Christmas ornaments and the sounds of the holiday season...

In the tender embrace of Christmas, where melodies weave tales of joy and merriment, there lies a poignant truth. While the season whispers promises of warmth, for many, it unfolds as a tapestry of heartache and teardrops. I, too, have danced amidst these contrasting notes, a symphony of emotions that once harmonized within the span of a single day. The exhaustion of navigating through these varied hues has etched Christmas into my soul—a season where, at times, retreat seemed the only solace, a sanctuary from a world adorned in festive cheer.

Yet, amidst the echoes of my past, a gentle transformation unfolds in the simplicity of this year's Christmas with my beloved spouse. Our tree, adorned not with extravagant embellishments, but with the fragments of our journey since the inception of our love story, stands as a testament to resilience. Each ornament, a vessel of memories, carries a story, some written in the ink of moments I yearn to erase. Still, within those shadows, I discovered the alchemy of becoming a better version of myself—a person, I believe, MorMor and Abuela would gaze upon with pride.

In the soft glow of our modest Christmas, the ornaments shimmer not only with the sparkle of festive lights but with the radiance of transformation. It is a quiet celebration, where the depth of our shared history intertwines with the promise of a brighter future. As we stand beneath the branches heavy with tales, I find solace in the realization that, despite the hardships, I have emerged stronger, and Christmas, once a complex melody, now plays a simpler, more harmonious tune.

This is one of the oldest sets of ornaments we put on our Christmas tree each year. This time he hung them as I asked, "Could you please have them hold hands this year?"

These tiny sweaters hold a special place in our home, not just for their cozy threads but for the memories woven into every stitch. Acquired in the quiet aftermath of Christmas during a Target sale, they symbolize a time when our resources were scant, yet our hearts were rich in resilience.

This was given to us the year that Annie passed away. 

Our friends found it at a store in Leavenworth, WA.

Back then, our modest means were pooled in a change drawer, collecting every penny and dime we could spare. Curious about their age, I turned to my husband. His eyes narrowed, focusing on these miniature garments as if deciphering the passage of time. "I think those are over 20 years old," he declared. If my memory serves me right, that aligns with the year I faced the challenges of a hysterectomy, navigating through school with sheer determination.

When we moved to Idaho we planted a large garden and then the ladybugs moved in. They would sometimes sit on my lap as I drank my morning coffee outside. We loved seeing them every morning.

It was also the same year when, against the odds, we found ourselves amid the pristine beauty of Wallace Falls. On a day when my pain levels allowed, we engaged in a spontaneous snowball fight, the laughter echoing against the backdrop of nature's serenity. Seeking warmth, we later cozied up with hot cocoa at a humble truck stop. Amidst the hushed tales of others, we sat in shared silence, a language only understood by hearts entwined.

Hallie was still alive when Kevin purchased this in a small store in Idaho. Nutmeg came home to us that year. We miss Hallie more than anyone can know. I cried when I hung this on the tree this year.

It was a year marked by tears outnumbering smiles, making each fleeting grin a treasure. In those moments, the weight of challenges illuminated the value of joy, and these little sweaters, snug with stories, stand as a testament to a time when every smile, no matter how scarce, was cherished like a precious gem.

As this moment unfolds, allow me to share a bit of auntie wisdom, as aunties often do. Take a journey into the corridors of your memories, my dear, and hold onto the good times like a cherished heirloom. Picture yourself in the years to come, an old soul regaling tales with your grandkids, relishing those treasured moments that time can never steal.

I once picked my husband up from a designated spot post-hike. He had come face-to-face with a bear who was nonplussed by his presence. We found this ornament that year.

And amidst the rush of life, pause to gaze at the lights that adorn the neighborhoods around you. Let their warm glow be a balm to your spirit, allowing the feelings of joy and care to seep deep into your soul. These lights, like the stars in a timeless sky, illuminate the beauty woven into the fabric of your existence.

