New Year's Eve: Yup, it's a self reflecting post... why are you surprised?

It seems appropriate, being New Year’s Eve, to do some self reflecting; everyone seems so insistent on making resolutions and reevaluating his or her life that I am feeling rather obligated to follow suit. Feel free to vomit, laugh or shake your head in unrelenting shame as you read yet another unrequited post by one of the many unmotivated people who make new year's resolutions every year. 

Blaaaahhhh, all over the place: This is currently how I feel about my progress as a relatively sane human being within the past year. I’d like to think I have made some subtle changes regarding some, cough, “issues” that I have dealt with for many years; however, I can’t seem to shake off one familiar question: Why I am unable to take that extra step into pure and utter self contentment?

I can’t help but feel people are unable to change, not for selfish reasons- the reasons psychologists and Dr Phil’s out there like to brand the poor individual who find it difficult to change- but for selfless reasons. I am in no way trying to make victims of us all who are unable to cope with transition, but I am purporting an argument that seems rather logical. 

It comes down to a fear of inconveniencing others. As a perfectionist, and one who does not like to ruffle the feathers of anyone who she comes into contact with, I feel if I were to change into a “better Jenna” – a more lively, fun and “emotionally there” person – that the people around me would be rather… indifferent towards the change. Right now I am an ideal friend, girlfriend, sister and daughter; I make no emotional demands for love or commitment, I am passive, I allow all relationship flaws to remain unnoticed, I don’t ask for advice, help, support, to be taken out for dinner, to a movie, to an event. I am all of these things because I am selfishly rapt within my out little world of Jenna.

Being completely unresponsive towards a life outside of my own obscure, upside-down, horribly lonely universe, I have relieved anyone who is connected with me of having any sort of responsibilities that are required to maintain a healthy relationship. If I were to change, would I be upsetting everyone by becoming a more emotionally demanding person? Would others want yet another person who they have to put effort into in order to sustain a human relationship? I for one can vouch for their discontentment; I remain isolated because it seems easier to not have friends then to have friends... it's f-ing hard work. 

I have this vision of a woman who is strong, who has a voice so powerful it knocks the god damn world’s socks off; she is fun and opinionated and has the ability to be extremely pissed off, hilarious, aggressive, flirty, happy, sad – all of those wonderful emotions human’s experience. Yet, I am finding it incredibly difficult to make that extra leap into the unknown where I can transform into this new animal, a new breed. I am not so much afraid of jumping, but of what this jump in turn will do to my surrounding relationships. I would become a different Jenna, and I am fearful not everyone who appreciate and want that. Uggg... looks like I am living proof of what a Freudian scholar would classify as someone who is wearing a "figurative mask". 

2011 can go to hell, like the rest of the god damn years that have come and gone with no evidence of ever being here at all. I am hoping this small fire that is burning in the pit of my belly will remain ignited and will slowly grow to a hellish bonfire that will burn down this wall of self hatred and insecurity straight to the gates of Hades. I don’t know what I want in life as of yet, but I definitely don’t want this- what I have now- and I think that is a pretty good place to start.   

A Poem: "The Flame"

The Flame

By Jenna Reimer

I am free.

Free to wake, free to breath,

To walk, to run,

To leave that empty space.

I am free to accept, to refuse

In beautiful times

Or flaming seconds;

I am the flame.

I can be ignited

And lit by my fueled palm.

There is no I or burning

Unless I think it into being.

I can be extinguished

And die in a fury of nothing-

A flaming of the heart.

I am free in every way.

A Poem: The Night Dance

The Night Dance 

By Jenna Reimer
The ceiling looks different tonight.
Over our bodies the lighted lattice comes and goes;
The window muffles the rusted exhausts and pickled voices outside.
I am awake to listen.

Your moth-breath, deep exhales,
Suck back the dead air; the slow brooding sound
Within a drafty library I cannot stand.
I am awake to breathe that sulphured loveliness.

I stumble from the bed.
My footsteps echo, mule-heavy,
With a full nakedness that shadows the sound of my being.
I am awake to feel 3 am.

