a cloudy soul.


Years ago I was a poet writing words with emotions that tumbled wildly from the edge of the pages because my thoughts and feelings could not be confined to such a restricted space. I had a weakness for Bob Dylan, the Doors, Rolling Stones, Jefferson Airplane, Iron Butterfly, Joni Mitchell, Canned Heat, Janis Joplin, The Who, Cream, Pink Floyd, Santana & Fleetwood Mac...songs strung together to make-up the soundtrack of my youth, as I drifted West to San Francisco on a cloud of patchouli and a suitcase full of thrown together dreams.

Eventually, along with the bell bottoms, tie dyed shirts and love beads those feelings and mad glorious impulses were reined in, tucked away in layers of tissue paper and responsibility for safe keeping, occasionally taken out and caressed until they were as smooth as a silk stocking, and just as fragile. If a thief came in the night and stole the dreams tucked inside me, I didn't noticed until they were gone, but the cool thing about dreams is that you can always have more.

Many of the recipes I still use today come straight from those adorned days when I was young and idealistic listening to rock music, not yet classic, pure and passionate with the ability to capture all my feelings and emotions about the world around me, putting into music the words I felt but could not say, embracing everyone regardless of color, faith or sex. I was deeply concerned with ending segregation and the Vietnam War prompting a March on Washington and numerous protests, promoting love and compassion. Ahhh, memory lane...I still go there often, even though I know that it can be a dangerous road to travel, like a dark alley at 3 a.m.~but I go there because along with the melancholy ghosts there is joy, both I suppose are part of the bargain, and if you live long enough they will emerge... the trick being to hold onto to the joy above all else. And then just maybe my soul will be a little less cloudy.

There are times when I let the spirit of those days whisper around me, all that innocence and enchantment of life, wafting over me and still having the power to create a sense of yearning that can tug at my heart...funny, how I didn't know.

It was at this time my eating changed, I started eating things I'd never heard of, hummus, granola, guacamole, thick veggie soups, tabbouleh, brown rice, beans, alfalfa sprouts...I quit eating meat, and since I was no longer landlocked, started eating the most incredible seafood, crab meat, dover sole, shrimp, sand dabs and [sigh]~ fresh, crusty, sour dough bread. Being 20 years old with a baby and 2474.81 miles from home, it goes without saying that a little homesickness was to be expected, so, of course a little comfort food was in order...what did I eat you ask? tomato sandwiches but of course! [bet you didn't see that one coming]. Thickly cut, homegrown, juicy, red tomatoes on freshly baked bread [I still get gooey shoed thinking about it].
just sayin',

Tomato Sandwich

1 ripe tomato
2 slices bread, preferably white farm or peasant (if I don't have homemade, I use Pepperidge Farm)
Hellman's mayonnaise to taste (don't skimp)
Sea Salt
freshly ground pepper (optional)

Slice the tomato thickly—about as thick as a slice of bread. Spread the bread with mayonnaise. Place the tomato on one slice. Sprinkle with salt (a little pepper, if you like). Top with the other slice of bread. Cut the sandwich in half.


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