Happenstance March 15, 2013
A Musing... Don’t aspire to make a living. Aspire to make a difference.
–Denzel Washington
March 15, 2013, Page 2
Happenstance Literary
Next issue: On or about April 1, 2013
Super Size That! Opinion Sharon Vander Meer
Submission deadline, Monday, March 27, 2013 (No exceptions) Creative Prompt: Flower Power
In this issue: Page 3 • Super Size That! Page 4 • Writer’s Block Niki Sebastian • The Writing Life Sharon Vander Meer Page 5 • Fort Union National Monument Page 6 • Poetry Lin Chibante Sharon Vander Meer
Page 3
Page 7 • Summer Camp Alan M. Guy Page 8 • Episode 2: The Changling King Sergio Hartshorne
Travel: Fort Union National Monument A great reason to visit northern NM. Page 5
Camp: The Summers of My Discontent Alan Guy A loner’s lament Page 7
Happenstance March 15, 2013 Happenstance Publishing Sharon Vander Meer Permission to use content contact:
sharon@vandermeerbooks.com
Cover image: Fort Union Carol Linder Some interior images from clipart.com
Page 10 • Quick, Easy and Tastes Great Next Issue Art and Artists of Northern NM A new Q&A series Episode 8: Thunder Prime, Hunter’s Light
Subscription: $12 annually Free to contributing writers Mail check to Sharon Vander Meer Happenstance Publishing PO Box 187 Las Vegas, NM 87701 Subscribe online at Happenstance All rights reserved by Happenstance Publishing in Las Vegas, N.M. Reproduction of contents in any fashion without written permission from the publisher is prohibited. Happenstance Publishing is not responsible or liable for the loss of any unsolicited materials or incorrect dates or incorrect information in articles. Opinions expressed within the pages (or web posting) of Happenstance Literary do not necessarily represent the views or opinions of the magazine. Bylined articles and editorial content represent the views of their authors. For permission to reprint any part of a bylined article, contact the author. www.vandermeerbooks.com Copyright 2013
Happenstance Literary
Call for Submissions These creative prompts are suggestions, not fences to corral the writing muse. March: Spring Things April: Flower Power May: Transitions June: Traditions July: Summer Celebrations August: School Days September: Autumn Leaves October: Spirits and Ghosties November: Fabulous Food December: Winter Celebrations Submission deadlines: One week prior to the publication date, which is typically on the 1st and the 15th of each month.
Writer’s Guidelines: 1. Must be original work. 2. Grammar, punctuation and spelling must be correct. 3. Maximum length 1,500 words. 4. Acceptable genres and styles: poetry, humor, essay, memoir, short story, photo essay, feature articles, travel, social commentary, food, wine and dining, book reviews, fiction, non-fiction, mystery, romance and sci-fi/fantasy. 5. Submission does not guarantee publication. 6. Submit work to: sharon@vandermeerbooks.com. If you have specific questions about the submission process, please e-mail sharon@vandermeerbooks.com Compensation not paid at this time.
