 This Japanese pumpkin has a firm texture and doesn’t have to be peeled. If you’re adventurous, you can clean and dry the seeds and roast them with some salt. I found one at Trader Joe’s, but Sprouts has them too – I just checked. Sprouts also sells miso, but the website only lists “mellow white”. If possible, use red or Hatcho miso. A word about miso: it’s made with fermented soy beans, or barley, or rice, and there are other variations. Although traditional Japanese cuisine doesn’t include yogurt, miso has similar health benefits: the fermentation process adds probiotics and enzymes which help with digestion, reduce toxins in the body, and strengthen the immune system. If you’ve ever been to a Japanese restaurant, you’ve encountered miso, because absolutely every meal, including breakfast, includes miso soup. Here is a different kind of miso recipe, resulting in a thick stew.  Ingredients:
1 T sesame oil 1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced 1 Lb kabocha , cubed 1 c water 1//4 c red, barley, or Hatcho miso, thinned into 1/3 c of water Preparation: Heat the oil in a wok or skillet. Add the sliced onions and saute over medium heat for 5 to 7 minutes, stirring gently, until lightly browned. Add the kabocha and fry for another 3 minutes. Add the water and bring to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 30 minutes. Stir in the thinned miso and simmer for another 5 minutes or until liquid has been absorbed.
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My late husband and I built a log cabin on Mesa Poleo in the early 70s. We did not inhabit it too long, just over two years but that time is an indelible part of my existence all of these years later. Lynn Zotalis, Hippie at Heart  Cerro Pedernal, the infamous northern New Mexico landmark…
the mesa peak I always wanted to hike up but in the years I lived so near, just a few miles away past Youngsville between Coyote and Gallina, I never attempted it and now? The peak requires a steep hike on very loose rock, a short, Class 3 wall, and a narrow, exposed trail eight miles up and back. I just may have missed this one now bowing to my muscles that require continual preservation or maybe it’s conservation, nonetheless, definite constraints undeniable but not ready to admit defeat. Certainly limits that can be quite unforgiving at this stage of my life, for instance, I’m resigned to no more cartwheels. Well, pretty much. I’m forced to be reasonable, sensible, oof, I do not like that moniker but now I often have conversations with my peers about mindfulness exhorting them and me to watch where we walk to avoid missteps, to stay upright. DON’T FALL! especially when I consider the consequences, how traumatic brain injury may result. Aging is not for sissies. It is a shock, that gut check noticing the changes now so blatantly undisguised. Drooping lids, jowls, neck waddle following down, down, down to these appaloosa legs, one might say roan. Mottled, spotted, splotchy, red and purply stippled. Could be reshod? Arms peppered, freckled brown spots like a connect-the-dots puzzle. The gray streaked mane, tow head to platinum, even though gradual it was notable the year it morphed. Did you know that green chili synthesizes collagen, reduces inflammation for healthier aging? Now that’s the best reason for consuming vast amounts of my favorite stew. I’m truly not that obsessed with the decade’s effects upon this body, I continue to take notice, to appreciate the days, the waning years as they take their toll, unescapable father time. I reevaluate what’s treasured, and of course, family is paramount. Precious photos in my faded albums, innocent, tender faces, the imprints etched deeply upon my heart. Those old albums are stored with easy access, staged for rescue from any disaster. Possessions are one thing, I’d relinquish them all, save for those memories stored in 3 x 3 images. I take some comfort in the fact that I live in the middle, New Mexico, far from rising oceans, oceans that possess too much melancholy for me personally. I ponder all of the ones that have passed on, try to make sense of loss and I must resign questions to fate, a conscious effort to let go and release those to the other side submitting to the seasons as trees shed their leaves transmogrifying back to the earth. What’s happened to my face, my body, tells the story of experience, the love, the laughter, the tears I speak gratefulness to the lumps and lines, the hues and patterns that weave history and memory together in one unique crazy quilt, blanketing my shoulders, wrapping it around absolving absorbing the imprint every single thread holds, the elegantly designed material of life resonant in wakening waves of understanding.  By Abbot Christian