Cold bath tile, a distant wind moves in my ears;
A mirror reflects my eyes puffy in a shade of tired pink.
One cry leaves my head heavy in hands.
I am awake to remember this. 

A Poem: "The Bones of Winter"

It is as if everything dies at once; together in a quiet leave.
The morning after is silent;
All the leaves have fallen- lush branches now skeletal and frail.
The symphony of birds, the whisper of warm winds,
The performance of waltzing trees,
Disappear into a realm of cold forgotten.
A heavy air, a crueler weighty sky
Burdens a now deadened terrain;
A season destroyed to make way for another.
This vale of grief shrouds the earth in sables
Where we will have to wait to be children once again.

A Poem: "Quiet!"

O Sorrow! O Sorrow!
In the night you sigh so deeply,
In solitude you breathe a cold air of sorrow, sorrow.
On the crimson fields, autumn’s undress, you weep; weeping
While no sun shines, shining on your tears tearing-
Tired, cracked cries from a suffering mind.
O who is it that squeals, whose voice forms such wretched wheals?
With sorrow, streaming sorrows, choking themselves with feral cries?
O shameless mass, brooding howler- O preacher of sickening wallows-
Away with you! Desperate despised, demise your sobbing yelps!
O shadow, masked by the loosened night- At dusk your modesty revealed
And no longer may you shout,
Of Sorrow! Sorrow! Sorrow!

Experimenting with Modular Origami

I haven't decided whether I consider myself a traditionalist or modernist when it comes to origami. I experimented with some modular pieces (combining several identical pieces to create one model) and enjoyed the repetitiveness the creation; however, I still find myself fascinated with the simplicity of basic shapes, animals and other traditional origami pieces. To me, the minimalism of customary origami seems to relay a deeper truth and meaning, almost as if the pieces cohesion is much more apparent through its one-dimensional folds (if that makes any sense)- a little origami philosophy for the day.
I am going to be attempting a complex unicorn and elephant this week and I have a feeling I will gain more satisfaction from their construction, but we will see.
PS: Im super excited to get back into school btw <-- Just a little pointless information. :-)

New Hobby: Origami

I feel terrible I haven’t posted anything on my blog in an extremely long time; it is something that really gives me a lot of joy so I intend of ramping up my blogging! I am starting to think the reason I have been lacking in motivation to post is the fact it has been awfully hot which makes it difficult to bake; thus, no recipes to share. However, I do have more interests than baking so I guess that is no excuse!

Speaking of interests, I have recently taken up the hobby of origami! I seem to have a natural ability for it so I am trying to indulge in the art as much as possible. I find it so peaceful where I find all the trivial stresses of life seem to dissipate into the small folds and creases of the paper. Here are some of my most recent creations that I am bashfully proud of; I think that is what is helping me continue the hobby, I feel so gloriously proud after I complete a piece!

A Poem: "Echo of Elephants"

Echo of Elephants
By Jenna Reimer

We are born into this machine;
A madhouse of thieves and fakes
That prowl an exhausted land
Riddled with deceased trash.

We live and breathe these ruins.
We hear the sadness from the pack of hatred,
We crawl and pace and scream
Not knowing what death is,
And never knowing we are already dead.

The stench of rotting flesh,
The cry of old men and tired women,
The dead eyes of children,
Is the music of this life-
This life of misguided hope
And expired dreams.

Such a deafening sound.
Such a crumbling beauty,
Is the echo of elephants.

An Excerpt from Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass

A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say, Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic;
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white;
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you, curling grass;
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men;
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them;
It may be you are from old people, and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mothers’ laps;
And here you are the mothers’ laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers;
Darker than the colorless beards of old men;
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues!
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;
And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward—nothing collapses;
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

The Joy of Baking: Yummy Bar Nuts

Nuts are dangerous. I could eat an entire bag of walnuts or almonds in one sitting; so buttery and delicious! I made this unique mix of hot bar nuts yesterday that I wanted to share; it is my own twist on these apparently infamous bar nuts that a restaurant in New York serves called The Union Square. They are sort of holiday-ish so I think this Christmas I will be making a giant batch to give away as gifts in cute little tins or something! Enjoy!

