How Texas Changed Me

Camouflage Crocs, a hound dog, paintings of South Texas wildlife, eating my own venison. How did this happen to me? You see, before I moved to Texas, I could have been easily characterized, or caricatured, as some kind of liberal, East Coast-educated media elite. I’m from a New Jersey suburb, went to a small private college in Virginia, and rode mass transit with the best of the urban cockroaches of Manhattan (that’s a compliment to those urbane warriors). I knew nothing of the Texas Gulf Coast waters, Buccees, kolaches, duck hunting in Katy, backing in a pickup truck, kayaking with alligators, breakfast tacos, let alone breakfast tacos with desebrada.

How did all this come to pass? By moving to Texas, I learned it is possible to change. To truly change. And just how fantastically liberating that can be. I’ve been here since 2006 and still don’t feel that I’ve fully realized the opportunities here.

Sunset over bayou in Houston

Sunset over bayou in Houston

CHANGE YOURSELF

Granted, changing yourself is possible anywhere, at any time. It just might have been easier to do so by making a gigantic geographic departure to shed some of my old identity. That is not to say I don’t retain my personal history and attributes, but I don’t let my past constrain me anymore either. When I first got here, the sky seemed bigger. It sounds so clichéd, I know. The first rain storm dropped huge torrents on my windshield. I couldn’t see and was scared. You see, I’ve been afraid of a lot of things as I tend to get anxious. If my mother asked me, “oh, what’s the worst thing that can happen?,” I would engage in a risk analysis about the very worst thing that could possibly happen. As one friend said, that’s no way to live.

RUNNING TRAPS

But, I had lived that way for a long time. Until recent years and, hey, even recent weeks and days. This risk aversion has always driven me to cover all the bases, run all the traps and prepare for any eventuality. It is also exhausting and often useless in the face of all of life’s unanticipated hurdles. How did I make this philosophical change?

For the longest time, I have taken the approach of powering through challenges. I’d pride myself on my grit. And enjoyed it. This came from childhood sports. As an adult, I’d swim laps after work and ride my bike on weekends on the trails in and around DC. Along the Mall, along the Potomac, up the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal. The sights were amazing. The scents of flower and fauna wonderful and relaxing. And, some of those hills in Rock Creek Park required powering through. The bike rides relaxed me and inspired me.

Then, a job transfer took me to Houston and I moved to the Galleria. I had no idea where to ride my bicycle. I did not like Memorial Park for bike riding, though I came to enjoy jogging there. A colleague told me about an outdoors club that includes group bike rides. This led to a lot of bike rides and new friendships. A couple of years later, a new guy showed up at one of our outings. I could not help but notice he was handsome, sweet and intelligent. I tried to ignore all that as I was purposely avoiding dating at that time. Once we started talking about bike rides, my intent to ignore him was doomed.

He had done the MS 150 several times and I’d been interested in the Houston-Austin route as a can’t-miss Texas experience. Six months later, he and I embarked on the MS150 training season. This guy also convinced me to get on the back of his motorcycle. Me, the girl with anxieties. Well, yeah, now I have a motorcycle license. This guy also suggested I take a day off and go hog hunting with him. I viewed this as a cultural curiosity I should explore and went. Yeah, well now I am an experienced deer, hog and duck hunter.

Growing up, swimming was always a part of life. Yet, I had no exposure to scuba. Once again, the handsome guy suggested it as well as a friend from work. Sea Sports Scuba on Westheimer – check it out. Now, this was an utterly different activity. It is dangerous, it requires skills and strength, but the old powering through approach would exhaust and potentially kill a diver. Scuba is methodical. It is careful. It is immensely relaxing. During class, it became apparent that the most efficient breathing is just like yoga breathing. Slow. Relaxed. If a situation arises with equipment or your environs, you think first, then try one thing or the other, following a set of trained procedures.

You just stay relaxed and mindful. I’ve been coming around to learn that I cannot power through challenges or any activities. That I should instead take it all in as well as solve problems mindfully.

My decision to move to Houston set off a chain of personal decisions I made to force myself expand my horizons and enrich my life. Maybe Texas did not change me. But moving here did provide the impetus for me to change myself.

