prompt #6

                                       photo/willow/magpie tales


They came in the mail today,
American Brand Spitting Nails,
"For when you're really angry."

If you favor spewing tiny wounds,
the instructions tell you how
to spit the missile...

"Pucker up,
blow a kiss, turn it into
a poison dart."

Also stated, "When attacked,
don't pass the buck,
return the insult.

You may penetrate the skin with nails,
(but remember)
you can only pierce the soul
with words."

Beginners: if you prefer,
don't break the flesh,
but rend the garment
till the thread begins to unravel.

Keep in mind,
anger begins anew
as it ends,
so re-order your supply of
Spitting Nails,

c copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010

Thanks to Willow, again, for the opportunity to join Magpie Prompts.  Be sure to check out other participants!

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Happy Birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, March 22, to:

Reese Witherspoon
William Shatner
Stephen Sondheim
Andrew Lloyd Webber
Mathew Modine
Lena Olin

and ME!!!
( in good company)

Celebrating by welcoming Spring!!  All dancing, champagne, caviar and chocolate, catching a hot air balloon to Paris...and then...

Friday, March 19, 2010

All Over Again....


That was just a bit of deja' vu
swimming by,
a split second of flotsam
and jetsam
that grabbed my energy
in a
beam me up moment.

Disappeared so quickly,
left me holding the line,
trying to hook that lost instant
before it turned into a dead fish
once more...

and then what?

If I stop the clock
at that take,
would I,could I,
play it any differently,

be left to wait for the black hole
to regurgitate again,
serve up another enigma,

leaving me to my eternal confusion?

c copyright/all rights reserved 2010

Wednesday, March 17, 2010


                                           Photo/ David Prince/

TIME FOR A LITTLE EASY DECADENCE.  Remember all those terrific chocolate recipes?  Well they're back!!  This one's too easy..make it with your eyes closed.  Not.  Definitely not from scratch, you can get to these luscious puffs faster!  No green in this, but Happy St. Patrick's Day, and a good reward after marching.

Don't tell me these are fattening.  Something has to might as well be chocolate!


16 cream puffs/ frozen/ boxed
1 12-ounce jar caramel sauce
1 16 ounce jar hot fudge or dark chocolate sauce

Defrost the cream puffs according to directions.  In a small saucepan, over medium heat, bring 3/4 of the caramel sauce to a boil.  Cook for 1 minute until sauce thickens.

Hold a cream puff with tongs or spear on fork, dip 1 side into the caramel, then place on a dessert plate.  Repeat, arrange 4 on each plate.

Before serving, warm the fudge sauce over low heat.
Spoon it around the cream puffs.  Drop small dollops of the remaining caramel sauce into the hot fudge on each plate.  Makes 4 servings.

If you can make this from scratch..Wow!  Anyway, you can drink a very nice medium bodied Pinot Noir dessert wine with this, (as if you really need anything).  Or perhaps a full bodied Riesling...cheers!!

" Hello, Love- this is Ron Lundy from the greatest city in the world!"
June 25, 1934- March 15, 2010

Monday, March 15, 2010

Magpie/ Prompt #5

                                 Photo/Willow/magpie tales

WHEN I WAS A CHILD I thought my dreams were real.  I'd walk down the hall in my apartment and The Lady in Black might step out of a shadow and block my way.  Her wooden hands would clickety clack against the wall and her silence was broken only by her humming as she beckoned me.

At an early time of my life I slept in the living room, near the hall, on a chair that opened into a bed.  I thought that was swell and better than the ordinary beds every one else had.  Two large windows overlooked the street, three stories below. A large palm was pushed into the corner, and I believed it opened into the jungle.  Some nights I heard a call from behind the plant. 

One very hot summer my father pulled my bed close to one of the windows so I could catch a breeze that might flow across the sill.  I liked to rest my head on the ledge and wait for any slight puff of air to cool my brow.  I found the big dipper overhead one night.  Another time I saw a flying saucer hovering over the building across the street.  Some people were getting in, but not me.

There was a French door between the living room and my parents bedroom.  They slept in a huge carved bed, angels and roses entwined, that looked like it belonged to some king I'd seen in the movies. 

One night, when I was about seven or eight years old, I went out of my way to act like a big baby, because my Mom and Dad wouldn't take me to the movies with them.   I cried as dramatically as I could to summon their pity, but there wasn't any.  Well maybe a bit; Momma said I could sleep in their bed till they got home.  As usual, I cut my nose to spite my face, and stomped off to feel sorry for myself. 