Jenna’s Ass Kickin’ Rooster Rosemary Bar Nuts

Ingredients:
- 3 Cups of unsalted mixed nuts
- 1.5 tablespoon of butter
- 1 tablespoon brown sugar
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1.5 teaspoons cayenne pepper
- 1 teaspoon paprika
- 1 teaspoon cumin
- 1 tablespoon fresh rosemary
Optional:
- 3-4 dashes of Sriracha hot sauce (depending on how hot you want them)

Preparation:
1. Roast nuts on a baking pan in a 350 degree oven until golden brown (about 10 minutes or until you can smell that roasted nut smell, you know?)
2. Melt the butter in a big bowl and add the rest of the ingredients and wisk thoroughly
3. Add the warm roasted nuts into the melted butter mixture and toss until fully coated
4. Place back onto a baking pan and let cool for 15-20 minutes to allow the nuts to dry slightly (they’ll be super greasy if you place them in a bowl/bag immediately after tossing them in the mixture)

The Joy of Baking: Jammy Buns

A nostalgic teatime cookie that always reminds me of my Grandma and Grandpa is Jammy buns. This is an incredibly easy recipe that creates a delicious spring time cookie that everyone seems to enjoy! The base is a mix between a short bread and soft oatmeal cookie; you could totally add quick oats as a substitute for bran if you'd like and the recipe would turn out just fine. I made these for the first time today and they turned out wonderfully!

Jammy Buns

Ingredients:

- 2 cups flour
- 1 cup bran (or 1 cup of whole wheat flour- I use bran because its cheaper)
- 2 teaspoons baking powder
- 1/4 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 2/3 cups unsalted butter
- 3/4 cups fine white sugar
- 1/3 cup dried cranberries
- 1 large egg
- 4-5 tablespoons milk
- 5-6 tablespoons raspberry jam

Preparation:

1. Mix dry ingredients together (bran, flour, salt, baking powder)
2. Cube the butter and rub into flour until it resembles breadcrumbs (use the hand mixture if you find the butter is not incorporating into the dry mixture fine enough)
3. Mix in sugar and cranberries
4. In a separate bowl whisk the egg, milk and vanilla and add to the dry ingredients
** continue adding milk if you find the dough isn’t coming together enough
5. Make small dough balls (about 1 tablespoon), place on a cookie sheet and make a small indent with a teaspoon for the jam filling
6. Fill the indent with jam
7. Bake for 7-8 minutes at 350 degrees

A Poem: "The Rain Falls"

The Rain Falls
By Jenna Reimer

The rain falls once more-
A deluged shower,
Steeping itself into the pasture lines
Where one can find so many pains.
Still, it falls-
Delicately, simply,
With no meaning or intention
But the fulfillment of its own nature
Which is to fall and fall once more.

The Poetry of Henry David Thoreau

“When you get into a railway car you want a continent, the man in his carriage requires a township; but a walker like Thoreau finds as much and more along the shores of Walden Pond.” - John Burroughs, The Galaxy, June 1873

Walden is one of my favorite books; Thoreau’s poetry and literature preserves the legacy and quintessential beauty of nature. He foster’s an ethic of environmental stewardship and unearths nature’s ability to be impervious, yet irrefutably apart of, the hand of man. Thoreau’s poetry is tranquil in all of its simplicity and I wanted to share two of his poems.

My Life Has Been the Poem
- Henry David Thoreau

My life has been the poem I would have writ,
But I could not both live and utter it.

Epitaph On The World
- Henry David Thoreau

Here lies the body of this world,
Whose soul alas to hell is hurled.
This golden youth long since was past,
Its silver manhood went as fast,
An iron age drew on at last;
'Tis vain its character to tell,
The several fates which it befell,
What year it died, when 'twill arise,
We only know that here it lies.