March 15, 2013, Page 3
Super size that! D
oes it bother anyone but me that New York Mayor Bloomberg is being slammed because he’s telling it like it is? Obesity in this country is at staggering levels and there is no doubt it’s linked to overconsumption of sodas, high fat fast foods, and most of the processed foods you pull off the grocery shelf. Everything you read indicates the trend is to eat more – and more and more. In the name of convenience we load up our grocery carts without spending five seconds figuring out what we’ll be putting on our family’s dinner plates or in their lunch boxes. According to reports by health organizations, obesity in the U.S. has soared from four percent to more than 34 percent in the last 50 years. In an age when we can have pretty much what we want if we’re willing to work for it, the one problem we can’t seem to solve is obesity. Some analysts project that in 20 years the cost to taxpayers will exceed $550 billion. Why? Because the unfortunate reality is that many of those who are overeating are in lower income brackets. They live in urban areas where access to fresh fruits and vegetables is limited. Fast food and convenience stores dominate the landscape. Even though many chain restaurants like McDonalds try to have healthy choices, the big sellers continue to be fat and salt loaded burgers and fries, served with high-sugar sodas large enough to bathe in. Diabetes is one example of obesity-related diseases that are growing as fast as the expanding waistlines of many Americans. There are those who say, “People who eat too much have a choice; nobody is holding a gun to their heads to force them to eat a bag of chips instead of an apple.” There is truth in that. Self-restraint is up to the individual. The reality is a generation of people who grew up on super-sized everything from burgers to Big Gulps. One 8 ounce serving of Coke may have only 97 calories, but the double or triple sized version has double or triple the calories, but folks trick themselves into believing the bigger version is just one serving. A single serving of chips (and what that constitutes varies from brand to brand) might be listed as 150 calories, but if you look closer there are 24 servings in a bag. Multiply that out and see what you get. How many times have you sat down to eat a “handful of chips” and before you know it, consumed half or more of the bag? This, by the way, is the very reason I don’t buy chips. The allure of that salty goodness is too hard to ignore, and allure is what the food manufactures are selling, from the packaging to the fat-laden contents. The more you eat, the more you want. Remember the commercial that challenges the consumer to “just eat one,” followed by the assertion that no one can eat just one? The hidden message is, “Eat all you want.” Food and beverage conglomerates do have an interest in nutrition, I’m sure, but their bottom line is to sell you and me on buying more and consuming more. The consequence is a surge in the number of people — young and old — with health problems. Children 11 and 12 have the arteries of 45 year old men, and many are showing symptoms of type 2 diabetes. Efforts to control behavior through legislation are doomed to fail. Fighting obesity requires moderation in consumption, better food choices, regular exercise and a commitment to good health. The added benefit is a longer life. —Sharon
March 15, 2013, Page 4
Happenstance Literary
Writer’s Block: Character Development
Niki Sebastian introduces Mai Linh
Character development is a tricky bit of magic for writers. It requires letting go of who you are and uncovering someone entirely different. Mai Linh is a character in Niki’s period detective story set in Saigon. The novel is in development.
M
ai Linh Nguyen sauntered along the Rue Catinat, pleased with the sensuous swish of her emerald green aou dai, with its proper two centimeter-per-leg triangle of flesh peeking out where her dress’s side slits rose just above the waist band of the flowing cream pants beneath. Exposure of that provocative bit of anatomy was a fine art. Too small a gap, and Mai would be seen as prudish and unfashionable, no matter how swaying her walk. Too much flesh, and the whispers of “trollop” would dart about the street behind her like steep-prowed sampans, cutting the air as sharply as her cousin Trung’s boat carved its way through the waters of the Saigon River. Although Mai kept her eyes downcast, she easily caught admiring glances directed towards her. To be truthful, what others might see as demure shading of her eyes was in fact necessity. The four-inch stiletto heels on Mai’s slip-on sandals obliged her to watch where she stepped, so as not to turn an ankle on the wadded papers, fruit peelings, shreds of exploded firecrackers, and other miscellany littering the sidewalk. The shoes were new, and she was not yet accustomed to them. She had instructed the cobbler to make the band across her toes — the only thing holding sandal to foot — snug, knowing the glossy patent leather would stretch with wear in Saigon’s humid climate. That stretch not yet achieved, the sandals pinched, pain intruding into Mai’s pleasure like the buzzing of a single elusive mosquito around a bowl of freshly peeled mangoes. To erase the niggling irritant, Mai permitted her thoughts to jump ahead toward that afternoon’s pleasure — jasmine tea, sweet rice cakes, and an intense game of mah jong while cruising on the river. Trung was bringing three friends, and had promised her challenging play. Cousin Trung’s competitive spirit gave no quarter to cherry blossoms. Mai hoped Trung’s friends would feel the same. She had no intention of curtailing her gaming skills to flatter anyone’s ego, which did not mean she would not flutter and flatter in other ways. Flirtation was, after all, the source of most of the joy in her life. Cousin Trung’s invitation had arrived early, while she was eating morning pickled vegetables and rice. The weather was fine — cooler and less humid in this winter season — perfect for her present leisurely stroll, and for the river cruise she was anticipating. Cool enough, she hoped, to keep her from unfeminine perspiration during the tension of a hotly contested mah jong war. Mai did not register the sudden ricochet of noise until a blast of air knocked her backwards. Sharp pain cut across her outstretched hand as she caught her balance against a storefront. Looking down the street, she froze. The pier to which she was headed, the pier to which Trung’s boat should be tethered... looked like a jumbled, brown and white scatter of chopsticks and mah jong tiles, spilled across the water’s edge.
