FRESH CORN AND VEGETABLE DISH

4 large ears corn, cut and scraped from cob

2 medium chopped potatoes

3 chopped ripe tomatoes

1 medium onion, diced

3 Tbsp oil

Salt to taste

2 chopped yellow peppers

Combine all ingredients except yellow peppers; cook about 25 minutes or until done, adding pepper the last 10 to 15 minutes of cooking.

(Mrs. C.T. Griffen, Nashville, TN © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

 

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

 

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from To Build An Army Chapter One

Patsy & Le’Vander

 

            The dulcet tones of Celine Dion singing Si’l Suffiait D’aimer snapped on at 6:30.  Patsy moaned, rolled over in her chintz ruffled queen-sized bed and hit the snooze button.  She sat up as the Public Radio station transitioned from Carmen to Luciano Pavarotti singing Ave Maria.  Patsy stretched, stood and smiled.

            “Good morning, Brad!” She blew a kiss to the autographed photo wedged between her mirror and frame.  “You are one good-looking man.”

            She joined Mady Mespe in Ariadne aui Nexos, enjoying the coloratura range of her own voice.  She showered to Madame Butterfly and dressed to Lena Horn.  Chantilly was generously sprayed between her breasts.  Vitamin E cream was slathered on face, neck and chest.  Then cucumber lotion smoothed down arms and legs.  She began with her Delta Burke merry-widow, then slipped on a Palm Beach canary yellow capri and a spandex and cotton Caribbean Joe shirt that was one size too small – but it had been on sale.  She tugged the v-neck up to just cover the top edge of her bra.

            Combing through her mass of curls moistened with gel, she sang along with Wagner’s Pilgrim’s Progress, throwing her arms wide at “Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!!!”  She picked up and discarded three kinds of foundation, finally chose a bisque for multi-tones and successfully blended the liquid into her skin.  While it dried, she sang along with the theme to Cats and repainted her nails and toes.

            While her nails dried, she danced downstairs to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and fixed a large mug of coffee.  It was already perked and waiting for her, thanks to Le’Vander.  Le’Vander was her handy-man, and since he was going to be there at the crack of dawn anyway, he always fixed coffee.    

            As Patsy took a break from singing – one just could not compete with the Three Tenors – she savored the brew. Le’Vander did have a way with coffee.

            “G’morning.”  Le’Vander’s voice came from the laundry room.

            If it had been any other man, Patsy would have run squealing back upstairs because her make-up wasn’t finished.  But it was just Le’Vander, and he didn’t count.  “Hey,” she replied. 

“And how is Miss Cline this morning?”   He loved to tease her that her mother had named her after the famous Patsy Cline.  That’s why I’m crazy for loving you, he used to croon to her in third grade.  She eventually learned to ignore him when he called her Miss Cline.  Now, two decades later, she expected to be greeted each morning by this nickname.  She let Le’Vander get it out of his system, and then the day would commence just fine.

“You make the best coffee,” she smiled.

“Since you’re finished with your shower, I thought I’d bleed your hot water heater.”

“How do you know I’m finished with my shower?” She glowered.

            “It’s 7:15,” he answered, as if the connection between the time and her having showered was the most obvious fact in the world.

“I’ve got customers coming in the morning.”

            “It’ll be drained and reheating by 9:00.  And since it’s Ginny Sutton, you won’t need hot water.”

Patsy snorted.  “She wouldn’t pay for a wash if I gave her the cut for free.  Hey, how’d you know she’s coming?  Are you two dating?”

“No,” Le’Vander growled.

“Well, don’t turn your nose up at her just because she’s a bit older than you.  You could do worse.”

“I’m not dating her.  Your appointment book is open by the coffee pot.”

Le’Vander came out of the laundry room, out the back door – which was the customer door for Patsy’s home-business Peggy’s Parlor.  Peggy was Patsy’s mother.  Had been her mother.  Le’Vander returned, dragging in one end of a garden hose.

“Hey! Don’t be tracking dirt in here.”

            “I took my shoes off.”

Patsy rolled her eyes at Le’Vander’s gray-white athletic socks with a hole in one toe and frayed at the heel on the other foot.  “Le’Vander, you are letting yourself go.  When was the last time you bought new socks?”

He stopped and stared down.  “What’s wrong with my socks?  My mother bought these socks.”