The Joy of Baking: Kicking Horse Cookies

My Kicking Horse Cookies have been said to be my best (NEXT TO my infamous ooey, gooey, best milk chocolate chip cookie in the world recipe that I am weary of even sharing as to keep it a secret… yes, they are that damn good). Anyways, these cookies are a hearty bite of sweet goodness that is packed with a variety of ingredients that are perfect during the winter months. HOWEVER, they are good any time of the year so I thought I would share the recipe this week since I baked them!
I named them “Kicking Horse Cookies” because I came up with the recipe on my way home from a weekend getaway to my boyfriend’s condo (called the Kicking Horse Resort) in Golden BC!

Jenna's Kicking Horse Cookies

Ingredients:

- 1 cup butter
- 1 cup brown sugar
- 2 eggs
- 1 tablespoon vanilla extract
- 2.5 cups quick oats
- 1 cup coconut
- ¼ cup coco powder
- 2-2.5 cups white flour
- 1 teaspoon baking soda and salt
- 1.5 teaspoon of cinnamon and nutmeg
- ½ cup chopped pecans
- ½ cup dried cranberries
- 1 cup of chopped white chocolate chunks

Preparation:

1. Cream the sugar and butter until light in color; then add each egg individually to ensure they are incorporated into the batter well
2. Add vanilla
3. Combine dry ingredients (flour, coco powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, baking soda and salt) in a separate bowl and sift to ensure there are no lumps (especially from the coco powder)
4. Mix the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients and mix
5. Incorporate the coconut and quick oats into the batter; if you feel the batter is still rather wet than add ¼ cup of flour at a time until it is still moist but doesn’t stick to your fingers
6. Stir in the cranberries, pecans and white chocolate chunks
7. These cookies are best made BIG (since they have so many ingredients in them) so this recipe should only make about 24 at the most
8. Bake at 350 degrees for no longer than 7 minutes (any type of cookie that has oatmeal in it will not need as long of a bake as any other cookie- you want them to be chewy!!)

Contemplation. Contemplation. Contemplation.

The term contemplation seems to have become a far too familiar state of consciousness that has engulfed the entirety of my life; whether to do this or that, say this or that, without coming to any sort of reasonable conclusion, has turned into an unremitting struggle for me. The notion of “making a decision” has always overwhelmed me. Perhaps this anxiety is due to the fact that I have this amazing ability to believe the fate of my life rests on the most minuscule decisions, and if I don’t make the right decision everything will collapse and be utterly detrimental to myself and the rest humankind.

This idea of contemplation reminded me of a poem by Henry King called "A Contemplation upon Flowers." The poem exudes a sense of awareness, a sense of being entirely present within the confines of reality and knowing that life will come to an end; it is a futile illusion to always seek some sort of imaginative future that appears to be inconceivable, unpredictable and, generally, unachievable. The flowers King speaks to are content with living in the earth, the soil in which we as humans dread to join. We all have this common imagination that tends to become overwhelmed with despair regarding “the end” so we inevitably overanalyze the present, and past for that matter; we feel as if we must become something beyond ourselves in order to feel satisfied and content. Perhaps I am fearful of this feeling of being unfulfilled, rather, the fear that others will perceive my life as being unfulfilled. It seems I am more concerned with other’s perception of my life so I am constantly contemplating my current state of being in order to appear to be “the best Jenna I can be”… how terrible eh?!

I am somewhat alright with my life at the moment, it has been worse, however I want more but not for myself but for others? Is that strange? Selfish? Selfless? All of these terms seem to fit my issues as a matter of fact, but not justify them. I don’t have any sort of epiphany to conclude with so I will just end with Henry King’s poem and hope it inspires all of us to embrace a moment in time that comes and goes like the whispers of a spring wind.

A Contemplation upon Flowers
By Henry King

BRAVE flowers--that I could gallant it like you,
And be as little vain!
You come abroad, and make a harmless show,
And to your beds of earth again.
You are not proud: you know your birth:
For your embroider'd garments are from earth.