Christ in the Desert Monastery The first thing that may surprise our families and friends about a Monastery Christmas is that we do not start decorating for the Solemnity until December 24th. No trees or decorations are visible in the church, refectory or corridors, inside or out, until the “Night Before Christmas.” Why is that? Christmastide technically begins, in the Catholic Liturgical Calendar, at First Vespers of Christmas, that is, the eventide of December 24th. By then, but not before, trees are decorated, lights are strewn, poinsettias are in place, and the festivities begin. Our Christmas celebrations on December 24th include significant time in church, chanting the Divine Offices of Vespers, then a little later, Christmas Vigils and culminating in the celebration of Midnight Mass, as December 24th turns into December 25th. After Mass the monks as well as our resident guests and visitors are treated to a festive breakfast (yes, at 1:30 am!), including scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, muffins and more, then off to rest for the monks and guests, and the visitors typically return to their homes, presumably to rest as well. On the morning of December 25th we pray the Office of Lauds and celebrate Mass of Christmas Day later in the morning, at 11:00 am. In the afternoon, after the Office of None (the Ninth Hour), we have our principal meal of the day, usually something quite special and delicious, though a surprise every year, and prepared by our monks, as are all our meals in the Monastery. While many people start taking down Christmas decorations and lights within a day or so after Christmas, we monks maintain the mood of comfort and joy which the Christmas Season always brings, for the succeeding “Twelve Days of Christmas.” We cannot be stopped or even slowed down, as we rejoice in the reality and mystery of God-with-us, Emmanuel, who has come that we might have life and have it in abundance. We suggest to all to consider the “monastery pattern” regarding the celebration of Christmas this year. It may take some adjusting to, but hopefully worth every minute of it, to celebrate with less commercialism, and place the emphasis on the true meaning and spirit of Christmas, when Christ entered time to bring us to eternity. Some wonderful words from the Norwegian-Danish novelist Sigrid Undset, who lived from 1882 to 1949, come to mind here: “And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans—and all that lives and moves upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused—and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself.”  ~Hilda Joy
We reshare this recipe from 2020 This recipe came to mind recently when a friend asked me if I remembered drinking gluhwein with her many years ago at Chicago’s annual December Christchild Market. Indeed, I do remember. I also remember enjoying salty warm pretzels and bratwurst. For several years, I made gluhwein at home and drank it out of the souvenir mug in which I first enjoyed its warmth at the frosty outdoor market, the largest in the world outside of Germany. Then one year, I dropped the mug, breaking it. Oh well, I can still enjoy the glowing warmth of gluhwein. Now in 2020, the Year of Covid-19, this wondrous fairytale market that has enchanted adults as well as children has gone virtual, like so many of the things we have perhaps taken for granted. Literally meaning ‘glowing wine,’ this German drink will give you a glow of warmth during the lengthening days leading to the Winter Solstice. Traditionally served at every outdoor Kriskindlmarkt (Christchild Market) that springs up during Advent in German and Austrian cities and towns, it also hits the spot indoors, especially in front of a roaring or glowing fire. Ingredients 1 bottle dry red wine, 750 ml and inexpensive 6 whole cloves 2 cinnamon sticks Optionally: 4 star anise pods 2 juniper berries 2 cardamom pods 1/4 cup sugar, brown or white 1 orange, sliced Directions Empty wine into a medium-sized saucepan set on medium heat. When wine is heated, add spices. Add sugar and stir until dissolved. Lower heat. Slice orange and cut each slice in half. Add slices to pot, simmering all for about 10 minutes At this point, gluhwein is ready to serve, but it could simmer for a longer period on very low heat to perfume one’s home with its sweet spicy aroma. EnJoy  Hebe Garcia sends in this recipe of Holiday Cheer