My grandparents slept in the back bedroom.  Lots of windows and white lace curtains that fluttered without a breeze.  And on the window sill, an apple or pear, because Grandma never slept, and liked a bit of a nibble to break up the night till she made her way to the kitchen, leaning like an emerging ghost when dawn finally arrived.  Grandpa slept all the time.

I sat at my window and vowed not to sleep that night.  That proved to be impossible.  I awoke with my head on the sill and when I sat up I stared through the half open window into the very pale face of The Lady in Black.  She was floating outside and about to cross the sill.  Her wooden fingers clacked against the glass.

I jumped out of bed and screamed without a sound.  I tried very hard to force a noise, but none came.  How could I scream so much and not hear myself?  I ran through the open French doors into Momma's room.  No one there yet.  The Lady in Black was following close by as I found my voice and screamed to shatter glass.  I saw her pointy shoes gaining on me when she slipped into a shadow. Where had she gone?

I reached Grandma's room, dark, and fragrant with the lilac perfume she wore.  She was sitting up, leaning against the pale satin pillows.  Her eyes widened as I jumped into her bed.  I let her gather me into her arms, to comfort me with the little song she liked to sing to me..."Hush little baby, don't say a word, Nana's gonna buy you a mockingbird".... 

And she stroked my hair with her wooden fingers...clickety clack...clickety clack...

Read other Magpie Tales

Friday, March 12, 2010

Slow Down...


Nature is not in a hurry,
a rock that stood its ground
a hundred years ago
has finally washed up on shore
as a handful of sand.

The footprint walking upright
started the race a million years ago,
had Darwin sweeping and clearing
the ground before it.

If there be an ear to listen,
whisper into it..
..slow down.
Remember the turtle,
stirred to motion,
moving like honey.

Swift belongs to hummingbirds,
and serpent's darting tongues,
words that stir a rage
to hasten the end of days.

The rise and fall of angel's wings
hardly stir the breeze.
Eternity moves slowly
when beginning
and end
are one and the same.

c copyright/ all rights reserved/2010

Thursday, March 11, 2010



VICTORY AT LAST...Yes, winning is better than losing!  For those of you who have been sitting on the edge of your seats, wondering if the APARTMENT WARS will come to a fair conclusion, I'm absolutely thrilled to inform you that the people have won!!

The dispute between my landlord and Con Edison has come to an amicable conclusion.  BECAUSE the landlord changed the name of the company, Con Ed got confoosed.  I can't say I blame Con Ed, because when I called the landlord, I listened to a recorded message, new name and all, that was totally garbled.  Imagine!  Has that ever happened to you?

So poor Con Ed, who can fault them for feeling betrayed by a company that has gone through a name change operation?  And informing me when I called them, that the POWER is liable to be turned off any minute.  A big contrast to the landlord, who, when finally reached, had this to say, "naahhh".

I look forward to this occurring again next year, when I'm sure that the games will continue.  And folks, thanks for all your cards and letters.  I needed that support.


Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Magpie/ Prompt #4

photo/ willow/ magpietales

BACK IN STOCK!! YOU DON'T HAVE TO WAIT ANY LONGER... Here he is again..Obmud.... the Indian Elephant God, known and venerated for centuries as the lesser Ganesha, granter of simpler wishes.

When a humble elephant herder at the training center at Pathanamthitta had an early morning vision of Obmud making a phone call, he understood what he
had to do in order to uplift the poor folk of his village.  As is well known to the world by now, he immediately made a replica of the deity who presided at the temple.  He carved and polished some ivory-like plastic till it resembled the revered Obmud, fitted his cell phone to the underside...and so was born....
The Elephone !!

Before long, everyone was carving and fitting cell phones to the Little Elephant God, who is guaranteed to bring you peace, love and right numbers. And if you order today, you'll also receive the popular Elepages as a special bonus.  Wind the cord around Obmud's neck, it looks just like Allavattam!

Because of popular demand, the Elephone has been outsourced, and will now be shipped to you from China.  Order Today!!

Monday, March 8, 2010

Apartment Living...


THE IRON FIST just delivered the latest edict in the battle between management and the utility company.  If any of you recall, I posted, on Jan.30, a pretty complete rant about the situation in my apartment building.  For those in the dark,(as we probably soon will be), let me fill you in.

Because of a yearly "High Noon" showdown, Con Edison and my landlord are re-enacting the same old, same old.  Allegedly, landlord isn't paying utility bills.  So on March 14, or so, electricity/ gas will be turned off.  Therefore, I am modeling what is sure to become my new indoor attire.

