You Are Not IN The Mountains, The Mountains Are In YOU.

Energy cleansing is not a glamorous process. It is not good vibes, yoga and buddha bowls. It’s heavy, deep and can feel very ugly. Most people like to pretend healing is just magic and positive vibes. Healing is accepting + integrating painful experiences from the past. Honesty and transparency are important. Allow yourself to feel whatever you feel, and don’t hide it. Don’t be ashamed of it ever. Don’t feed into the new age movement. It does more harm than healing.

~ Snake bracelet.

Place of origin: Egypt (?)

Date: 50 B.C. - A.D. 50

Period: Roman Imperial period

Medium: Engraved gold

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Creamed Avocado and Lime Chilled Pasta

Ingredients

1 1/2cup dry shell pasta or short pasta of your choice

1 ripe avocado

handful of cilantro, roughly chopped

1 1/2Tbsp lime juice

3Tbsp mayonnaise

1tsp garlic paste

salt & pepper

chopped cilantro and/or jalapeno for garnish

Instructions

Cook pasta according to the package instructions. Drain well, set aside to cool.

Peel avocado and remove the pit. Put it in a food processor together with chopped cilantro, lime juice, mayonnaise and garlic paste. Blend it until it’s creamy. Add salt and pepper to taste. (Cover it with plastic wrap and keep it in a refrigerator if you have time.)

Transfer the avocado sauce to a medium sized bowl. Add cooked pasta and toss them well. Sprinkle chopped cilantro and/or jalapeno on top.

Notes

I used chopped jalapeno on top for garnish but you can also put jalapeno in a food processor to blend in the sauce for spiciness.

Flash Mob at the Floradora Saloon

Telluride, Colorado

This group of enthusiastic tourists flash-mobbed me as I was making my way down the sidewalk with camera in hand in Telluride, Colorado.

Crestted Butte, Colorado

Source: That Cheese Plate

On Witness and Respair: A Personal Tragedy Followed by Pandemic

The acclaimed novelist lost her beloved husband—the father of her children—as COVID-19 swept across the country. She writes through their story, and her grief.

My Beloved died in January. He was a foot taller than me and had large, beautiful dark eyes and dexterous, kind hands. He fixed me breakfast and pots of loose-leaf tea every morning. He cried at both of our children’s births, silently, tears glazing his face. Before I drove our children to school in the pale dawn light, he would put both hands on the top of his head and dance in the driveway to make the kids laugh. He was funny, quick-witted, and could inspire the kind of laughter that cramped my whole torso. Last fall, he decided it would be best for him and our family if he went back to school. His primary job in our household was to shore us up, to take care of the children, to be a househusband. He traveled with me often on business trips, carried our children in the back of lecture halls, watchful and quietly proud as I spoke to audiences, as I met readers and shook hands and signed books. He indulged my penchant for Christmas movies, for meandering trips through museums, even though he would have much preferred to be in a stadium somewhere, watching football. One of my favorite places in the world was beside him, under his warm arm, the color of deep, dark river water.

In early January, we became ill with what we thought was flu. Five days into our illness, we went to a local urgent care center, where the doctor swabbed us and listened to our chests. The kids and I were diagnosed with flu; my Beloved’s test was inconclusive. At home, I doled out medicine to all of us: Tamiflu and Promethazine. My children and I immediately began to feel better, but my Beloved did not. He burned with fever. He slept and woke to complain that he thought the medicine wasn’t working, that he was in pain. And then he took more medicine and slept again.

Cheese Fondue Bread Bowl

Recipe under the cut!

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