During COVID we were told to shelter in our homes in Washington State. As we all retreated the wildlife that had originally inhabited our area returned. This included a spotted owl that took refuge in our apple tree. Kevin found this ornament online.

As you move forward, tread with the awareness that every smile, no matter how fleeting, holds significance. Likewise, honor every tear, for it speaks to the depth of your emotions. Life is a tapestry woven with threads of both joy and sorrow, and in embracing both, you paint a richer, more profound canvas. So, my dear, journey forth with a heart attuned to the symphony of emotions, knowing that each note, whether of happiness or sorrow, contributes to the melody of a life well-lived.

Love,

Auntie Cheena

Well, here we go again. Puff pastry and healing go together.

 There are times when everything is going so well. Nothing in the world can stop me! Then the World raises its hand, and I say, "Yes, World. What would you like to add to this discussion?" There is a smirk from the World. This is not uncharacteristic, so I do not notice how evil the smirk is. Then the World answers with more adversity than I can possibly handle. I should have chosen to stick to my practice of not accepting raised hands in the classroom. WHERE IN THE HELL ARE THE POPSICLE STICKS?! I heard my mind scream and did not respond.

Do you know who answers the World now? My loving marriage, quiet home, family, friends, and golden retrievers answer the World with, "We've got this!" The World repeatedly tried tearing me down, and my support system raised its hands and paws. I called on them, and they answered! 

The truth is I also called in reinforcements...my psychologist. I have names for him, but I normally call him my "copay friend." If you are a therapist, DO NOT be offended. My mental health has been tenuous my entire life. Actually, that is putting it lightly. I call him my "copay friend" because I need to make this mental health professional less of a threat to my mind. Sound dramatic? It is. When you have led a life filled with trauma you need a therapist who feels less threatening to your heart and mind. So this is how I do this. I call him my "copay friend."

My family health history is rife with mental illness. I am careful to make all of my appointments. I am not late; if I cannot make it, I will reschedule immediately. If a doctor wants to do an assessment, I say yes. I want to make sure I am well, and I am. Do you do this? Do you have a copay friend? I highly recommend this!

So what happened? Two seizures within 72 hours caused me to split my lip wide open, and a bump on my head that we think was caused by hitting my head on the metal headboard. Got a joke or smirk for that one? Yeah. The World does too. As well as a crude acquaintance, I will take a break from seeing or speaking to. Judge if you will, but having friends in your life should not require a hazmat suit to be around them.

So how did that happen? Stress. Lots of Stress and a missed dose of medication amongst the timeline of stress. 

So what now? I have set alarms on my phone, and he has set alarms on his phone so that I do not miss a dose of medication. I gave notice at my job because I cannot drive 2 hours a day according to WA state law. The union had to help me with that. I am finishing some prerequisites for my Ph.D. and hoping to find a job closer to home.

So will this keep happening? It might. It might not. I have epilepsy. It will never go away. I cannot tell the future. I sure wish I could, though?

In response to all of this, I have been cooking and baking. Some of it has been terrible, but this one was FABULOUS.

You need:

Preheat the oven to the temperature indicated on the puff pastry box.

Puff pastry from Trader Joe's or a local bakery. Defrost them. Cut them into squares. This has 2 sleeves in the box, so it made quite a few. Cut them to the size you desire.

A jar of jam. My favorite jam is the one we make every year. This year it was strawberry rhubarb.

One tablespoon of powdered sugar waiting in a sif

A bag of frozen spinach, defrosted, and all of the liquid squeezed out

The zest of one medium-sized lemon

The juice of that same lemon

One lightly beaten large egg for the filling. Get the pasture-raised if you can and if you live in the country, drive around to see who sells them by their front door.

One large egg with a teaspoon of water lightly beaten in a separate bowl.

For the jam-filled pastry:

Set the pastry squares on a silpat or parchment paper

Put one tablespoon of jam in the center and spread diagonally. I used 2 tablespoons. You choose! 