The Sage Leopard

Field to Table: Venison Chili, Camping and Fireside Chats

If you told me 10 years ago that I would celebrate my birthday by going deer hunting in Texas, I would have laughed at you. In January 2006, a career change that was in the offing was not yet on my radar as the position I would ultimately transfer to in Houston was not yet posted. By July of that year, I moved to Texas and began to explore a bunch of new things. IMG_6049In 2009, I met my boyfriend and he ultimately introduced me to hunting. I had only tasted venison once before in Washington, D.C., and thought it was terrible. In retrospect, that meat was probably not properly prepared. The first time my boyfriend served me venison, I sliced off the tiniest piece, about 0.5 cm square and delicately took that bite. Surprise: it was good. Venison is a very lean protein and versatile as well. If you are finicky about meat and where you source it, then hunting is the best way to know exactly how it was harvested, cleaned and processed. Some people process their own venison, but we take ours to a trusted processor. As our hunt approached, our freezer reserve of meat was getting low, which provided extra motivation. IMG_6072We were drawn in a state wildlife management hunt, which specified gender and number of deer allowed to be taken. Ultimately, we went home with three does. Even if we had not succeeded in the hunt, we would have deemed it a good outing. We got to sit in the peace and quiet of the woods for hours at a time over three days. IMG_6047We set up camp next to a lake and were thankful for our propane heater as the temperature was in the 40s overnight. We realized our old non-stick skillet was rusting out so it was time to recycle it as the local scrapyard. We sat by a campfire each night, chatting with another hunter, who turned out to have a really interesting job and shared our love for dogs. We exchanged recipe ideas with a hunt volunteer. We counted our blessings and stored all our memories of this trip in our grateful minds before returning to Houston. Knowing we had replenished the venison vault, I took out the last two pounds of ground venison from last February’s hunt in Laredo and browned the meat. It was time to make chili. IMG_6096Lately, I have experimented with my own spice mix before adding tomatoes, but this time I returned to the most reliable and quite delicious Carol Shelby’s chili mix. Lest I start an argument over whether to include beans, I’ll leave that to your personal preference. We enjoyed the chili and sat around our patio firepit to recreate the warmth and happiness we took in at the campsite. In the morning, I walked the Sage Leopard on the bayou so he could pretend he was hunting too.IMG_6167

Finding Ginger and the Mystery of the Missing Dogs

When my boyfriend closed on his house, the sellers warned him that stray animals tend to show up here. He thought they were joking. The parade of lost animals started with a pair of little white dogs. In the coming years, they were followed by a crazy, menacing mixed breed pair; mother and daughter Labradors; a carrier pigeon; and a miniature schnauzer. Last week, on Byron’s way to work, a little lost Yorkie ran under his pickup truck. This was near a busy road, so he got out and picked up the dog. Next thing I knew, I was driving the Yorkie to the vet.

yorkie

Little lost Yorkie, as found in the street

She was only wearing a bow, and where she wasn’t balding, her fur was matted. I was really pumped when the microchip scanner alerted and then was equally dejected when the vet’s assistant related that the chip company said the last information they had on the dog was from 10 years ago in Miami. Things got wild from there. I received a call from Yajaira, the original owner in Miami. She was shocked that Ginger was in Texas. I was shocked that the dog had been missing for so long and no one else had brought her to a vet for a check. I immediately updated the quick post I had placed on a local lost-and-found pets Facebook page. Most people liked that the update announced the owner was located with a microchip. Of course, a busybody piped up that I should track down whoever had her in Texas and let that person sort out ownership with the Miami lady. I fumed. Really? The Miami lady had the dog’s original papers and had her animal chipped. Whoever had Ginger in the meantime had not been kind in terms of keeping up with medical care. Perhaps they were well-intentioned, or perhaps they dumped her. All I knew was no one appeared to be looking for her, either online or with neighborhood signs. Most importantly, her legitimate owner was flipping out and planning to bring her home to Miami. That was such a refreshing contrast with the original owner of the schnauzer that showed up in our driveway in 2014. Byron tracked down the person from an old rabies tag on that dog. The guy said he had not seen the dog in two months and ultimately did not want the dog back. He suggested Byron drop it off at the pound. We kept that dog in the family and Roscoe now happily lives with Byron’s parents. Here, with the little lost Yorkie, we had the original owner on the line, overjoyed to hear her dog was located, 10 years later. We also had a little logistical crunch in that Byron and I had immediate travel plans. We had been selected by lottery by Texas Parks and Wildlife for a management hunt, which is a means of controlling against deer overpopulation. We had already paid for our permits and had reservations to camp. I suggested that Ginger be kenneled with our dogs at the vet’s office and she could be examined as well. We’d be back in a couple of days. This ultimately worked out fine, especially as her Miami owner wanted her condition checked out, and the plan was to bring Ginger to the airport on Saturday. We were all so excited. Driving to the airport with Ginger on my lap, I got a sense something might be wrong. Then again, we were listening to David Bowie’s last album and the ominous tone of the music was giving me a bad vibe. Well, maybe I had a premonition because when we got to unnamed airline’s cargo office at the appointed time on the airbill, the door was locked. A man’s voice expressed indifference to our plight. We begged the terminal staff for assistance and they earnestly cared, but could not override the system to let a cargo dog fly in the passenger cabin without an accompanying passenger. Yajaira and I had been madly texting each other as she was on the phone with the airline. Ultimately, the reality dawned that Ginger wasn’t getting on a plane to Miami that night. We resolved to regroup and try Sunday morning with United Airlines. What a world of difference. When we got to the designated area at the United cargo office, there was a van with photos of doggies.

