Seeing that this is the holiday season, what's more natural than to share favorite holiday dishes? I remember my mother making Christmas cookies with a cookie press and decorating them with sprinkle of colored sugar. She also made divinity, a candy based on egg whites. I can't remember the taste of those. Other than that, my family has no traditional holiday favorites; however, I have two, one of which is supposedly too simple for words and which I never make. The other comes from my sister-in-law, Deva, who believes in the wonders of butter and heavy cream.
The first holiday delicacy that I only get at potluck dinners hosted by my mother-in-law is deviled eggs. Yes, she told me the recipe once, but I don't remember it. I have never made them--and likely never will. The temptation to gobble down a dozen eggs is too strong. Best to enjoy them as holiday treats.
The second holiday delicacy is sweet potato casserole. I've had such casseroles that were disgustingly sweet, heavy (lead in the belly), and slimy. My sister-in-law's recipe comes from the mountains of North Carolina and is the only way that I'll eat pecans. Here it is:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F
Combine topping ingredients and sprinkle over top of the sweet potato mixture. Bake at 350 degrees F for 30 minutes. Remove and let stand for 10 minutes. For additional sweetness, sprinkle the mini marshmallows over the casserole and bake for an additional 10 minutes or until marshmallows are golden.
I prefer to leave off the marshmallows, as the casserole is plenty sweet enough. This casserole is surprisingly light and fluffy, utterly delicious even with pecans.
What's your favorite holiday dish?
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When it comes to an individual, some can be defined as a statistic, while others are made to stand out, backing up the definition of unique. Statistics said, I should have died. Statistics said, I was supposed to suffer from Down Syndrome. Statistics said, I wouldn’t be able to walk or talk. Statistics told my mom to prepare to bury her child, but our God said otherwise. Every statistic that was thrown at me never prospered; instead, the exact opposite happened and what the doctors didn’t expect to happen had fortunately, happened.
I struggled with a disability, but not how others assumed I’d struggled; for it was more of a mental struggle than a physical struggle. Although I’m labeled as a disabled person my appearance may fool you. Throughout this book, and more to come, it will tell you why you should never judge a book by its cover. Regardless of whom or what a person may appear to be, looks can and will be deceiving.
After I wrote on the walls I felt a little better, yet one random day my mom found out about the writing and called the police on me without me even knowing. Long story short, the police took me to the Rainbow Children Hospital. Being under watch as if I was going to harm myself. I was released back to my mom’s custody only to be taken back to the LauraWood hospital, somewhere in Painesville Ohio. I stayed there for a week in a half where I met a few cool people as well as enemies as usual.
My one roommate attempted to kill herself using a sheet; however, the nurses came in and took her to an isolated room. During the stay, I had a chance to talk to my mentor and this time spoke to a different social worker telling her some of the issues that was going on in the house. Other than that, I had fun on my vacation. I was guaranteed my three meals plus snacks, was able to watch TV and had free time. It was like heaven being at peace. The only problem I had was with another inmate talking about my hand and before a fight could break out we were separated except for gym time. A few days later I was released back into my mom’s custody and the depression started again.
Back home I was greeted with the same yelling giving demands, got hit for her having to repeat herself and barely ate. The nights I wasn’t allowed to eat I would eat from my saved stash of snacks. The days she did let me eat it was what she cooked that night but some of it had been in the fridge for up to two weeks. The only thing I looked forward to was school and talk to the few friends I had. Although I was going through hell at home, I never showed it at school nor did I let people know what was going on behind closed doors. Instead I was the same goofy ass people had known me to be.
After a week of going back to school I had another altercation with my mom and after her beating me on my ass with a pole, I attempted suicide using bottles of pills I got from LauraWood and then prepared for death. I was so fed up with the lifestyle I was living; if I had to kill myself to find peace I was willing to do it. No one understood how it felt living like a low life slave alone surviving in the jungle.
God had another plan…….
Kristalen Barringer (author) is a twenty-seven-year-old, disabled, African-American, Israelite female, from Cleveland Ohio. Due to her life's circumstances, she's lived thus far and now uses her life stories as inspiration. Determined to motivate all who shall read with clarification, that storms are made for us to be strong. She is using her life story as an example of how statistics can be wrong. "If life gives you lemons, make lemon detox water to remove the toxic from your body." Despite how she voices her thoughts, this autobiography will define her as a person and answer all questions that relate to the author. Only then will you fully understand the background of the author and the purpose of her becoming a now two-year, self-published author to her first of many books to come.
"Why me?" #MFRWhooks
Bear of the Midnight Sun
“I won’t hurt you,” he said as the ursine forelegs melted back into human arms.
“But do you believe me now?” She nodded, unable yet to speak. Miranda knew that if she opened her throat, screams would pour forth. Or mindless gibbering.
“Good. Unless I am able to replace the steel and plastic in my leg with the growth of new bone, I cannot fully shift.”
She nodded, as though agreeing with him. Or maybe just to acknowledge she heard his words. So, he continued.
“Like all my kind, our souls are unsettled until mated. The man understands honor and love; the beast only knows possessiveness, attraction, and desire.”
“Why me?” Miranda whispered and for some unfathomable reason felt somewhat insulted at the inference that he wouldn’t have been attracted to her if it weren’t for the unreasonable beast within him. She blinked rapidly in lieu of shaking her head to dismiss such idiotic thoughts. “Why not one of your own kind, or at least someone who wants this?”
“That, my dear, is your God’s little joke upon us pagans. My bear recognizes you, claims you as ours. The beast is never wrong.”
“He’s wrong about this.”
“Did you not feel something when I took your hand when we were introduced?”
“Static electricity,” she stated, flatly denying anything mystical.
“No, the beginning of a mate bond, the recognition of souls that belong to one another.”
“I still think you’re insane.”
“My alleged insanity is not entirely out of the question. The things I’ve seen and done throughout the centuries were enough to drive any man, no matter how strong, to the refuge of madness. Tell me, Miranda, did you or did you not see my arms change?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Then, crazy I might be, but I am no liar.”
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Hard boiled, scrambled, over easy, and sunny side up: eggs are the musings of Holly Bargo, the pseudonym for the author.
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