Pull up opposite ends of the pastry, pinch them together tightly, and roll the ends over. I did not pinch well. You can tell.

Brush with the egg wash around the pastry.

Bake for approximately 25-30 minutes. Check that puff pastry box for timing. Mine is an all-butter puff pastry. If yours is not, the timing may change.

The pastry should be medium brown and crisp to the touch when removed.

Let it cool, and then dust it with powdered sugar. Enjoy these with French-pressed coffee.

For the savory filled pastry:

Mix the spinach, lemon zest, lemon juice, feta, and egg together. Season with a pinch of kosher salt.

Fill the center of the puff pastry with the filling and spread diagonally. I like mine full of filling. It was about 3 or 4 tablespoons worth. 

Pull up opposite ends of the pastry, pinch them together tightly, and roll the ends over. I did not pinch well. You can tell.

Brush with the egg wash around the pastry.

Bake for approximately 25-30 minutes. Check that puff pastry box for timing. Mine is an all-butter puff pastry. If yours is not, the timing may change.

The pastry should be medium brown and crisp to the touch when removed.

Let them cool, and then serve with a mixed green salad. We use a balsamic vinaigrette. We also drink a lemon San Pellegrino with lots of ice.

My husband reheats these in the convection oven. He also likes the jam-filled pastry with a slice of cold manchego cheese for tea time. I get it if you do not have tea time in your home. Who really has the time? Just eat it on the go!

Auntie Cheena

Hope...it's what we all have...or at least I thought so.

I wonder at times what could have happened if events in my life would have been different.  There is a river near my home that I stand beside and simply watch it swirl.  In those moments, where I stand and stare, I ask questions and sometimes daydream about a different life. The bark of a dog or the laughter of others on the trail bring me back to myself.

Hallie Jean Ayres, age 9

Life has dealt me a few blows.  Many of you know what has occurred over the last few years, but if you are new to this blog then you may need to be filled in.  I have been having seizures for years. The seizures use to come once or twice a year.  Then they became like Gremlins.  Someone got the seizures wet or fed them after midnight because I had 13 seizures in a single week. What was once considered partial complex seizure disorder is now being called epilepsy. All thanks to a steel toe boot to the head and being tossed through a window.

I often get questions like:
Who would do such a thing?
How did you get through that?
What are you going to do now?

It has been 9 months since my last seizure.  The questions have stopped.  The seizures have stopped...thanks to a wonderfully expensive medication.  

On this day that means so much to so many, I must say that I no longer answer those questions the way I did in the past.  Now that I am safe, loved, and cared for I say things like:
It doesn't matter.  It happened and now I must deal with seizures.
I didn't.  I got help.  Asking for help is what put me on the road to getting better.
I am going to take my medication and take care of myself.  I am going to be grateful for every seizure free day I have.

Happy Father's day to all of you who make sure your children are safe, cared for, and loved.  Seeing all of you gives me...hope.

Athena

Being home...

Being home full time has had more than a few challenges. Our latest debacle involved another trip to the hospital due to a concussion as a result of a seizure next to a table. Such is life right now. I begin projects often and then abandon them because I am exhausted, fighting side effects to medications, or just feeling plain defeated. So now I have decided, after all of these years, that it is time to tell my story.

The story of the life I have lead is difficult to tell, let alone get down onto paper. So below I am posting where I decided to begin this story. Maybe people will want to read it. Maybe they will not, but one thing has been clear as I have sat down daily to write. This life lead me here. To a life where I deal with seizures, nightmares, and memories that would make a normal person freeze in place. It is time I write this story because in spite of it all I have people who love me. As my spouse recently put it, "You have now spent more of your life in a safe and loving environment than in your previous life. I think it's time."

I was surprised where I began this story, but here it is for you to read and for me to heal.

Safe and Sound

Prologue

He crossed his left leg over the right and leaned toward me. His sweater looked itchy and hot to be in.  The office was warm and it made me think he may be hot. It was not him. It was me. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest and the rush of blood was in my ears. It felt as if the room was boiling hot.