Byron & Ginger preflight

Getting ready for her flight from Houston to Miami

We walked in and were warmly greeted by an amazing, dedicated United PetSafe staff. The counter lady said at the outset that she would do everything to make sure Ginger made her flight. She was not kidding. We had the wrong kind of crate and Byron set out to a store to get the right one. He came back with the wrong size. The lady found a spare and gave it to Ginger (after first checking with the person who had left that crate behind). She took care of all the paperwork and made sure Ginger was safe and secure. It was time to say good-bye to Ginger. I could not celebrate yet because I wanted to wait until I knew she was back with Yajaira. I set up a flight status alert with the United app. Finally, we received a photo text with Ginger and Yajaira in Miami. That was the ultimate relief. We received multiple photos and videos of Ginger back at her Miami home. Yajaira said the dog just walked right back into the house. That doesn’t surprise me at all. Ginger is a very smart dog and knows where she is truly loved.

 

Back where she belongs... Ginger in Miami

Back where she belongs… Ginger in Miami

New Year, Blank Slate and a Reorganized Recipe Binder

Time to clear the deck and get all those recipe clippings out of the to-do pile. For years, I have organized recipes in binders. bindersI tear them out of magazines and clip them from newspapers. I jot down a family recipe or receive one in email after a party. In the past, I kept this all very neat. Of late, I had had really let it go. There was a grouping in front of one binder of the last-added recipes. IMG_5922This was the on-deck group for sorting later in the proper, existing binder sections. Then, there was the grouping collecting dust in a magazine rack. The turn of the new year beckoned as the right time to literally sort out this recipe madness. The other challenge was I have three binders. One is for desserts and easily identifiable as such. With the other two, IMG_5928I tend to grab the wrong one for meats or salads. All that was needed is a label on the binding of each with a rundown of the contents. This is one of those really simple tasks I just normally don’t get around to do addressing. It really only took a half-hour or so to collect the stray recipes, organize them, file them and label the binders. The best part? I added a new section of smoothie recipes to start the year with a healthy kick.

Christmas Reflections on a Red Bicycle

The Christmas Story kid had the Red Ryder and my overwhelmingly fantastic Christmas present 30 years ago was this, my Shogun 10-speed road bike. My Dad and I were just discussing how pumped I was that Christmas morning when all the presents had been opened and then he surprised me by rolling this out from another room. This was my primary mode of transportation around my hometown until age 17-18.