The Writing Life
Learning Curve With Bumps in the Road Saturday, 7 a.m. - Will write 2,500 words today. Saturday, 7:05 a.m. - My husband wants me to join him for coffee at our favorite coffee shop/bakery, which means I must shower, get dressed and be ready to leave when he’s ready to leave. I don’t mind. Twothousand five-hundred words sounds a little daunting. Saturday 10:30 a.m. - Back to work. Saturday 10:35 a.m. - Googled “character development blogs” with the idea of writing something about character development for fiction writers with links to the best blogs. Guess what? Character development blogs netted 35,500,000 results. I added “fiction” which narrowed it down to 5,040,000 results. Bagged that and returned to working on Thunder Prime: Hunter’s Light, which I am serializing in Happenstance. I’ve hit a wall. Time for a break. Saturday 1:30 p.m. - Hmm, hmmm, hmmmm. Turn on music. The silence of my empty head is killing me. Saturday 1:35 p.m. - Facebook! Darn, I forgot to do my “happy birthdays!” When I think of all the people who HB me on my big day, well it’s down right rude not to HB back! Saturday 2:32 - Not that many birthdays but I found out one person just got back from a walk, another from Walmart, and a third... was so boring I can’t bring myself to write it down. I could go on, but you get the point. Writing is not for the faint hearted. It takes concentration, dedication and a willingness to write through the distractions in hopes of creating something someone somewhere wants to read. On the subject of fiction character development I did come across one site with helpful information. From www.writingclasses.com: One of the best ways to get to know your characters is to ask questions about them. Many writers do this as a kind of homework before they actually start writing a story. The more you know your characters, the fuller they will be. This might also make your story easier to write. The following questionnaires may be downloaded so you can work with the actual documents. What follows this statement are two downloadable sets of questions, the second of which was created by noted French author Marcel Proust. As I recall he knew his way around writing compelling characters. Happy Writing, Sharon
Happenstance Literary
March 15, 2013, Page 5
Reasons to Visit Northern NM
Travel: Fort Union National Monument F
ort Union was one the adobe ruins and foundaof the largest forts tions of the arsenal connectin the region housing at ed with the third fort.” its peak more than 1,600 The fort was an imporsoldiers. While their first tant fixture in the region job was to protect the trade for the term of its existence, routes connecting the growwhich ended in 1883, after ing commercial centers like it was bypassed by the Las Vegas to points east, it railroad. also was the central supThe Visitor’s Center ply depot for many of the at Fort Union is a treasure smaller outposts in the area. trove of information about From the National Park the fort and the area. DisService Website: plays feature artifacts from Fort Union commanded people who lived at the fort the intersection of the Mounand a well-stocked booktain and Cimarron Branches store with books about garof the Santa Fe Trail. In a rison life, women who lived Bookstore at Fort Union National Monument. Photo NPS larger sense the fort served at the camp and histories of performances. as symbol and substance of the area and the state. During The first fort was an ill-conceived national power in a vast new acquisition the year special events, such as military star-shaped configuration thought to be far removed from the eastern heartland. and historical reenactments, are held. ideally designed to ward off attacks. As In this context the Santa Fe Trail changed Tours are largely self-guided, but from route of commerce to military lifeline. it turns out anyone with a canon could on site rangers are well informed and have positioned it on a nearby mesa and Founded in 1851, Fort Union served helpful. shot right into the camp. Because of its both military and logistical functions. Fort Union National Monument vulnerable location, returning fire would During the first few years, Fort Union’s makes for an interesting day trip from have been next to impossible. Canon mounted troops patrolled the trail. Later, Las Vegas, N.M., where an abundance of shots would have to be aimed up, serious- lodging and eateries are available. This the fort