“Athena?  Did you hear me?” he asked fervently.  I looked up and I thought he looked scared.

“Yes.  I heard you.  I’m sorry. I feel sick right now.  Did you ask me what caused me to remember?”  He nodded. Up until that point in time I had remembered little to nothing of my life.  Then it happened. “We were standing in hallway of our new home. My husband turned the lock of a door and it echoed through the whole house.  The next thing I knew I heard screaming and he was trying to get me to stop. It was me. I realized that I was screaming.”

I began to rock back and forth on the couch.  The doctor stood up and said he would return in a second.  He came back with another doctor. He came back with a female psychiatrist. There was talking, water, a small pill and then the rocking stopped.  They told me I needed to continue.

I breathed deep.  I smoothed the dress I was in.  I pulled on the pearls around my neck.  I shook my head. They urged me to continue.

“I thought I was seven years old and that he had found me.  He had his hands around my throat. I was losing consciousness.  Only I wasn’t really seven years old at that moment. I am 35 and I was in my very first home.  It was only a lock. Since then the memories have not stopped. They keep coming in and they do not ask permission.  Not only that , but they have REALLY BAD TIMING. Can we stop?” There was a nod in agreement between the doctors. We sat in silence as a small, mahogany clock clicked keeping time against the wall. I breathed in, turning my head to the bay of window that displayed the ivy on the hill just outside. Birds flitted in and out of the branches of the evergreens situated above the ivy.  Free. It was what I thought as I watched them They are free and now it is my turn. “What happens now that I do not have control of my emotions or my own mind any longer?” I looked at both of them for answers.

The female doctor stated, “We are not sure. But did you notice you are referring to these memories as ‘they’? These are memories and are not identified as a person.”

Angry.  I was angry.  I was good at angry.  All other emotions confused me, but I knew I was angry. “These memories are mine.  They are alive. They march in and out of my mind. They are controlling my emotions and changing my entire life.  They are a THEY!”

He looked over at me and sighed heavily. There were tears in his eyes.  I began to wonder what kind of doctor cries. As the female doctor moved toward the seat next to me, he began to speak.  “We will need to see you at least twice a week. You will meet with Dr. Norris once a week to begin medication for the depression and insomnia you are struggling with.  We will do a therapy called EMDR. Athena?,” he implored me for my attention. His hands clasped together in front of his small frame, a look of concern wrinkled his brow.  “This will be painful. This will hurt,” he stated his concern and waited for me to respond.

There was silence.  You could hear all three of us breathing.  I was staring out the bank of windows where I continued to see the birds that were free. The sun broke through the clouds, blinding me momentarily, bringing warmth to my face and causing the free birds to sing unexpectedly.  I turned to them, “I want to do this but I have a question.”

“We may not have the answer,” Dr. Norris replied.

“I know you may not but I still have to ask,” I replied turning toward her kind face that carried a look of worry.  “ Will I recognize myself when this is over? Will this change me? I have become very good at being me. I have things in place that make being me easier.  Will I recognize who I am when this is over?”

He sighed again.  He sighed a lot in the years to come. Come to think of it, so did she. It was never out of exasperation, I recall.  It was more out of a release of pain and empathy.The memories, the things I told them were painful for anyone to hear.  They were painful to remember and to say. Even years later, this is the case. “It is possible that the answer will be yes.  It is more likely that the answer will be no. You may look in the mirror one day and wonder who you are looking at. There is freedom in this, Athena.  Can you imagine being free?”

A grey bird, with a brown crown and black tipped wings landed on the window sill.  We took an account of each other. It’s tiny face turned and tilted. It suddenly took flight….free.

It truly felt as if my answer took hours to come out of me.  In truth, it took seconds. When I heard my answer I felt shocked, “We should get started.  When can I see you next?”