my first road bike, a mid-1980s Shogun 100

my first road bike, a mid-1980s Shogun 100

Since then, it’s been stored in garages and a barn, until today. I’m taking it back! I rode it today and the gears and brakes work. I still love this bike as much as the day Santa gave it to me. My brother-in-law helped me pull it out from within a stack of bikes. At some point, he had given it a tune-up so it was ready to roll, albeit without much air in the tires. I pointed it at the dirt and gravel driveway and rode downhill, pumping the brakes. When I got down to a country road with a much steeper hill, I opted to just ride a little bit around in a circle before heading back up the driveway. The air felt a somewhat crisper, even on a warm Christmas for the East Coast. There is something freeing and empowering about being seated atop a road bike. Drawing in windy breath activates all the senses and I feel grateful for being alive. There is a timelessness to this sensation. I loved riding this bike around my hometown. It freed me from having to ask for a ride to a friend’s house. I remember placing a field hockey stick across the handle bars to get to and from summer sports clinic. There may have been some occasions when my high school friends and I would pull up to a party on a 10-speed. Growing up in New Jersey, we did not get driver’s licenses until age 17 and most of us were not given a car, so the bike was crucial for creating your own life outside home. I got on this old bike this Christmas and felt that same sense of freedom and self-identity. I noticed how comfortable the bike still fits (I am an inch taller than I was in high school). Similarly, I love the way my Specialized Dulce Elite fits and feels. When I was shopping for that bike, a salesman gave me good advice while I was checking out a less expensive alternative. He cautioned against compromising on price. Mind you, he was offering me that less expensive alternative. But, he said, buy a bike you absolutely love so that you will always want to ride it and not let it collect dust. He was right. When I get on my Dulce Elite, I feel embraced by it and it is easy to ride. Even after dozens of miles, the bike holds firm and keeps me going. Getting back on the Shogun, I had that same sensation of knowing this is my bike and my ticket to freedom.

Palm trees, Christmas cookies and holiday rainstorms

palm tree Christmas cookies

Our family Christmas traditions include trimming the tree together, writing riddles on gift tags about the presents within the wrapping, and baking butter cookies with cutout shapes. Last summer, while visiting family in Vermont, I found a palm tree cookie cutter at a bake shop and decided it would be perfect for Gulf Coast Christmas cookies. We live in Houston, which is full of palm trees. Also, there may have been palm trees surrounding the Nativity in Bethlehem, making the shape even more appropriate for the holiday. This year was the first for the palm tree Christmas cookie and I used the occasion to alter my mother’s basic butter cookies recipe. In addition to butter, sugar, vanilla and flour, I added a bit of orange extract, a pinch of ginger and a healthy sprinkle of cinnamon. Some of the cookies were sprinkled with colored sugar, in line with tradition, while others were pressed with mini chocolate chips and chopped cranberries.

cookies on a Santa plate

cookies on a Santa plate

pretzbark

pretzel bark heads into fridge to firm before being broken into chunks

I decided to try something new for me as well by making pretzel bark. I simple smashed up pretzels in their bag and smashed up some pecans in their bag. A rolling pin comes in very hand for this task. In a big bowl, I mixed the smashed pieces with chopped cranberries and then poured it out onto wax paper in a jelly roll. Finally, I drizzled on melted chocolate and melted white chocalate. That went into the fridge for a couple of hours before being broken into pieces. This turned out rather good, but I need to work on my chocolate melting and spreading technique. The proportion of pretzel to chocolate may have been too pretzel heavy. Still, it tastes delicious, especially if you are a chocolate fiend like me. After putting together the Christmas cookies and chocolate, I could not wait to get on a plane to visit my family in Vermont. Although the forecasts suggested otherwise, I was hoping for at least a hint of a white Christmas. When I packed up my vehicle to head to the airport in Houston, it was balmy and pouring rain. When the plane landed in Boston, it was warm and you could see the snow-less ground. I brought the rain system with me, thanks to El Nino, and we are gathered around in rainy Vermont for our family Christmas, butter cookies and all.

Always Keep Veggie Curry in the Freezer

veggie curry

Veggie curry and salad brighten up a rainy Saturday night

After hosting a group of ladies for a Mary Kay party this afternoon, I had absolutely no desire to cook. My man was on his way back from a fishing outing without fish when he called from the intersection nearest our Kroger. I was tempted to suggest pizza, but didn’t really want something that heavy. A container of frozen homemade vegetable curry called out from the freezer and I asked him to buy a rotisserie chicken. Typically, I don’t really want that either when it comes to quick food. But he picked out a great one. I defrosted the curry, cooked up brown rice and made a salad. It was a very good dinner. It was well-rounded and dressed up with mango pickle and mint chutney for the curry, and Greek yogurt dressing for the salad. (Feta dill for me, blue cheese for him). I’m not specifically advocating for veggie curry or any curry for that matter. The point is always have great standby dishes in the freezer. It does not have to be the entire meal. Curry does provide a wonderful, warm focal point. Other freezer standby dishes I favor are: portions of homemade tomato sauce made in batches, chili, Mexican bean soup, baked chicken and crock pot shredded pork.