But there seems to be a way out...any resident who has a serious health problem that would be affected by icicles in their apartment, can phone the New York Heatline, report the condition and a caseworker will visit to see if you are legit, and or have frozen to death.  Have no idea if they will ship us off to Florida, or distribute space heaters and candles.

I imagine that even if I take this heroic step to rescue my fellow tenants, I believe that because of budget constraints, I may not see hide nor hair of a rep from Human Resources till oh, my guess is, July/ August.   When I will have won anyway, by default.

By the way, management says it's nonsense.  

Tenants unite!!

Friday, March 5, 2010


  Andrew Wyeth


Another day Momma,
here I am in another day.
I thought your spirit would finally understand me.
I talk to you,
I talk to my cat.
You're everywhere,
all the time,
sitting on cushions,
not stirring the dust.

Lift me up or tuck me in,
just take me away from this dream of days.
Maya looms in my mythology,
you argued for a stricter God.

I woke in someone else's life,
where did my faces go?

Mom and Jesus,
please take a chance on me.

c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2010

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Just Looking..


Different days, different ghosts,
poles apart,
whistling to me as if,
I was a taxi,

hailing me to take them to hell?

The one walking along the wall today,
brought Dickens to join his wit to mine,
to help me construct my carol.

A worthy past,
a present that keeps on sliding away
to become a wiggle through a black hole
into the future.
Where's the soul mate to share
the guilt of long ago?

This wraith seeks me out;
this mask, imagined?
Or is it just a cold damp conscience?

I yell out to the lurking shadow,
hopping like a fool in a funhouse.
I round the corner.
I've seen this before
in black and white,
it's not just my mind anymore.

My soul sees you, you can't hide.

I'm sort of jumping the gun.
This is a dress rehearsal for the time
when I haunt you.

c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2010

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Magpie/ Prompt #3

photo/willow/willow manor

Another Magpie Tale... 
THERE WAS A SIGN in the window of Maximilian Godot's bakery.  Help wanted, no experience necessary.  Good pay, plus...Plus what?  I imagined, hoped for, all the baked goods I could carry at the end of the day.  I dreamed of tarts and donuts brought home each night, sugary bliss endlessly caressing my lips as lemony tea warmed me from the evening chill.  I stepped inside, heavy wafts of Sri Lankan cinnamon tickled my nose and seemed to settle in the folds of my dress.

A tray of petits fours, tiny pink rosettes glistening, seemed sculpted by a Florentine master.  Chocolate ganache icing was just then being spread along the sides of a tiered cake, by Max himself.  He called to me and pointed the spatula as I closed the door, the entry bell tinkling for several moments.
"Are you going to be the one?" he asked, eyeing me.  Strangely, it was almost as if he was waiting for me.   He handed me a strange metal object.  "This is the key to my's a 1 kilogram weight..all of my exquisite ingredients, flour, sugar, butter, chocolate, must be perfectly weighed to get the results I'm famous for." 

He tucked the weight into my hand.  It felt heavier than it appeared.  Max smiled broadly, as if he were presenting me with a jewel.  "Believe me, if I entrust this weight to you, it will be a huge responsibility.  You measure a bit  too much, ruined..a bit too little...."  He shrugged his shoulders.

He took the weight from my hand, and placed it back on the scale.  "This was my grandfather's, and then my father's.   And it earns me the Cake Guild Award year after year".   He pointed to a golden Napoleon, (the Emperor, not the pastry) displayed on a glass shelf, a beam of ethereal light shining on it.
I slipped my yellow shawl off my shoulders, draped it on a bistro chair.  It seemed to me that an aura was drawing us together.  An inevitability.  It wasn't an accident that I was here but fate or karma itself.  I reached for the apron that Max was handing me.  And I suddenly realized that now I was to be the keeper of the kilo.  I had the job of weighting for Godot.

Monday, March 1, 2010


IF MARCH IS ENTERING LIKE A LION, I'M OPENING the door for it to transform into a lamb...this poem is from my book of poetry, TWO GHOSTS.  I may have posted it before, maybe last year.  I'll have to check that out...


March tosses its lion's mane
every year as the month begins.
The bite of ice, a slice or rain
March tosses its lions mane
as the lamb starts to walk again
Free of death, devoid of sins.
March tosses its lion's mane
every year as the month begins.

c copyright/ all rights reserved


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