Peace, warmth, and an apple

I have been on a search for things that make my heart and mind calm.  There is little in this world today, as many of you can attest, that fit this description. It is sad but true.  So I have decided to not look outside of my own home for this and to look at what our hands have wrought.  Gardening continues to be the balm in Gilead. Right now the topic of conversation in our home often centers around apples.

You read that correctly.  Apples.

Not politics.  Not religion.  Not family.

Apples.

Apples are dripping from the tree in the yard.  

We have had to prop the branches up with poles this year.

I found myself staring down pounds of apples on my kitchen counter recently.

There was only one answer. It was time for our version of baked apples.

This is simple and requires only a few ingredients. This can also be easily made with your kiddos. Just remember that you do the cutting of the apples and they can do the measuring and mixing.

You will need...

5 pounds of an apple of your choice.  Wash, cut into cubes, and place in a mixing bowl.
1/2 cup of brown sugar
1/4 cup of cane or white sugar
2 teaspoons of Baking spice or even just a mix of cinnamon and ginger of your liking
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
The juice if 1/2 of a lemon
The juice of 1/2 of an orange
1/2 cup of raisins slightly rehydrated in hot water and then drained
1 cup of old fashioned oats


Whipping cream or ice cream to top a bowl full when it is all done.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.  Grease a baking pan with high sides or a simple 8x8 aluminum pan would work.

Mix all of the ingredients, except the cream, together in a bowl and then place into the baking pan.  Bake in the oven for 45 minutes or until the mixture is slightly bubbly and hot.  Here is how lovely it looks when it comes out of the oven...

I highly recommend a cup of tea while you wait.  You can just see mine in the corner.

Now here are some tips...

1. We buy baking spice from Penzeys Spices.

2. We also make our own vanilla extract, but use what you have! If you want to know how to make your own vanilla extract click here.

3. Some of you may want to have this bubble in a similar way as an apple crisp, but this is not intended to be the same. There is no flour or cornstarch in this recipe.  In fact, depending on the oats you buy, this could be gluten free!

4. Feel free to add nuts and even change the type of dried fruit in the recipe.

Last but not least, try talking about apples.  You will be surprised what this brings up in the memories of those you know and love and it just might be the peace you need in this very crazy world.

Auntie Cheena

I am safe. I am loved. I am cared for.

There are some things that I need in my home and this is one of them...

Frequently I will hear things from cooks or chefs on social media about the evils of mixes.  They espouse how easy it is to make pancake or waffle batter.  They state that I do not need these types of things and can simply store 8 types of flour in my pantry.

That might be true but I have issues....deep ones.  They start and end with a life where we did not always know where our food was coming from or if we would even have any available to us.  I also had no idea how to cook when food was around.  So I once asked someone what to do.  That someone was MorMor and she made these...

My husband calls them grandma cakes.  They are made from the Bob's Red Mill pancake and waffle mix.  MorMor was a World War II bride who eventually became a single mom.  She made a similar mix herself when she was young, but once someone gave her this she stopped.  Here is what she adds that is NOT in the recipe...

The zest of one orange

Homemade vanilla extract

I think it is good to mention that MorMor loved me.  She is gone and probably spending her time with Abuela, who went home many years after MorMor.  MorMor showed me how to grocery shop and placed this mix in my basket the first time we went to the grocery store.  She said, "This is quick but healthy. You need healthy, Athena. You need this to start your day and make you full.  This way you will not be scared throughout your day. He told me about when you were little. I am sorry about all of that, but now we need to fill you up with love and how-to. It will help. It may not fix it all, but it will help. Now let's get some eggs."  She walked away using her cane as I held back my tears.

When she was alive she taught me how to choose eggs.  She believed brown eggs were better and that you needed extra large eggs to make baked goods taste best.  Now my eggs in the fridge look like this...

They come from a local farm and the loveliest farmer I have ever met!  She often lets me come pet the sheep, peer at chickens, laugh as the kittens frolic, and listen to the pigs snort.