            Pearl McAfee was a saint.  At least, that’s how Le’Vander saw her.  Patsy rolled her eyes again and marched away.

            The radio switched to more contemporary classics at 7:30.  Le’Vander said it was because they didn’t want normal people to fall asleep driving to work.  He said it quite often.  Almost every day as a matter of fact, 7:30 would roll around and Patsy would pop English muffins into her toaster and they would sit at the table in her kitchenette and Le’Vander would say, Thank goodness.  Normal music so normal people won’t nod off driving to work.

            But he didn’t say that this morning.  Liza Minnelli sang You Are the Wind Beneath My Wings, and Le’Vander blinked away tears. It was his mother’s favorite song.  It had been her favorite song.  Patsy sang it at her funeral over two years ago, but it still brought tears to Le’Vander’s eyes.

Patsy spread butter on Le’Vander’s muffins.  “Your mother was a saint.”

“Yes.  Yes, she was.”

            “Why don’t you pray for us this morning?”

He took her hand – the only time he got to touch her – and prayed for blessings and strength and wisdom for the day.

            She’d never tell him; she always liked his prayers.

She slipped back upstairs and finished her make-up: amethyst eye-liner, lavender shadow, brow gel, self-adjusting blush, lip liner, plum lipstick and curling mascara.  Another dose of Chantilly and Patsy was ready to face the world.

True to his word, the garden hose was removed and the hot water heater was refilling when Ginny Sutton arrived, five minutes early.

After Ginny’s appointment was the Baptist preacher’s wife’s weekly wash and set.  Patsy had almost lost her as a customer when she turned down first Baptist’s offer for a place in their choir.  But Atticus offered her the position of Music Minister.  Well, choir director, and Patsy was happier than she’d ever been in her life.

Excerpt from

To Build an Army

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

 

the Real Journey

It may be that when we no longer know what to do, we have come to our real work, and when we no longer know which way to go, we have begun our real journey.

~~Wendell Berry

Excerpt from Bedina's War - Tinker's Damn Chapter One

 

A Drip of Water on Metal

The jarring claxon, strobe lights, and freezing temperature could

mean only one thing — hull breach.

Lonicera jerked awake and fought the blinding panic within her. She

could not move. “Deep breath, close your eyes, think,” she whispered.

She felt giddy with relief as she unsnapped the harness which had held

her captive so that she free-floated above her hammock.

Other passengers tore in mindless frenzy at their harnesses, or

floated above them. Most dirt-dwellers were prejudiced against her

and her fellow Space Lab Nationals. They called her people Spa’Labs to

their faces, and Sp’labs behind their backs. She pitied the dirt-dwellers

now — most of them had no idea how to deal with this situation.

She swam over to a Wrangler with a dozen orphans in his charge.

Wranglers were dirt-born, but spent their adult lives traveling, so this one

knew what to do. Lonicera helped him release the harnesses of his orphans.

“Go to the central corridor and follow the waltzing lights to the

escape pods!” Her voice carried surprisingly well above the howls of

the trapped passengers. “There’s no gravity, so hold hands!”

“Waltzing lights? What the Mother are waltzing lights?” A grim young

man swam up next to Lonicera.

“Those.” She pointed. “They strobe ONE two three, ONE two

three.” She did not waste time explaining that colored lights were

useless in an emergency. Various gases, especially those released during

a hull breach, could make colors appear to be different. The waltz was

soothing and calming; its effect on the human brain was life-saving and

had proven so for millennia. There was no time to explain any of this

to the dirt-born young man. They had less than a sitcom to reach the

escape pods during a hull breach before the bulkheads were sealed.

The young man nodded fiercely and pushed off the wall into the

main corridor. He turned back. “Aren’t you coming?”

“There are still people in harnesses in here.” Lonicera swam to

the closest hammock and smacked a woman’s face until she stopped

screaming. The stranger was beside her in a click and wrestled with

the woman’s companion. Once freed from their harnesses, he pushed

them toward the corridor.

Lonicera and the stranger worked quickly and within five comshells

had the entire pod cleared of passengers. She took his hand as they

entered the corridor.

THOMB!! Gravity smacked them hard onto the floor and then

released them just as quickly.

“Bend your knees and brace for gravity spasms again!” she shouted.

The young man wiped blood off his lips and watched the blood bubble

and float away.

Three more gravity spasms swiftly struck them and then the strobe

lights and claxons stopped.