provided escorts for mail stages. ly limiting the trajectory and likelihood Until the Civil War period, wagon trains historic town founded in 1835, boasts of hitting the intended target. usually provided their own defense. Then more than 900 buildings on the National For the soldiers, fear of attack was the combination of Indian uprisings and Historic Register. For more informathe least of their problems. In a typical raids by Texas-based Confederates forced tion about what to see and do contact military desire to keep personnel busy, a new regime of patrols, escorts, and subthe local chamber of commerce at 505 posts to protect all travelers and keep open the first commander decided that hav425-8631. the critical link between the Southwest and ing the buildings constructed by local Directions to Fort Union: N on craftsmen was unnecessary. He put that the States. I-25, 28 Miles from Las Vegas, NM, The Fort’s most notable battle was an job into the hands of his men, who didn’t Exit 366 at Watrous, 8 miles from have a clue about construction. The result engagement with Confederate soldiers at NM 61 was rotting wood frames and lintels, Glorieta in 1862. Soldiers from the fort, Hours: Open daily except including volunteer native Hispanos from where bedbugs and other insects liked to Thanksgiving, Christmas Day and nest, and unstable structures. Weather the area, joined forces with New Mexico New Year’s Day. permitting men lived in tents to avoid and Colorado volunteers, and headed Winter hours: Labor Day to unwanted company in their beds. south to meet the Confederate Army Memorial Day – 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. The park covers an impressive 721 where they exacted a decisive victory. Summer hours: Memorial Day to acres and includes two units, according Life at the fort was a combination Labor Day – 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. the NPS website. “The main unit includes of boredom and busy work leaving the the second fort, a Civil War earthwork, soldiers with time on their hands. For See page 9 for details of Glimpses of and the adobe building ruins of the third entertainment they formed a baseball the Past, an upcoming event at the team and a theater group. The team com- fort, built in 1862. An 84-acre detached Citizen’s Committee for Historic Presunit a mile to the west of the main site peted against small community teams in ervation, a Las Vegas, N.M. group encompasses a part of the historic grounds the area and the theater group competed dedicated to preserving the history, of the first Fort Union and also contains in its own way for audiences for their buildings and culture of the area.
Happenstance Literary
March 15, 2013, Page 6
Poetry Adjunct Thoughts You come to me silently in the night And stand there in my dream space expectant and anxious. You hold in your hands the fires of creation, their sparkling colors flashing around my room, scattering sparks far into the corners and sending blue, purple, red, yellow, green flames up to the ceiling and streaking higher still to the unseen stars floating above. Your eyes ask me for affirmation and for completion which I gladly give, but it is I who should ask for it is you who give me light and you who complete my inspiration. I have given you the mystic gifts of challenge and freedom and as you turn and disappear slowly leaving one by one the flames dim with your passing and I am left alone in the dark burning with the fire you leave behind. —Lin Chibante
Day by Day Not sure of anything. Trust is low. Hope is in limbo. Reboot! Tomorrow will come. It is not my place to fix other people. My view is narrow. I can’t see what God sees. A brighter morning awaits. What does God see when He looks at me? Am I too busy judging? Mold me anew, day by day. Let me instead be kind, merciful, compassionate, forgiving. His promise fulfilled. —Sharon Vander Meer
Heartbreak Wasted, busted, broken and bent a child full of promise struggles and flounders not sure where to turn. Help flails sadly unable to connect, to make a difference in the turmoil of now. Love fractures and falls clutching futility at regret wondering, "What did I do?" to this broken life full of strife. Too late! the heart cries this child is broken to bits unable to listen too jaded to care too much in crisis to find a center a balance a place. Heartbreak is silent sobs dried in dispair. Only God can take on the job of repair.