You do obey your months and times, but I
Would have it ever Spring:
My fate would know no Winter, never die,
Nor think of such a thing.
O that I could my bed of earth but view
And smile, and look as cheerfully as you!

O teach me to see Death and not to fear,
But rather to take truce!
How often have I seen you at a bier,
And there look fresh and spruce!
You fragrant flowers! then teach me, that my breath
Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death.

The Joy of Baking: Raspberry Jam!

Easy Homemade Raspberry Jam

Ingredients

- 6 cups (1.5 L) crushed hulled raspberry, (12 cups/3 L whole)
**Note: You can substitute the 6 cups of raspberries for any other type of fruit. When I make apriocot jam I used dried apricots and dice them into small chunks and let them soak in water overnight to reconstitute. Then follow the same procedure!
- 1 pkg light fruit pectin crystals
- 4-1/2 cups (1.125 L) granulated sugar

Preparation:

1. Pour raspberries into large Dutch oven.
2. Combine pectin crystals with 1/4 cup (50 mL) of the sugar; stir into pan.
3. Bring to full boil over high heat, stirring constantly. Stir in remaining sugar; return to full boil.
4. Boil hard for 1 minute, stirring constantly.
5. Remove from heat. Stir for 5 minutes to prevent fruit from floating, skimming off foam.
6. Pour into your sterilized canning jars (follow the directions on the canning jar kit that you buy for proper sterilization and preparation- it is a fool proof method so don't stress about it!) leaving about 1/4 ‘’ headspace.
7. Let cool completely and this jam can be kept for up to 1 year.

The Suffering of the Poet

“A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music… and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: “Sing for us soon again;” that is as much as to say, “May new sufferings torment your soul.” – Soren Kierkegaard

Poetry is written when the strength of the heart and soul gives out; it is a truth that is revealed through one’s suffering and our pain and wonder becomes to overwhelming to bear. The poem mirrors one’s state of uncertainty and confusion within this absurd world that we cannot comprehend nor trust. So must all poets suffer? Must we all subvert into an utter state of depression and misery where our poems are only unearthed through our constant state of unhappiness and insecurity about this business of living? I have been battling with this notion for year: Was I destined to these inevitably harsh circumstances that so many poets and writers seem to exude, and live, through his or her work?

My attempts to improve in my social graces have always failed me; it seems as if I was never meant to congregate with other people as I am extremely awkward and always seem to become quickly irritated. This is not to say that I do not wish to be a social person. In fact, I often long for that companionship, whether trivial or not, where I would have to deal with petty fights and deal with the stress of maintaining friendships. However, apart of me always seems to dismiss this idea of friendship; it is as if companionship is a foreign relation for me that doesn’t want to squeeze its way into my life. Is this selfish and depressive or is it proof that I am a true poet who will forever be condemned to a torturous life of isolation and philosophical contemplation where my soul is forever confined within the depths of my being? Is it is this area where my poetry lives whether it be joyous or not? Perhaps… actually, I believe it all dwells in that secret place that even I am unaware of. I am indecisive as to whether I am ok with suffering for my poetry- it is difficult to feel as if you are utterly mad the majority of the time- but I am prepared to allow the pen to take me where I need to be in that moment; I welcome the suffering if it means coming to an inner truth where my words finally lose their purpose.

The Joy of Baking!

When I made my first homemade jam (strawberry and apricot) I was filled with a nostalgic feeling of old age- if that is possible- and had to share this recipe that I made shortly after in order to use up the massive amounts of jam I had on hand! Totally easy recipe!