MorMor would have loved seeing this all happen.  She had a full victory garden, a few chickens, and skills that always put food on her table.  Her daughters survived on that garden and her no nonsense ways. She taught me everything she could when we were together, but she started with Grandma Cakes. I think you should start here too.  It may not fix everything but it WILL help.  Here is what you will need...

2 cups of Bob's Red Mill 10 grain pancake mix

2 eggs

1 3/4 cups of milk or water

The zest of 1 orange

2 TBsp of a flavorless oil

1 TBsp of vanilla extract

MorMor always insisted that we separate the eggs and whip the whites until they were stiff.

Separate the eggs

Add the oil and the vanilla to the yolks and whisk them together

Whisk the egg whites until stiff and they can hold a peak at the end of your whisk

The dry mix was always sifted to make it lighter...in MorMor's humble opinion.

Sift 2 cups of the mix into a bowl

See how fluffy it looks!!

Zest one orange and remember not get any of the white pith. Place it in the bowl with the dry ingredients

Wet ingredients were whisked together and then folded into the dry mix with the orange zest.

Add the yolk mixture and mix the milk in slowly using the whisk until all of this is incorporated.

The pancake batter will look slightly runny.

Then and only then was I allowed to fold in the egg whites.

Add 1/2 of the egg whites and fold them in until they are completely incorporated.  Then do the same with the other half.  You will have some white streaks in the batter.

This is important because it lightens the pancake just a little.  I can still hear MorMor telling me, "Be patient. Do not over mix it. Look at the food.  It takes time and you will not be hungry."  Hunger is not a word I liked hearing.  I feared it and MorMor was on a mission to change that.

I usually cook one of these at a time in a ceramic pan, but if I can cooking for a crown I use a cast iron griddle.  Use a 1/2 cup scoop of batter into a pan heated on medium heat with melted butter.

See those bubbles on the edge?

See how they look set?

It's time to flip! Now I wish I had a shot of this but a husband came in and I completely forgot!  I do have this shot for you though...

Leave them on this side for only 2 minutes.  Then stack them in a receptacle that will keep them warm.

There are many things you can add to these.  MorMor added blueberries from her backyard.  In the winter should would soak oats in milk and add them.  She NEVER used syrup on these.  They were always slathered with butter and homemade jam. I add frozen fruit, stir in apple sauce swirls, or even add the jam to the batter.

Our homemade strawberry jam made from berries grown in our front yard

Keep them in the fridge.  You can heat them in the oven or the toaster.  If there is fruit added to them, such as blueberries, skip the toaster.  I have heard you can reheat them in the microwave.  I am not certain how that will go because we do not use ours as a true microwave.  We put our bread dough to rise in there and that is about it.  I truly think you will enjoy these!

I must add one more thing...

MorMor....I miss you terribly. I do know that I am safe. I am loved. I am cared for.  I hope you know that too.

Athena

Being pruned hurts...

Do you know what these are?

A mason bee outside its home in Duvall, WA

Sorry about the fuzziness of the photo but this was one busy bee! This is a native bee referred to as a Mason bee.  We love them.  One Mason bee does the job of multiple honey bees and the males do not have stingers. 

Mason bee cocoons

Every year we collect the cocoons from the tubes you can see in the photos and store them in the refrigerator.  When spring arrives we place them back outside to hatch. However, long before that we must do something that will help them.  We must prune back flowering trees and shrubs to help create the energy needed for them to produce flowers in the spring.

Have you ever been "pruned"? Don't argue too much and just breathe deep to think for a moment.  I know it might sound like a ridiculous question, but think about your life.  Try and remember a time when God chose to prune you. (Or whatever you believe in.  Maybe you believe life did it and not a being of any sort.)  

Pruned branch of a blueberry bush

The reality is that it hurts like hell.  It makes no sense.  All you know is that one minute your heart and mind were whole and the next minute a piece is missing.  You liked that piece of you.  It may not have been the best part of you, but it was still a part of you.  The next thing you know it is pruned away and you are hurt. This time when it happened to me I was SO ANGRY!!!