Coquito is a popular Christmas coconut rum nog traditionally served in Puerto Rico. This is my mother’s egg-free recipe which has an ice cream twist. Sprinkle with ground cinnamon or nutmeg and serve. Cheers! Prep Time: 10 minutes Additional Time: 8 hours Ingredients 1 (15 oz) can cream of coconut 1 (14 oz) can sweetened condensed milk 1 (12 oz) can evaporated milk 1 cup coconut-flavored rum ¼ cup water 1 scoop vanilla bean ice cream 1 tsp vanilla extract 2 cinnamon sticks 2 whole cloves 1 pinch ground cinnamon 1 pinch ground nutmeg Directions
Note: When I opened my News letter from Christ in the Desert I was immediately drawn to the essay "Chicago Christmas Carol". I'm from Chicago and my name is Carol. Shared with permission.  By Brother Chrysostom
The theme of this newsletter referenced community. While at the writers’ residency this summer I learned about flash fiction (a short story consisting of less than 1500 words). I wish to share with you a Christmas themed piece that showcases a community that I love and that shaped me, Chicago. I have learned as a monastic that it is what we bring from the communities that formed us to the monastery that creates the vibrancy of intimacy between monks. I hope the story achieves a threefold purpose: 1) sharing the fruits of a Creative Writing MFA with supporters of our Educational Appeal, 2) sharing Chicago with a wider audience, and 3) building a monastic community where art and letters complement evangelization. I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas. Aunt Jane is my mother’s older sister and my favorite aunt. Every early December after the first of the holiday specials--Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Santa Clause is Coming to Town--airs on ABC and CBS, Aunt Jane arranges for me and her to have our Chicago Christmas. It is late Sunday morning. Mom and Dad have gone to 8:00 am Mass at Our Lady of Peace. They let me sleep in. I miss Frisky. He had to be put to sleep three days ago because the vet told us that his problems wouldn’t get any better. I am a big boy. I can understand. I am almost ten years old and I can stay at home alone while my parents go to Mass three short blocks away. When they come home, I want to stay in bed. They will get me out of bed and rush me to get ready because Aunt Jane is coming over soon. I wash up quickly, put on my brown thick cord corduroy pants, my cordovan Buster Brown shoes, t-shirt, clean white collar shirt, and a crew neck sweater with bands of light brown and black. I make sure that my afro is neat and fluffy with my pick in front of the bathroom mirror. I hear the horn of Aunt Jane’s 1970 Blue Dodge Dart outside. Quick kisses and hugs from my mother and father and a rush to grab my loden coat, knit skull cap, scarf, and mittens heralds the metallic clang of the storm door closing behind me. I bound down the steps while humming the finale of A Charlie Brown Christmas. The soles of my Buster Brown shoes make scuffed tracks in the thin layer of snow to the back door of Aunt Jane’s car. No sooner do I close the door and kiss the back of her neck, which has the chemical smell of the relaxer that her hairdresser uses, than the car is gliding down our neighborhood toward Lake Shore Drive. We are going downtown. Downtown! Snowmen, nutcrackers, and Santas populate the front yards of the neat bungalows we pass along the way. Strings of lights outline doorways and wrap around exterior ferns and trees. The lights excite me, but I know that the lights on State Street are better. Aunt Jane finds parking easily on Madison Avenue and we get out of the car and walk a block or so to St Peter’s Catholic Church. Aunt Jane works for Catholic Charities downtown and attends Mass here most mornings before starting her work day. She loves this church with its high ceilings. The Franciscans in their brown robes and knotted rope belts and sandals are happy to see us. She likes the Franciscans, too. We make it in time for Mass. There are no Christmas decorations. The outside world with lights and decorations doesn’t know that Christmas is still a week and days away. They don’t care. They are going to have