12 fried green tomatoes
12 slices of fried cheese
4 cups of seasoned taco beef cooked
Plus 4 cups of spaghetti sauce
Mix 2 cups of crushed doretos plus
2 cups of shedded cheddar
3 scrambled eggs
2 cups of crumbled goat cheese
1 cup of drained ricotta
3 tablespoons of caramelized garlic
1 cup of crumbled sundried tomatos
2/3 cup of carlized onion
1/4 of roasted bell pepper
16 lasagna noodles
Mix ricotta and goat cheese with 2 cups of mozzarella.and 3 scrambled eggs
Mix taco beef sauce
With garlic, onions and sun dried tomato
And roasted bell pepper
In a casserole dish add a layer of spaghetti sauce. Top with four noodles
Add taco beef top with fried tomatos
4 slices of fried cheese, layer
Dollop with egg and cheese mixture save enough for one more layer
Do the same again, top with noodles
Sauce the top noodles
And sprinkle on doretos mix, cover with aluminum and bake at 350 for 50 minutes.
Serve warm!
High Above
Determination Climb
Look and Explore
Courage to try
Showing no Fear
Straight up
Majestic and Mighty
Careful Maneuver
One foot at a time
Desire and Assurance
Strength full of endurance
Leverage to the top
Pausing briefly at stop
Mountain Feat
Not giving into Defeat
Climbing, Climbing with victory on the mind
Until mission is complete
Horizon to see
Mountain and us.
The male Hine’s Emerald patrols his cattail fen
low through sedge and seepage
his compound eyes pluck gnats from the air
two yellow bars flash along his thorax
hindwings catch the morning
Chimanimani Mountain mist beads over quartz
the female Rock Threadtail
six black feet braced on the edge
her wing tilted toward the sun
eyes—black
He misses the gnat
darts, veers, halts midair, pivots
his ommatidia fixed on her raised wing
smitten, his heading shifts
the female Rock Threadtail rests above her stream
=======
I've been trying to climb this mountain called life
But I keep tumbling down
My heart is broken and I am bruised inside
My strength is gone and I dont think I can carry on
No one knows or sees my wounds
I have learned to hide them deep in the heart of the mountain
I wonder if I will ever reach the top
Will I ever see a different and beautiful view
The valley has left my life distorted
Frowning ghosts haunt my memories
I have heard them say
When you reach the top of the mountain
What you see will shock you
It is all nothing but emptiness
Some folks think I isolate out of sadness
Yet in my isolation I have found true joy
In this private realm I can dream very freely
There is no one in the world with any access
Crafts are growing and evolving into something
Purely beautiful and sacred and eternally true
The pattern began with one piece of cloth~
a mountain shaped from triangles, each one a sliver of prairie dusk.
Indigo settles at the base like cooled shadow,
while a pale circle of moonlight hovers over the mountain
The geometry is simple, but the feeling is not.
Every angle carries Mother’s love of the Kansas prairie,
wheat bending under nightfall, each remembering
the woman who stitched them with moonlight pooling at her elbows.
When the quilt is finished, the mountains multiply~
a procession of slopes climbing across the cloth,
each crowned with its own soft moon.
The moons shine, remembering the hand
that patiently stitched them into place.
Soon, the quilt becomes a landscape of wonder
a picture stitched with cotton and color .
When the quilt is spread across a bed,
the mountains rise, the moons hover,
and Mother's presence fills the room,
held in the quiet geometry
of cloth that knows the shape of love.
The void is so deep
Mountain touches sky earth quakes
Ground trembles avoid
The bright morning sun awakes,
peeking over the hill,
kissing the pink mountain tops.
camel's back like a rough mountain terrain
The world feels heavy, a mountain of lead,
With sharp, silver needles that pull at my head.
A hollow in the stomach, a weight in the chest,
While the heart tries to find just a moment of rest.
I reached for a hand that I thought was a light,
But they traded my trust for a shadow in flight.
Now the hallways are long and silence is loud,
Just a face in the distance, a ghost in the crowd.
The ink on the paper felt tangled and wrong,
As the rhythm of "self" lost the words to its song.
I'm weary of carrying the blame and the ache,
Of feeling so brittle, I'm destined to break.
But in the quiet, I'm turning my eyes,
To the one who can hear all the world less cries.
Though my body is weak and the road is uphill,
I'll walk through the valley and try to be still.
If the world has forgotten, I know He has not,
I am more than the pain and the battles I've fought.
I'll keep my solitude, sacred and deep,
Until there is peace in the promises I keep.
Though storms may roar and shadows creep,
Faith guards the promises it keeps;
When weary hearts are bowed by night,
It lifts their gaze toward morning light.
The mountain stands in silent pride,
Yet faith sees pathways at its side;
Where others find a wall of stone,
Faith hears a door not yet made known.
A seed beneath the earth may lie,
Yet dreams of forests reaching high;
It trusts the spring through winter's reign,
And finds its bloom through wind and rain.
The river bends but does not break,
Its course no obstacle can take;
Through patient years it shapes the land,
By strength unseen and steady hand.
For faith transcends the loss of time,
And turns despair to hope sublime;
It knows no defeat, no final end,
For eternity remains its friend.
Painting on the Wall
I stand upon the roof of the world,
Rakaposhi breathes soft clouds of light,
Hunza lies below, a painted wall.
Spring drapes the valley in pink and white,
Cherry blooms wake to morning’s light,
Peaks shift their shades with the turning hour.
Black cliffs hold lakes of glassy blue,
Attabad cuts deep with veins of light,
Turquoise water splits the stone in two.
Rakaposhi rises tall and proud,
Mist spreads wings across the height,
Clouds float low like lilies on a shroud.
Autumn comes in fire and gold,
Trees burn bright in amber light,
Valley wears its richest shawl of old.
Thin air shows how nature works true,
Stars fall soft into the night,
Silence speaks where mountains guard the view.
Wind moves slow through orchard rows,
Apricot branches hum with light,
Each breath I take, the valley knows.
Sunset spills gold across the crest,
Pink fire burns on canvas bright,
I’m lost in heaven, held by the night.
Montana sky is as bright blue as it can ever be
I stare at the pines and aspens, feeling free
the air is as fresh and crisp as God could make
Coaxed, I feel a need for a picture take
Knowing full well it will never wholly do
will not capture essence of this sky of blue
the mountains twinkle with mica in a brave way
I feel this is God’s gift to me today
the only noise I hear is chattering bird speak
there is no movement from me to the mountain peak
It is as if God and I are here alone today
Nirvana on earth, I feel validated in a way.
the sky drops the mountains
hopes for lemonade bruise on grass
birds crying not heard at this depth, high
as trees stick together; green contrast
morning sun dark and small
out of these woods, could I stand as tall
and how uncoiling is any street beneath
above shadows looking at me
the mountains running whitewashed under tires
her ghost apart from sky, dead weight
heaps of rocks hold up my hours
then falling, come to devour
Mountain-Ana
A part of me ignores
The tranquility of disquise
A part of me that wishes to be part of you without compromise
A chord that can strum unison to our hearts
The Most intense feelings
Spawn from the instance of a flame
Creates Destroys and creates again
A song of beauty
Never written
Until then, At birth you are named
A song the birds know after a spring rain
Of fair a blue sky
Of fair a blanket of stars
I can always lie to myself
I can always wait
But then again I can always wait for a moment to arise
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