Roasted Butternut Squash and Yam Soup

Roasted Butternut Squash and Yam Soup.

Oh how I love the Fall. The leaves turn from green to gold, the air becomes crisp, and the fruits of the harvest laden the table with the prosperity of the season. No other soup speaks of Fall as does butternut squash soup.

Here we have oven roasted butternut squash, sweet potatoes, and garlic tossed lightly in olive oil and sprinkled with thyme, nutmeg, cinnamon, and salt (I use equal parts squash to sweet potatoes). The roast is then pureed with vegetable stock, and brought to a simmer with a touch of sherry and heavy cream. The soup is garnished with sweet potato chips, fresh thyme, and nutmeg, yielding a rich and creamy golden soup reminiscent of all that Fall contains.

VIPs

Today was somewhat of an important day, but not for me. My boss, whom I have worked with for the past eight years, whom has become a good friend, is in a position to receive an advancement in the company. As part of the interview process her boss along with other VIPs, including the president and vice president of a multi-billion dollar company,  made a visit to the restaurant today. A month ago I was asked if I would be willing to take care of them during their visit, with the admonishment that her job and future would be in my hands. Surprisingly I wasn't terribly nervous for today's events (I have enough stress these days in concerning myself with my own interviews and future). The adrenaline did finally kick in at the onset of my presentation, but quickly wore off as I began my work. My job was to make her look good, and how did I do? Well, the answer to that question I don't entirely know, but I was told by multiple people that the president stated that my presentation was the best he has ever heard, and I do not doubt the service was likewise.

Black Box

The days are beginning to cool. Although it is still hot the sign that fall is on the way is immiscible. Soon the leaves will begin to change from green to gold, the nights will become crisp, and frost will kiss the last remnants of the harvest. And then winter will come. I stand at the threshold of a new season of life, yet the life before me is a black box, without definition or form. As a child growing up, I knew what I was to become, who I was to be. My life had a direction, and I lived without doubt or fear of what my life might hold. Now, as a man, I live in a world of unknowns. The daunting darkness before me holds more questions than answers. As I travel from place to place, trying to find my future, I imagine how the scene will turn the course of my life. So many dreams I have lost, so many I morn. I fight this last fight, hoping that I might, for once, be victorious. Yet if granted this one dream, I would gladly trade it and all of the other dreams I have ever dreamed for the one dream that I cannot have...

Inspiratious

I need to be up fairly early this morning. It's my day to volunteer at clinic. But how could I resist a perfect night for writing. The air is slightly crisp, with each breath like drinking from a high mountain stream. The sky dappled with luminescent clouds drifting in the bright evanescent moonlight, with stars sparking between, yields inspiratious thought that cannot be denied. It's a shame that I am not writing poetry tonight, for I am bound to a cause. I am in the thick of writing essays for supplemental medical school applications, and I have time for little else. If only every day I sat to write could be as perfect as it is now, with the very elements vitalizing my whole being. But alas, my macbook's battery is not so empowered, and I must sleep before the sky turns to grey.

Carousel

It's not often that I take time away from the obligations of a busy life to visit my family in Dixie. I visit maybe once a year, sometimes not even that often. The time was ripe for a trip south. At these interviews I would love to spend time behind the camera, capturing and bottling memories to be reviewed in a day when family is far away, yet I find the camera to be a distraction from making memorable moments. As a result I typically leave the camera work to others. I rather record memorable moments in my heart than spend the few days that I have half hearted. Nonetheless, I feel compelled to give my artistic side expression. I find myself in conflict, wanting to dedicate time to my photography, and what better subjects do I have than those I love, yet I don't want to distract from making memories. This trip I took no shots but those in my heart. The drive to the camp site through Kolob was stunning, passing through fields of pink wild flowers among the quakies and pines of the forest. The beauty of the scene was only rivaled by the onward drive to Dixie, with its beautiful red sandstone cliffs dotted with lush vegetation. Nature in all her majesty was yet no match to the beauty captured in the joy of the children playing, be that upon the ripples of the lake, or in the streams of the park. 

My niece Sadie and I riding horses. 

Sadie and I playing in the sandstone river at the park.

Gateway

For all the bad things that I teach my nieces and nephews I'm sometimes surprised by the complete trust my twin gives me with her children. (I once had my niece memorize the fundamental truth regarding the nature of the milk carton by repeating, "It's a man's right to drink from the milk carton.") But then again, how can my sister not trust me, I love them as if they were my own children, and they are the closest thing that I will ever have to having children of my own.

A few weeks back the two bachelors of the family were given the privilege of tending the little ones. I wish I would have thought of this idea years ago, when there was a bit of Chaos in my life, but I thought the kids might enjoy the fountain at the Gateway.

Blake and Spencer waiting for the show to begin.

Boys will be boys.

I don't know what was going through his head, but it really did look like he was dancing out there.

Cha cha cha.

 And for the finally.

The innocence and joy of childhood: What a beautiful thing.

The fountain in its majesty (and by that I am referring the the grander of the children's joy). 

Of course uncle Gary had to buy them strawberry cheese cake ice-cream.

Uncle Steve is trying to teach Sadie the fine principal of sharing.

He was denied. 

Three Summer Days

I've been so busy lately, it's actually been some time since I've painted or written any poetry. I last wrote in December, penning "Heart String". Some months ago I had the inspiration to write, but not the time, and now months later I wonder if I still have the inspiration to write that poem, or if it is forever lost. I still have the emotions ingrained in my heart, but I don't know if I have the words for it anymore. I haven't had much time for reading either. I've read very little of Keats in the past six months, though ironically I picked up his book of poetry a few days ago and began reading again. (I'm still working on getting through "Endymion".) His words are often definitions of my life, of my being. “I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.” One day I will paint those three summer days.