The Sword of Truth Sizzling with fire Wrought in battle Over all and in all Rendering truth Defeating alien lies.
Day Break Sun pours over the horizon breaking night into day shards of color mixed by the hand of God. —Sharon Vander Meer
Happenstance Literary
March 15, 2013, Page 7
Camp: The Summers of my Discontent T
hose two sessions — a year apart — were horrid. I was eight and nine years of age those summers in the early 1950s, when our parents sent my older brother and me for a one month stint at camp. Although called Camp Triangle, a Y.M.C.A. boys’ camp, in my mind a more appropriate name would have been Camp Confinement, and the four week sessions seemed like life without parole. I surmise our parent’s reasoning was to expose us to organized, supervised, activities, giving them a respite from the two of us, thereby providing them with time for each other. We never questioned parents in those days, after all we were just kids. I do remember money was always a concern so whatever they had to spend, even though it was a “Y” camp, must have been important to them. I hated every damned day of it. I cried to my brother, “I want to go home.” He did his best to make me feel better. “It’s not so bad,” he’d say. “It’ll get better.” Yeah. What the hell did he know? He was only a kid himself and had never been there either. I was barely consolable. If not for my brother being there among all those strangers, and two most understanding counselors, I wouldn’t have survived, at least in my child’s mind. Our parents worked full time. Today we would be called latch key kids, but back in those days, we just needed to keep the key under the mat. My brother, Norm, fifteen months older, very much into sports, had his own set of friends and was outdoors playing a lot more than me. This allowed me to be the kind of a loner I wanted to be, quite able to take care of myself. Even at that age I was a very independent kid. Norm was the athlete; I was the nerdy bookworm. I was NOT a joiner, never into scouting, like Norm, nor playing team sports like him. I did NOT like structure in my life that I did not create for myself. I was, and still am, very self-directed. I did NOT like to be told what to do. So, there I was at Camp Confinement, in a structured environment where blowing of Taps meant bedtime, after witnessing the lowering of the flag. The morning’s bugling of Reville required everyone to be in the mess hall ready for the day twenty minutes after flag raising. All three meals were at the same time and each activity had a time and location. Punctuality was critical. Sleeping in a rustic cabin, with bunkbeds for eight, the counselor’s bed in the middle, no air conditioning of course, was for a wimpy kid like me simply awful, especially when nighttime
bathroom visits meant traversing a sometimes-muddy path to a latrine, flashlight in hand. Swimming lessons were required in the ice-cold mountain lake. Testing of swimming skills to advance one’s way up the scale from Minnow to the ultimate level of Shark, were rewarded with merit badges. I never got past minnow, probably because I hated it all, didn’t want to be there, and repeatedly, stubbornly, childishly, resisted all efforts to train me. The merit system didn’t work for me because I didn’t give a crap. I’m still not a very good swimmer. I prefer warm showers at home. Each cabin had an assigned table in the mess hall. I remember one dinner when my brother said, “Thanks, but I don’t want any rice pudding.” “Oh, Really?” the counselor said. “We serve it because it’s good for you so you can eat all our cabin’s eight portions.” He spent the next two days in the infirmary and to this day… well forget that. One of my more positive memories was in the crafts category. I was always handy at home, fixing things, making things, sometimes even taking them apart just to see how they worked and putting them back together again. Crafts became a safe haven to me in a world of depressing desolation and homesickness. My bad behavior was such that the camp allowed a phone call to my parents — a rule broken. “Please come and get me. I hate it here. Please?” A request my parents denied me. If that was tough love it sure didn’t help. It wasn’t until the end of the first two weeks that our parents were even allowed to visit. When I saw them I thought they came to finally end my torture. I was wrong. They actually had to sneak away without my seeing them leave. When the final two weeks ended it was like a war had ended, me versus them. It was a draw! They were probably as happy to see me leave as I was to wave goodbye through the back window of our departing car. I couldn’t believe my brother wanted to stay longer! When presented the following year with the pronouncement of a second wonderful summer experience at Camp Triangle, I was assured that because I was a year older and knew what to expect, it would be easier and better. It wasn’t. What I gleaned from those two summers was that I definitely needed to be my own person, and that I would absolutely, undeniably never ever join the Army. —By Alan M. Guy