Pruned branch of a hydrangea bush that is 

surrounded by new growth.

As a gardener, I actually flinch when I prune a portion of a plant.  There are times when I have to prune even healthy branches so that the plant can grow healthier in the future.  It makes no sense when I say it, type it, or read it.  It makes even less sense when it is happening to my own heart and mind.  This time I believe I am becoming accustomed to what remains now that I have been "pruned." All I can do is hope for Spring, because then I see the result of the pruning.

So what do we do now? Now that we have been "pruned."  Personally I am awaiting my own personal spring.  My heart aches but I know this is temporary. Regrowth and healing are on the horizon.  This I truly believe.  With a little help...

For now I have a little recipe for you to try while you enjoy the warmth and sunshine where you are.  A friend recently asked for my recipe for taco meat.  I know it doesn't quite go with the theme of this blog entry, but when friends ask for something that will make them feel even a little bit better I try my best to respond.  She was pruned recently and feels like a Taco Tuesday will help...even if only a little.

For the rice:

1 cup long grain white rice (no matter how tempted you are do not use Basmati rice here.  It is too floral in flavor and scent.)

2 cups of a vegetable or chicken broth

1 Tbsp of tomato paste

1 Tbsp canola or vegetable oil

1 clove pressed garlic

1 tsp onion powder

In a large sauce-pan heat the oil and then add the rice.  Cook until the rice is a light brown.  Make sure to stir frequently so that all of the rice is browned.  Add garlic and cook until you can smell the garlic.  This will only take about a minute.  Add water, Caldo de Tomate, and onion powder.  Simmer until the cube is dissolved and the water had changed to a light red color.  Place lid and lower heat for 20 munites.  Once the water is evaporated, turn the heat off and leave the lid on.  Once the rest of the meal is ready fluff the rice with a fork.  You will notice there is not salt in this recipe.  The Caldo de tomate takes care of that so DO NOT add any.  You will regret it.

For the taco meat:

1lb lean ground beef

1Tbsp canola oil (please do not use olive oil here no matter how yumm-o you think it is)

1 diced yellow onion

1 diced green bell pepper

3 cloves of garlic diced

1 diced and seeded jalapeno pepper (please feel free to substitute poblano peppers here, but seeding the jalapeno pepper is a must.)

2 tsps kosher salt (DO NOT USE TABLE OR IODIZED SALT! If you own it, please get rid of it and save your taste buds!)

1 tsp feashly ground pepper

1 Tbsp Coriander

1 Tbsp Cumin

2 Tbsp chili powder

¼ tsp smoked paprika

1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

1 small can Muir Glenn Organic Chunky tomato sauce (about 4oz).  No tomato sauce? No problem!  Try tomato paste, about 2Tbsp, ¼ cup water and mix them together.

In a 12 inch skillet heat the canola oil on medium high heat, then add the ground beef.  Break up the beef and cook it until it is brown. Season with 1 tsp salt.   Remove the meat from the pan, making sure to drain the fat out of the pan, and then add the onion, green pepper and jalapeno.  Add remaining salt and cook until the vegetables are softened.  Add all seasonings to the pan and cook for one minute or until you can smell them.  Make sure to scrape up those brown bits because there is flavor attached to them.  Add the meat back in and the tomato sauce.  Mix thoroughly.  Simmer this on medium low heat for 20 minutes covered.

On the side:

Chopped green leaf lettuce

Halved grape or cherry tomatoes

Shredded sharp cheddar cheese

Sliced avocado with lemon to avoid browning

Sour Cream 

Crema fresca i

Sprouted Corn tortillas heated through if you are from the gringo side of the family

Corn tortillas from the local taqueria heated through if you are from the Mexican side of the family

Pico de gallo (homemade please)

Chopped Cilantro (except for me. I have been traumatized. I will tell you about it later.)