Ingredients for veggie curry:

green lentils

diced sweet potato

green beans

red bell pepper

canned tomatoes

onion

curry powder and/or paste (I like Madras curry rather than yellow curry)

Directions (off the top of my head given I pulled this out of the freezer tonight): Saute onion in a saucepan in olive oil or butter. Separately, cook the lentils in water, per the bag instructions. Add curry powder and/or curry paste to onions and stir until thoroughly combined. Fold in diced sweet potato, drained green beans, chopped bell pepper and canned tomatoes. Fold in lentils. Simmer for about 20 minutes to let flavors combine. When serving, you could ladle some into a serving bowl and add buttermilk or light coconut milk there. I think I prefer it without the milk and it stores better without it. The beauty of curry is you can make it with whatever veggies you like or have on hand. Enjoy.

Grilled venison meatballs with pasta and tomato sauce

Meatballs and pasta (spaghettini, bucatini, etc.) is a favorite combo in this household, especially as I make my own tomato sauce.

This classic was easy even on a weeknight

This classic was easy even on a weeknight

This dish has its origins in my late grandmother’s Sunday dinners, for which she would cook meat in “tomato gravy” all day. The meat — usually her handmade meatballs, thin Italian sausage with parsley and braciole –was browned and then fully cooked in the tomato sauce set to the lowest simmer possible. The pot sat atop a pale green Chambers gas stove, which was a work of art. The house filled with the aroma of the tomatoes. I clearly violated tradition here by serving the meat with the pasta. For our family Sunday dinners, the pasta was served first with sauce gently poured over each individual serving bowl. The meat came out on a platter as the second course, usually served with a Boston lettuce salad with oil and vinegar. This was our meal every other Sunday and the drive home to our house provided time to recover from ravioli-itus, or the effects of eating way too much ravioli. We could not help ourselves because the ravioli was from a shop on Arthur Avenue in The Bronx. I cannot quite recreate that experience cooking for two in Houston, so I have adapted. The major difference I have incorporated by living in Texas is using ground venison.

The key to meatballs is to mix in the right amount of breadcrumbs and that is a matter of personal taste

The key to meatballs is to mix in the right amount of breadcrumbs and that is a matter of personal taste

There is very little grease when browning the meat because venison is so lean. That also ratchets down the guilt level with this dish. To get started, I peel a lot of garlic and saute it in a sauce pan with diced onion. Last night, I initially forgot the onion and ended up sautéing that separately on the raclette grill before folding it into my meatballs. Once the garlic turns gold, add canned tomatoes (preferably plum). Bring to a boil, turn down to simmer and add salt and pepper. Cover and move onto the meatballs preparation. Place chopped parsley, breadcrumbs and egg in a bowl. Typically, you use one egg per pound of meat, but given the leanness of venison, I go with two eggs to bind the meat better. Combine with your hands and shape into balls as you place them on the grill. Let them gently cook, browning on all sides.

Use tongs to gently rotate the meatballs on the grill

Use tongs to gently rotate the meatballs on the grill

In the meantime, place a pot of water on the stove to boil for the pasta. To put it all together, place the pasta in a serving bowl, ladle on some sauce (but not too much!) and place the meatballs on top. Garnish with fresh parsley and grated Italian cheese (we prefer parmesan for this). Leave excess sauce on the side. I stored the leftover pasta with meatballs separate from the sauce so that the pasta doesn’t get soggy. This was easily pulled together and clean up was a snap because our raclette grill is non-stick. I just put it in the sink, turned on the water and wiped it down with a brush.

 

Easily remove garlic skins with this silicon roller

Easily remove garlic skins with this silicon roller

Ingredients

Meatballs: ground meat, egg, parsley and breadcrumbs

Tomato sauce: olive oil, garlic, onion, canned tomatoes, salt and pepper

Pasta: Your preference. I think long pasta is better for this kind of dish. Still, ravioli is the best.

Finally: Enjoy!

Artisanal Vermont

Early morning sunlight dappled across a hillside meadow. Chipmunks chasing each other on a stone patio. French-pressed dark coffee with steamed milk. Local Vermont milk, of course.

Rarely do we get to see a dreamscape realized. Visiting family in Vermont, that is what we watched as we drank our morning coffees.