“Oh no,” she groaned.

He clung to her. “This is not a good thing, is it?”

“No.” She bunched her legs under her and in the darkness threw

the larger man onto her back. “Hold onto my shoulders, not my neck.”

She sprang against the wall and rocketed toward the darker darkness

which — in her mind — marked the end of the passageway. Because of

the sudden silence, she knew the bulkhead doors were descending. She

believed that they had just enough time to get beyond them. She did not

want to die, so she put all of her strength and faith into her movements.

Another gravity spasm hit as they passed the threshold. “Roll!”

she screamed. In tandem, they rolled underneath the barrier just as it

clamped shut.

“Listen!” Lonicera hissed. The whining immediately stopped, but

she was not sure if it had been him or her whining.

A soft beeping registered somewhere to her right. He grabbed her

hand and they ran toward the sound and sprang through the air when

the gravity released them again.

“It’s an empty pod!” He dived into it and pulled her behind him.

  

She punched the door closed.

“But there’s room for three more in here!” he protested.

She wrestled into the nearest hammock. “There’s no one left.”

“But!”

“What’s your name?” She helped him buckle in.

“Nat. Nathaniel. Myrthyr Nathaniel.”

“Nat.” She grimaced and took his hand as the escape pod’s

ventilation system began blowing stale air into their faces. “We were

the last. There’s no one left alive on the other side of those doors.”

“But—” Nat whimpered and started to cry.

Excerpt from

Bedina’s War

© Evelyn Rainey

Comfort Publishing

ISBN 9781936695881

CORN AND TOMATO BAKE

 6 medium-sized firm tomatoes

One 12-ounce can of corn

Onion salt

Cut slice from top of each tomato. Scoop out pulp, juice and seeds. Dice pulp. Sprinkle inside of tomato with onion salt. Toss pulp with corn. Fill tomato shells. Bake at 375 for 20 minutes. Yield: 6 servings.

(Mrs. William L. Naff, Birmingham, AL © Southern Living 1968)

Gluten-free and Vegetarian/Vegan Recipes

To meet my needs of being “gluten-free”, there are no ingredients that have wheat in them. Since one out of one-hundred people now have problems with the way the United States processes their foods, there are plenty of brands which are marked GF Gluten-free. However, read all the way around the label and determine if there might be traces of wheat or if the product was processed in a plant or on machinery that also handles wheat. (These statements are usually NOT found near the list of ingredients.) If this is the case and you are gluten-sensitive or have a wheat-toxicity, don’t use it!

I also deleted recipes which called for hidden gluten – like shrimp, frozen mangoes and parsnips.

Vegetarian foods allow the use of milk, honey, eggs, and other non-kill animal products; vegans do not. I have endeavored to post only recipes with vegan-appropriate ingredients. If I really liked something, though, that was vegetarian rather than vegan, I will note it.

Whenever possible, use non-GMO products (non-genetically modified).  If you think gmo’s are ok for you, you haven’t read any science fiction books, let alone Charles Darwin.

These recipes are not an attempt to substitute wheat or animal ingredients with something else. These recipes are “naturally” or originally gluten-free and vegetarian/vegan.

Excerpt from Comes the Warrior Chapter One

 

Gwen awoke.  Someone was in her house; someone who should not be there.

Her chest heaved as she tried to calm her racing heart.  She reached down beside her mattress and grasped her battle staff.  Slipping out of bed, she positioned herself beside the door.  The moon’s light piercing her window shimmered across her pale pink cotton nightgown.

Three years ago, hearing an intruder in her house would have scared her,

She would have called 911 and trusted someone else to take care of this.  But three years ago, she met Sanchor. She was adopted by his band, trained by him, fought by his side, lost her heart to him, and been betrayed by him in turn.  So tonight, as she heard someone prowling beyond her door, she was terrified, but she knew what she was capable of.

The door handle turned.  Gwen shifted her balance and centered herself.  The door opened.

A bolt chunked into her mattress.  She stilled her breathing.  A figure entered the room, glowing in the moon light.  Its face was smooth, no indentations for eyes or mouth, no protuberances for nose or brows.  No hair, no ears, clothed in nothing other than its scales.  It was a ukera, a lizard-like humanoid.  Its stench filled her nostrils and she fought the urge to gag.