March 15, 2013, Page 8
Happenstance Literary
The Changeling King: A Rain of Frogs Episode Two
T
he Changeling King and Shenk started out on the West Road bright and early in the morning of the third month of the year, questing for three magic stones so the King could regain his kingdom. The King had a map showing the reputed locations of and obstacles in the way of would-be adventurers. Learn how to tame dragons was the admonition above the Roman numeral I. The map showed but a rough sketch of the surrounding country, called Ealgswof. “It’s two days out to Ealgswof from here,” the King said. Their mounts consisted of one ornery jackass for Shenk and one huge bay for the King. The map showed swampy country between them and their destination, but after a few hours the travelers came to a dark wood. Their mounts’ footfalls echoed loudly in the still, crisp air. The King saw his breath turn to steam in the wintery morning chill. The animals both had beards of frost. He looked to his left to judge the angle of the sun and thought he saw movement off in the deep woods. The pine needles seemed to vibrate with tension just released. A noise came then. It sounded like a teakettle blowing off steam. The live oak trees were so huge their branches all but crowded out the smaller pines. The King saw many specimens which had their canopies in the clouds. After the sound, something big moved in the canopy, jostling several branches loose. They fell with a series of earthshaking crashes, the snow falling from several branches with deep thuds. Running along a series of interconnecting trees were thirty or so giant frost-monkeys. One of them cried out in clear English. “Ho there, travelers! Stop or we shoot!” The King noticed a very odd thing. Several of the monkeys were armed with crude slingshots and bows and arrows. Several of the others whistled loudly, a crude battle cry. The smallest of the monkeys was one and a half times the height and twice the weight of the King. Nonetheless, they moved with a silken alacrity which was astonishing. The King and Shenk reluctantly
obeyed the command. They were surrounded, and not even the King’s magic was enough to get them loose. All else in the woods was still as the monkeys clambered down from the trees. Their leader had white hair with a bolt of black running up between his shoulders and down his neck. “Oh, no!” said the King. “It’s a Rain of Frogs all over again!” “Asij is the name, boys and girls,” said the leader of the troupe of monkeys. “What’s wrong with him?” he asked Shenk. “He’s sick.” “Yeah? Is it catching?” “No.” The big monkey seemed to reflect on this for a few seconds. “No matter, this is still a stick up. We mean to have those fine weapons of yours and your gold too.” The King drew his blade. A river of red fire ran up its length, pooling in the scrolled name of the blade. “Fury” shone bright on its length. The King moved faster than Shenk’s eye could follow. In less time than it took for Shenk to gasp in awe he had the big monkey in front of him with the King’s sword on his neck. The flames winked out a second after touching the big monkey’s neck, leaving a flash burn like scalding hot water. “Nobody moves or the big one gets it!” The monkeys with the bows and arrows and slingshots dropped their weapons and ran. The big monkey burst into tears. “We didn’t mean ya no harm!” he gasped between sobs. Clearly he and the others were only amateur highwaymen. “My mother’s sick and we need the. . .the gold to buy her some medicine.” “Your mother, eh? And who is she that I should care?” “She’s our Queen. Please mister, let me go and be on your way.” “Nonsense, you can have some of our gold to buy her medicine.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gold sovereigns. “Is this enough?” “Yessir, it is.” The King sheathed his sword. Later, at the campfire they made that night, Shenk posed the King a question. “What’d ya mean about a rain of frogs?”