Awaking to beauty in Vermont

Awaking to beauty in Vermont

We hiked into the woods, past the strands of birch trees with their peeling white bark and up higher among the maples, cruising down dirt paths with deer tracks and across another meadow over to the pogue. Pogue. That’s Vermont for pond. Actually that word is not even in the dictionary. If you google the pogue, the search result is a FAQ page from the National Park Service about this very federally managed land in Woodstock, Vermont. The park service says its etymology is not known, but it could be from an Abenaki word or of Scottish origin.

The sky and clouds reflected in the pond, or pogue. The plunking sound of a snapping turtle splashing down from a log summoned us to look. On the way back, we saw several deer, their white tails flashing away in the woods as if they were waving good-bye as they bolted away. Can you see it?

The hiking worked up our appetites. We found pizza at a bar that was just like pizza in New Jersey, my home state, with the thin crust and fresh tomato sauce bubbling through the cheese. Artisanal cheese was everywhere we went, left and right, at the farmers market on the village green, at a “farm and feast festival” in a pasture, at the cheese factory originally built by Calvin Coolidge’s father next to the Coolidge homestead, and on the kitchen counters of family. Can you taste it?

The local-vore food movement is big in Vermont and so is craft beer. Vegetables from my sister’s garden tasted crisper, cleaner, more intense. I think the cool night air enhances the tomatoes and cucumbers by sealing in the flavors. Standing on the hill next to the garden, you have a panoramic view of the stars in the black night sky. We gazed at the Milky Way. At bedtime, you leave the windows open and listen to the crickets as the crisp cool air wafts across the room. Can you feel it?

Each time I visit Vermont, there is a new experience. My sister and her husband took my boyfriend and I to this farm and feast celebration at a cooperative farm. It was rainy Thursday night and the hold farmers sell their goods no matter what the weather. We ate ice cream handed to us by the guy who milked his own cows to make it. The cappuccino ice cream had a warm cinnamon streak.

Under one of the big tents, a band was playing. We ventured in. The tent was striped, like a small circus tent. The band comprised a fiddler in a kilt, a bassist and a singer. Their biggest fan sat next to my boyfriend on a bale of hay. He ribbed me to get me to check her out. She had wild locks of long blonde and brown hair. Her head was swaying in circles and side to side, gyrating, with her fully engrossed in the musical experience. She was slapping her yoga-panted legs and practically bouncing out of her sandals.

She leapt forth and started a tango with a young man who, based on his fluid movements, appeared to have ice dancing experience. Her enthusiasm propelled her to the pole in the middle of the tent, the supporting pole. She switched from hippie chick to burlesque lady and began to pole dance. I was so glad my 11-year-old niece was still outside talking to the nice ice cream man.

The next day, my boyfriend drove an hour to meet my oldest friend for lunch. Literally, he is my oldest friend because we have known each other our whole lives. Mark and I were born about seven hours apart so we met in the newborn nursery. He recommended a music festival and we took him up on the suggestion. It was in a big green field, next to a farm, and craft beer was being served, of course. “Look who’s here!” my boyfriend exclaimed. It was the three-piece band and the wild dancer lady. Can you see it? Vermont is small state.

Sensory experiences can make us feel closer to others in a shared space. I got to visit my other sister’s new home. It is near a cold lake into which you jump from a broad dock for a bracing refresher of what a summer day can feel like. Shockingly enveloped in cold water you forget the unmeaningful and feel close to true nature.

This sister’s house backs onto a brook streaming from that lake and standing in the grass of her backyard you can hear it babbling. Going into her finished basement from a patio door, you are in her painting studio. I express myself with words and she has always been a visual artist. Wherever she has lived, I love visiting her studios. There is a distinct aroma – gesso – which is used to tighten canvass once it is stretched ahead of painting. Her art is bright and vibrant. The use of various colors bring a sense of motion and stimulation. I immediately felt at home in her studio in recognizing these sensory cues that I associate with her. Travelling up a staircase, I saw a print hanging on the wall of a roseate spoonbill and was reminded of my home in the Texas Gulf Coast region. Sometimes you have to go away to find yourself at home again. Do you see it?

Ahead of this trip, I had daydreams about what we would see and do. It is special when the imagined becomes real and you do experience even more. Now, I have the reverie of being their again. Can you see it? Can you taste it? Can you feel it?

The Sage Leopard