The ukera’s head wobbled as it searched the room by sonar.  Sanchor had told her that ukeras had once been good and served the Light.  That was before the Darkness came.  The Darkness that Sanchor said twisted man and creature to its will.  The ukera’s head stopped wobbling.  It turned to face her.

She swung: the sower harvests the grain, and caught the ukera on the side of its knees.  It fell to the floor.  Never hit an ukera in the head, Sanchor had warned her.  It will explode and spray you with its musky blood.  You’ll never get rid of the smell.

She planted the business end of her battle stick on the triangle joining its two rib cages.  She heard a snap as its lungs burst outward, filling with air.  A slow way to die, but sure.

She leapt over the ukera and sprinted down the hall to the kitchen.  She squatted beside the table and peered out the window.  Two hooded men were silhouetted by the faithful moon.  The moonlight glinted off crossbows held ready in their arms.  Ukera never used weapons.  Who fired the bolt into her bed?  Her ears near burst trying to listen for the other soldier -- the one who carried a crossbow and had to be inside with her.  She heard nothing.

She kept low; she reached the phone beside the frig.  Its dial tone blared loudly and she stabbed at 9 then 1 then 1 again.  It rang three times before a woman answered, sounding bored.

“Intruders!” Gwen hissed as quietly as she could.

“I’m sorry; you’ll have to speak up.  What is your emergency?”

“Is that what you call a telephone?” The robed figure stepped into the kitchen, brandishing a loaded crossbow.

She lunged upward, Salmon up the River, ramming the stick into the soldier’s belly while screaming, “He’s trying to kill me, there’s a man in my house. Help!”  She hoped the operator understood and would act on it.

A bolt shattered the glass in the kitchen door and embedded itself into the microwave.  Gwen rolled under the table as the door exploded inward.  One soldier ran to his fallen comrade while the other blocked the exit.  Moonlight shimmered across their face masks: lighteners.  Lighteners were made from the skins of some luminescent sea creature on a far distant world and allowed the wearer to see in the darkness.

You know how to blind a lightener, don’t you, Gwen? she remembered Sanchor’s lesson as he smiled at her so long ago.

Gwen aimed her battle staff and threw it.  It clipped the light switch and the florescent flooded the room.  The soldiers screamed in agony and tried to rip the masks from their faces.

Gwen ran into the backyard, vaulted the wooden fence and tumbled into her neighbor’s back yard.  A dog lunged at her, straining its chain to the limit and barking ferociously.  Saliva splattered her as she sprinted past the massive pit-bull.

            Lights flashed on in the houses around her as other dogs took up the alarm.

            “Call the police!” Gwen shouted. 

“What’s going on?” a neighbor growled.

            She slammed into a trio of trashcans, screaming for help, and then silently slipped back through the alley to the fence behind her house.  She had made enough noise to lead the soldiers away. And by now, the police were coming, she hoped.  She snuck over the fence and crouched behind the ancient oak in the corner of her yard.  She could see into her kitchen – the soldiers were gone.  She drew a deep breath and pressed her forehead against the bark.

            A popping acorn was her only warning.  She jumped up and swung at the man, a simple Frog in the Pond move.  He blocked her blow with graceful ease – Rock against the River, twisting her staff out of her hands with his own battle staff.  She head-butted his chin and cartwheeled backwards to retrieve her staff.  He reached over from behind her and yanked her against him with her own staff.  Her bare feet dangled above the ground, unable to hurt him through his metal shin guards.

He shook her and pressed the staff more firmly against her throat.  “It’s good to know you have not gone soft and forgotten your training.”

            She stilled.  “Sanchor?”

            He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered, “Do you still love me, Gwen?”

Excerpt from

Comes the Warrior

© Evelyn Rainey

Available for publication.

Joy is the Journey

"Life is a Journey." One hears this phrase so often; it has lot its magic. Words without magic are just phoneme-grapheme chunks. Squiggly lines matched with sounds. Sounds without solace.  Words are magic.
I am so grateful now that... Magic.

I beg to differ with the original statement. It isn't Life that is the journey. Joy is the Journey. Life is the embryo within the stone, the seed within the soil. When it erupts, when it breaks forth, when Life blossoms, THEN it is Joy. And Joy is the Journey we came here to experience.

For you shall go out with joy, be led forth with peace. The mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing. And all the trees shall clap their hands.
You shall go out with Joy!