The King took an appreciative sip from his hip flask. “A Rain of Frogs, Master Shenk, is just what it sounds like, a disaster on par with the Great Plague. Those sad, sorry, talking monkeys are but a symptom of the larger rot.” “What about that map? It says ‘learn how to tame dragons.’ I always thought that was impossible.” “It is. No dragon can be tamed because they are both too proud and too intelligent to be kept as pets. The instructions are clearly meant to teach us how to do the impossible. Taming dragons means recognizing that it can’t be done. A lesson someone clearly wanted to pass on to us. The map is a minefield...” “What’s that?” asked Shenk. “Sorry. It’s a... disaster, no that’s not right — damn your old English idioms!” “Spit it out already!” “The map is treacherous,” said the King. “We need to consult an oracle. The trouble is the only one I know lives under water.” “Where?” “In a lake, three days ride east from here.” The King and Shenk took off bright and early the following morning. Nothing much happened on their way to the lake, except that Shenk came down with a bad case of dysentery, so the King had him stand a good two yards from the edge of the water and made him vow not to relieve himself in the lake — for fear of scaring away the fish, whom the King needed to talk to. Satisfied with his companion’s promise, the King moved to the edge of the lake and promptly shoved his head underwater. Shenk saw a few bubbles drift up as the King made a sub-aural whistling noise. A wide mouthed grouper showed up after the King’s third repetition of the call. Speaking mermish, The King posed his first question. “Is Ariana home?” “Yes. Come in, the water’s fine!” The King gave Shenk a pointed look. “Stay right there.” Shenk nodded his agreement. Taking up a merry tune he began to hum under his breath as the King walked into the lake. As he strode into the cold, clear water the King paused to take in the scenery.
March 15, 2013, Page 9
Happenstance Literary There was a whole city below the surface of the lake. Ariana lived smack dab in the middle of it, in a beneath-the-waves palace festooned with pearls and gems the size of his head. Coral and sea-weed made the corridors and the roof was kelp. Ariana received the King in her parlor. The King spoke first. “I’ll get right to it. I need help deciphering a map.” “Show me,” the mermish princess
commanded. The King unfurled the map. “This part right here,” he pointed to a spot just north of a town called Fimshan. There was a drawing of a Unicorn sleeping upside down. “What does this mean?” “Simple,” said the Princess “It means to seek a land where the Unicorns sleep in the clouds and there you will find the path to the Fisher King.” The King exited the lake slowly.
“Shenk!” he cried out. “We have our path, south to Fimshan!” —By Sergio Hartshorn The King and Shenk are on their way, where remains to be seen. More to come in Episode 3.
Glimpses of the Past March 21, 2013
Hispanic New Mexico Women: 1528-Present Hispanic New Mexico Women: 1528-Present will be featured on Thursday, March 21, at 7 p.m. at the CCHP/Santa Fé Trail Interpretive Center, 116 Bridge Street, in Las Vegas, N.M. Over the years, many stories of the woman’s experience and influence in the Southwest have been left to the dusty shelves of history. Join Rosalia de Aragon at the CCHP and learn the fascinating accounts of these women of influence who helped shape Southwest history over the last 500 years. Rosalia de Aragon, a native of New Mexico, is well known for her captivating performance of La Lorona. Her passion for performance began at a young age as she was surrounded by a family much accomplished in the visual and literary arts. Inspired by history, Ms. de Aragon continues to entertain the public across the United States. The Glimpses of the Past series of presentations are free in partnership with the Citizens’ Committee for Historic Preservation, Las Vegas, NM. For more information and a complete schedule of events, contact Fort Union National Monument at (505) 425-8025, or visit www.nps. gov/foun. —Information provided by Fort Union.
Eleven Sees at the Museum
For Las Vegas, N.M. subscribers, this looks interesting. Discover the creativity in your own backyard. On Saturday, March 23 at 11 a.m. at the Las Vegas City Museum, Mariano Ulibarri will be discussing art, technology, Hacker Scouts, the Parachute Factory, and the revival of tintypes. After the lecture guests may enter their names in a drawing for one of five tintype sessions that will be given away by the Friends of the Museum. The event is free and open to the public. Light refreshments will be served. Seating is limited and available on a first come, first served basis.