Christmas before the baby Jesus even comes at Midnight Mass! I kneel down before Mass and say a prayer for Frisky. One of the Franciscan priests comes over and hugs Aunt Jane as I pray. I want to ask him if dogs go to heaven, but I don’t. After Mass we file out of church into the cold with some other people and make our way to Marshall Fields & Company. I can read street signs. We take a left down Clark Street and then up Washington Street. Aunt Jane wants to show me the Picasso in Daley Plaza. It reminds me of a dragon, but the large Christmas tree close by makes it less scary. The large jutting clocks on the corner of the Marshall Fields & Company department store look so heavy. I don’t want them to crush me. The illuminated faces on the clock have hands that mean something to me. I can tell time. It was 12:20 pm. We pass through a heavy revolving door into a Christmas palace. A large Christmas tree higher than my house stands in the middle of the store. Gold, silver, red, and blue bulbs hang off branches. There are also rocking horses, tin soldiers, teddy bears, clowns, elves, and other presents decorating the biggest Christmas tree I have ever seen. Aunt Jane holds my hand tightly and we wind through the cosmetic section, the chocolate section, and the handbag section to one of the many wooden escalators that will take us up to the Walnut Room. We pass my favorite floor, the 4th floor, that has toys. But, I don’t care. There is a long wait in line to eat lunch. My legs are getting tired, but we are finally seated at a table next to the top of the huge Christmas tree that we saw when we first came in. A model train is making its way around a track above our heads. We order hamburgers which came with special French fries that were almost like fat potato chips. I don’t like my hamburger because the bun has butter on the inside. “Herbert, eat your hamburger, the butter is supposed to make it moist,” Aunt Jane said. I eat my hamburger, but I want a McDonald’s Quarter Pounder with cheese. After lunch, Aunt Jane goes shopping in the ladies’ section which goes up several floors. I ask if I could go to the 4th floor and look at the toys. Aunt Jane agrees, but tells me to wait for her down there. I have fun looking at the space ships and castles. The large die cast toy cars are my favorite. Buried within the mound of Gund animals of different sizes is a dog that looked like Frisky. I like it. But I want a real dog. I so hope Santa would bring me the Batmobile with the launching rockets that I want. When we leave Marshall Fields & Company the large three faced clock on the corner of Randolph and State reads 3:30 pm. As the sky grows darker and the Christmas lights along State Street grow brighter, Aunt Jane and I join the procession of Christmas window gazers who joyfully file by animated windows of Christmas scenes for the next five blocks. Large department stores like Carson Pirie Scot, Sears, Montgomery Ward, Wiebolt’s, and Goldblatt’s each Christmas season deck their windows with Santas, reindeer, snowmen, and elves. Aunt Jane who is much taller than I sees it before I do. She puts her hands on the shoulders of my loden coat and leads me through the crowd closer to the corner of the store. At the last Marshall Fields & Company window before crossing Washington Street to Carson’s, there was a winter wonderland scene with children ice skating, throwing snowballs, and sledding down hills. In the corner of the snow scene is a lone boy and a dog playing catch. The boy doesn’t look like me at all, he has yellow blonde hair, but the dog looks just like Frisky! I smile at Aunt Jane and she hugs me. Hark the Herald Angels Sing is playing on a speaker at Carson Pirie Scot across the street. Snow is coming down. Aunt Jane takes my hand and leads me away from the Frisky in the window. She knows that Santa would have Max, a small wirehaired terrier puppy, under my Christmas tree soon.  One of the best things about our traditional American Thanksgiving dinner is the choice of leftovers and the creative uses to which such leftovers can be put. Thanksgiving evening, shortly after we think, “I can’t eat another thing,” we may find ourselves heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge to see what would make a quick snack. For me, that is usually a leftover biscuit split in half, dabbed with mayo, and filled with a small piece of cold turkey and topped with a spoonful of cranberry sauce.
