Summer in a Bowl

I wait all year for this. Nothing else except fresh tomatoes from a garden will do.

When I traveled in Spain too long ago, I tried gazpacho everywhere I went and never met one I didn't like! They were each a little different - chunky in one place, smooth at another, served with crusty bread here and a little spicier there. All delicious and fresh!

Like summer in a bowl!

Grace likes gazpacho chunky with a zing!

I use about 4 or 5 large tomatoes.  Fully ripe.  If over ripe, I peel the skin off.  I remove most of the green seeds because they don't look too appetizing.  Then I break them apart, readying them for blending in the food processor.

There are things that go in the food processor, and things that get mixed in at the end.

I get an English, or seedless cucumber and dice half for mixing and cut up the other half for blending in.

Get some fresh herbs - we have them in tubs outside my kitchen door.  (Don't bother if you only have dried.)  Here, I have (from left) parsley, oregano and basil. 

Now let's get everything ready to assemble:

These are for blending: tomatoes, of course and some of the cucumbers, onions, scallions and parsley.  You'll also want to drizzle in the extra virgin olive oil and the balsamic vinaigrette.

These are for mixing in: diced onions, cucumber, the herbs and scallions.  Green bell peppers are nice, too.  Black pepper, cayenne pepper, salt, cumin.  Reserve these for later.

The 'blended' items should look like this, a little chunky, not too smooth.

Put everything in a large bowl, then mix in the rest of the 'mixing' ingredients.  Chill for several hours before serving.


4-5 ripe tomatoes
1 English cucumber
1 medium green bell pepper
2 scallions
1/2 large sweet onion
1 lime
1 T balsamic
1/2 c EV olive oil
parsley, basil, cumin, salt, black pepper and cayenne


The Right to Choose

"I choose to love you.

I do.  Some moms?  They get pregnant; have a baby in their tummy by accident.  Like your tummy-mom.  She wasn't ready to have a baby.

I choose to love you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do.  I chose to call the adoption agency.  I chose to fill out all those forms, to make copies, to mail them, to travel to different offices, to make all the phone calls.  I chose to buy airplane tickets, get on a plane, to pick you up.

I choose to love you.

But you don't have to love me.  That's your choice."

He lifts his head from my lap and his cheeks are flushed, his body radiating the odor of fear.  His round cheeks, his unbridged nose are covered with weeping.  Not a rivulet or shiny drop, but awash like the streets in a rainstorm.

We sit like that, him surrendering to my love, boneless, heaped over my shoulder, wetness upon my shirt.

I didn't know what the words would do; what the tears would wash.  But today, yesterday and the day before, he holds my hand as if he chooses to love me.


Do Not Adjust

the color on your screen...

There's a farm practically in my back yard. They have a road side stand. The watermelon is picked by hand, one by one when each one is ripe. I wait all summer for these yellow melons.  They know me there as the watermelon lady.



Catching fireflies with cousin.  These are precious times.