March 15, 2013, Page 10
Happenstance Literary
Quick, Easy Recipes That Taste Great
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ne of my favorite sites for great recipes is www.bhg.com. You can search for just about any ingredient and find multiple recipes. The best thing is the nutrition list at the bottom of each recipe. In this age of too much salt, sugar and fat in many foods, it’s nice to have an idea of what goes into the dishes you make for your family, and how they measure up nutritionally. I haven’t tried this recipe, but it sounds like a delicious way to prepare pork loin. Pecan Crusted Sliders Ingredients 12 ounces pork tenderloin, sliced crosswise in 8 pieces 1 egg 2 tablespoons honey 1 cup finely chopped pecans 2 tablespoons cooking oil 1 small green apple 1 1/2 cups shredded broccoli (broccoli slaw) 1/4 cup mayonnaise 8 small buns or dinner rolls, split Dijon-style mustard (optional) Directions 1. With palm of hand flatten pork slices to 1/4 inch thickness. In shallow dish whisk together egg and 1 tablespoon of the honey. In another shallow dish combine chopped nuts, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper. Dip pork in egg mixture then nut mixture, pressing to coat. 2. In 12-inch skillet heat oil over medium-high heat. Cook pork in hot oil 2 to 3 minutes per side, or until golden and slightly pink in centers. 3. Meanwhile, for slaw, quarter apple. Remove core and seeds; thinly slice. In bowl combine apple, shredded broccoli, mayonnaise, and 1 tablespoon honey. Season with salt and pepper. For sliders, place pork on buns or rolls; top with slaw. If desired serve with mustard. Makes 4 servings (two sliders each). If you’re thinking ahead to Easter brunch, I came across a couple of recipes
inch baking dish. Beat eggs, milk, sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla and salt in a mixing bowl. Pour wet mixture over bread cubes. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Take casserole out of refrigerator 30 minutes before baking. Preheat oven to 350 F. Combine all topping ingredients in a small mixing bowl until topping reaches a crumb texture. Sprinkle topping over bread mixture, then immediately put in oven. Cover and bake at 350 degrees F for 50 to 60 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center comes out clean. Let stand 5 minutes before cutting and serving. Top with butter and warm maple syrup if desired. I’m not sure where I got the egg casserole recipe, but I’ve prepared it for church brunches and it went over well. The best thing about it is that when you get up in the morning, breakfast is ready! Crock Pot Egg Casserole Ingredients: you might like. One is for slow cooker eggs, and it’s mighty tasty. The other is for a French toast casserole, which came from www.ehow.com French Toast Casserole Difficulty: Moderately Easy Casserole ingredients: 8 cups dried bread, cut into 1/4-inch cubes 6 eggs 3 cups whole milk 1 tbsp. sugar 1 tsp. vanilla extract 1 tsp. cinnamon 1 tsp. nutmeg 1 tsp. salt Topping ingredients: 1 cup flour 1/2 cup brown sugar 1/2 tsp. nutmeg 6 tbsp. butter Directions: Place bread cubes in a greased 13x9-
30 oz bag frozen hash browns 1 lb sausage, browned & drained 8 oz shredded cheddar cheese 8 oz shredded mozzarella cheese 6 green onions, sliced and divided in half 12 eggs 1/2 cup milk 1/2 teaspoon salt 1/4 teaspoon pepper Directions: Spray a large crock pot with non-stick spray then place half the hash browns into the bottom. Layer in half the cooked sausage, half the cheeses, and half the green onions, then repeat hash brown, sausage, and cheese layers. In a large bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, salt, and pepper, then drizzle over top. Cook on high for 4 hours, or low for 8 hours, or until eggs are set. Serve with remaining green onions, salsa, or guacamole. Note: You can change the sausage to chopped ham and if it is to your taste, add chopped green chili.