My favorite leftover, however, is Turkey Carcass Soup. Making it also clears out the fridge a bit. Though not as rich as a traditional bone broth because the turkey bones have given up most of their goodness during the roasting process, this soup is satisfying because of the addition of fresh vegetables, frozen corn, and wild rice. It became even more filling the year I decided to make croutons from leftover stuffing. The morning after Thanksgiving, while the Turkey Carcass Soup was simmering gently on the stove, perfuming the whole house, and working up appetites for lunch, I was rearranging the fridge. “What can I do with all this leftover stuffing?” I wondered. I transferred it to a large rectangular baking dish and baked it until crisp and cut it into small squares to top the soup. Ever since, these croutons have been part of this soup recipe, which I hope you will try this Thanksgiving. A New Mexico friend—when she lived on a small farm in Michigan—threw a star-gazing party most every August during the Persied Meteor Showers. Friends from several states would arrive in campers and trucks loaded with food. One year, three turkeys were brought—my smoked turkey, a roasted turkey, and one made on site on a Weber grill. After a long, sumptuous outdoor feast and lots of oohs and aahs as we watched the meteors, several women gathered in the farm-house kitchen and began stripping the turkey carcasses of meat, and all during the night a large stock pot simmered with turkey bones and meat and lots of vegetables. The first person to waken was expected to enter the kitchen and turn on the huge coffee pot already filled with water and coffee. As I crawled out of my pup tent, I realized I was the only person there to see the sun rise. Walking up the steps to the kitchen, I was overwhelmed with the smell of turkey carcass soup. Sometimes I think I can still smell it. Yes, I know I can! Ingredients dressing (stuffing) left over from turkey dinner butter 3 tablespoons salt 1 tablespoon black pepper 2 tablespoons sage 10 cups cold water 1 large onion, diced 1/2 stalk of celery, diced and including leaves 1 handful of flat-leaf parsley leaves, chopped 6 large carrots, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch ‘sticks’ carcass of 1 roasted turkey, stripped of meat 1 cup wild rice, rinsed and drained 3 cups water 1/2 teaspoon salt the diced, left-over turkey cooked wild rice 1 cup frozen corn flat-leaf parsley, chopped baked dressing croutons Directions
EnJOY by Jessica Rath It saves energy. It uses less electricity because it doesn’t emit much heat; plus, foods are cooked much faster than in an oven. It saves calories. Deep-fried foods need several cups of oil, air frying takes just a teaspoon; sometimes a little more. It saves time. A conventional oven has to be preheated; by the time the oven is ready the meal in the air fryer is already cooked. Plus, it’s convenient because you can leave it and let it do its thing; it’s easy to clean; food cooks quickly so nutrients tend to be retained; and you can use it to reheat leftovers and thaw frozen food. Here are some recipes to get you started:
Preparation: Cut the tofu and place in a medium bowl. Crumble it, either using your fingers or a fork. Add soy sauce and other ingredients except olive oil and cheese, mix thoroughly, and let rest. Prepare the mushrooms: wipe the caps with a moist paper towel; normally, that’s all it takes to remove dust and dirt. Remove the stems and save them for soup stock or stir-fry. Using a teaspoon, gently scrape off the black gills from the mushroom caps. Make sure you don’t create nicks or cracks in the rim. Brush the caps with a bit of olive oil and set them cap-side down on a plate. Divide the stuffing mixture evenly between the mushrooms, pressing it down gently so they are full but not overflowing. Top with vegan cheese. Place the mushrooms into the basket of your air fryer. Set the temperature to 375 F and fry for 10 minutes. Increase temperature to 400 F and fry for another 3 - 5 minutes, until the cheese has browned.
Preparation: Wash the potatoes, scrub them with a vegetable brush, and pat dry. You don’t have to peel them if the skin is thin but remove any spots. Cut them into half and then into wedges about ¼” thick. Rinse in cold water to remove starch, then dry well with paper towels. Toss with olive oil, salt, and spices. Place into the airfryer in roughly one even layer. Fry at 375 F for 10 minutes. Shake them, increase temperature to 400 F, and fry for another 10 minutes.
Preparation:
Cut the tofu into ¼” cubes and place in a medium bowl. Add soy sauce and let it stand for about 10 minutes, tossing the tofu a few times so that the soy sauce soaks in evenly. Strain the tofu, reserve the soy sauce for another dish. Then coat the tofu evenly with the nutritional yeast. Place into the airfryer, one even layer, and fry at 400 F for 10 minutes. Shake once or twice in between.  Greg Lewandowski See Greg's Photography online The Ojitos trail can be found 8 miles down 151 off of 84. This is the monastery road. Be cautious on 151 there are very sharp switch backs and plenty of opportunity to slide off the road. Just at 8 miles on the left is a small parking are with some forestry boards up with info about the area. Skull bridge is also right there. On the right is the tailhead (TH). There is a pole marker near the TH. It’s a narrow trail and starts off uphill over rocky terrain. This is part of the Continental Divide Trail. It is well traveled and well maintained. There are no forks to worry about. Watch for switchbacks. As you hike up you will begin to see over your shoulder excellent views of the Chama River Valley, part of the Chama River Wilderness. I stopped frequently to take in these majestic views. The trail goes through a few clearings, some narrow uphill spots and always rocky. After about 2 miles you will go through a forested area. Quite lovely with the light through the trees as it hits the trail. After 4 miles you will have reached the top of the ridge where the trail flattens out. You will have climbed 1600 feet of elevation in 4 miles. On the top are more majestic views of the valley. I hiked another 2 miles before turning back. I found the top of the ridge to be a great spot for a backpacking trip. The morning and evening light on the red rock walls and the river would make for some great photos. I would rate this to be a moderately difficult hike. It took me about 7 hours and I covered close to 12 miles. Prep Hiking poles Sturdy hiking boots Although this is a day hike it is still a wilderness hike and I always carry appropriate equipment A search and rescue device, I use Garmin inReach. A GPS, I use the Gaia app on my iPhone. It will track me back if I get off the trail and I save the trail on my unit. I took 2L of water although I didn’t use it all I always pack a head lamp. Be safe and enjoy our wilderness area.        Young people just don’t read books anymore. This must be truth, because I hear it from plenty of old people who must know exactly what young people do with their spare time. They then proceed to walk away from me without buying any of the books I’m selling.
I cannot promise that these old people are the same old people who gape at young people who don’t own televisions. But I can promise they are the same old people who drove the young people off Facebook fifteen years ago. Granted, there are solid cases to be made for the decline of reading. Take me, for instance. Me getting published anywhere at all on a regular basis suggests heavily that no one reads anymore, regardless of age. Unless it’s the birds and gerbils whose cages get lined by my work. The US Census Bureau does not track such things, but if they did, I suspect they would find more people light fires with my work than read any single piece from start to middle. But I am just one man. I can produce only so much writing—as much as half a man, or perhaps a quarter. There are dozens more people like me out there, each of us struggling to craft the perfect cup of tea. Some of them are actually succeeding in writing back-cover copy for other people’s books well enough to get them banned. Banned, I tell you! And by people you KNOW don’t read. Now I can’t articulate exactly why it is okay to start a fire with my junk published in a newspaper, but abominable to start a fire with a book. Nor can I explain why burning a book is worse than banning, because it isn’t, other than in a matter of degrees. (Most bannings, for instance, take place at room temperature.) All I know is that if I can’t stop people from condemning books to the ol’ burn-n-ban, dammit, I want them to condemn my work too. Because that is the SUREST way to get someone to read it. Or at least to buy it—can’t burn it if you don’t got it. Frankly, I can’t figure out why I haven’t had more books banned, aside from the fact that I haven’t written very many. I am always game to “punch up,” as comedy experts say—to take a swing at The Man, the powers-that-be, particularly if I think they are unlikely to read it. Take the old people who think young people don’t ready anymore. I’m pretty certain they read only the Wall Street Journal and/or the CNN crawl, neither of which has picked me up for syndication (yet). I can “punch up” because their horses are so high, and most especially because they don’t know I exist. But I will refrain from punching anyone, old or young, up or down, because I have faith in humanity. I was recently in attendance at a party for adults, in honor of a kid’s ninth birthday. I hung out with the kid, mostly because they had Legos, but also because I made a day-long commitment when I asked what they’ve been reading. I learned—in greater detail than the original text—about their current favorite book series, which I’m pretty certain involved a kid and most definitely dragons and the kid had bullies and also sisters (which were maybe the same people) and these other people also had dragons who weren’t allowed in the apartment complex which was a problem because CLEARLY you cannot keep your dragons OUTDOORS, especially on a day like THIS, and you don’t even understand how cool the main character’s clothing is, which she makes herself with the dragon’s keen fashion sense guiding her, but the other dragons don’t appreciate the chic bent to apartment D-3, so they bond together to wipe out both the main character and her dragon, and it’s possible the lines bled between the book series and the Lego village we were touring together while enduring the synopsis, but you get the gist and also I evaded conversations about the stock market so it was a real win-win. This: this is the greatest hope I have for the future. I’m pretty certain we’re all going to die in an overheated, ever-erratic climate like that time I forgot banana bread was in the oven. But until that happens, kids and other young people will keep reading, and bookstore sales will continue to climb so long as we have trees to make books and zealots to spike book sales by banning books. I just hope some of them are mine. |
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