Strawberry Jam Oatmeal Squares

Bottom layer (tart dough):
- 6 tablespoons cold butter
- 6 tablespoons of vegetable shortening
- 1 tablespoon sugar
- Pinch of salt
- 2 cups of flour
- 6-8 tablespoons of ice cold water

Center layer:
- 1 ½ cups of any type of jam of your choice

Crumble Layer:
- 1 ½ cups rolled oats
- 1 ½ cups flour
- ¼ teaspoon salt
- ¾ teaspoon baking soda
- 1 cup of packed brown sugar
- ¾ cup butter, softened

1. Make the tart dough first; cut the butter and vegetable shortening into the dry mixture of sugar, salt and flour.
2. Incorporate together until the butter/shortening is broken into pea-size pieces
3. Slowly add cold water to the dough until it forms together into a ball.
4. Refrigerate dough for at least 1 hour (you will only a little more than half of the dough for a 9x9 pan but the rest can be kept frozen for months)
5. Make crumble layer in the meantime: combine all ingredients into a mixing bowl and incorporate until it creates a light crumble (add more rolled oats/flour if you feel the crumble becomes too sticky) 6. Remove cold dough from refrigerator and roll out into a rectangle to fit your 9x9 pan and poke holes into the dough before putting in oven (a pan that has been buttered and floured!) 7. Add the jam of your choice on top of this dough and top with your crumble
8. Bake at 350 degrees for about 25-30 minutes or until the top is slightly golden brown
9. Let cool in fridge COMPLETELY before cutting into the tart; serving it at room temperature will leave it slightly gooey and oozy.

A Poem: The Oak Tree

The Oak Tree
By Jenna Reimer

It was when a wave of sand cloaking the sky,
And its blackness became apparent, that I knew
Death was lurking within the matted clouds.
Crouching amongst the night-wind,
In the noisy leaves that were shouting at me,
Louder and louder,
An oak tree stood- motionless.
The clouds rose upward like a heavy smoke,
Changing from a musk to cemented air,
Where leaves burst into a flame of infatuation-
I cannot breath.
If ever this storm of tranquil belief should end
I would stop; my past emerging from my future
And die together as one
Like the Oak tree’s grounding roots.

Happy Saturday Baking!

One of my favorite childhood treats was zucchini loaf; and yes, it was delicious before and after I found out that there was some sort of vegetable in it. This recipe came from my Grandma but I made some subtle alterations to make it a bit heartier and rich!

Chocolate Chip Zucchini Loaf
(Recipe makes 2 loaves)

1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
1 cup oil
3 cups grated zucchini
3 eggs
1 tsp salt, baking powder, baking soda, nutmeg and all spice
1 tbsp cinnamon
1 tbsp vanilla extract
1 cup shredded coconut
2-3 cups of flour
1 cup of milk chocolate chips

1. Cream sugar and oil
2. Add the 3 eggs individually including the vanilla extract
3. Fold in grated zucchini
4. Combine dry ingredients into a separate bowl and slowly incorporate it into the wet ingredient mixture
5. Add coconut and chocolate chips
6. Bake at 350 for 45-55 minutes in a loaf pan or until a toothpick comes out clean from the loaf

The Joy of Baking!

So another passion of mine has always been baking! I try to bake something every week (when my budget allows it) and experiment with different sweets – mostly different types of cookies – and confections. I decided I’m going to start posting my recipes and pictures of my baking just for fun! Enjoy!

Jenna’s “Nuttier Than Thou” Peanut Butter Oatmeal Chocolate Chunk Cookies
(It’s a lot of ingredients but totally fool proof recipe!)
• 1 cup of unsalted butter
• 1 cup of peanut butter
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 1 cup white sugar
• 2 eggs
• 1.5 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 1 teaspoon nutmeg and cinnamon
• 1 teaspoon baking soda and baking powder
• Pinch of salt
• 1 ½ - 2 cups flour (depending on how chewy you want them)
• 1 cup quick oats
• ½ cup chopped peanuts
• ½ cup coconut
• 2 bars of milk chocolate with nuts (you know those variety of Hershey chocolate bars you can buy at the gas station and stuff)

Directions:
1. Cream butter, peanut butter and sugar together until light in color
2. Mix in the two eggs individually into mixture
3. Add vanilla
4. Combine baking soda/powder, salt, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, oats and coconut into a separate bowl and gradually add this dry ingredient mix into the wet ingredient mix
** Note: Add more flour if the mixture is too sticky (you should be able to touch it with your finger tip and not have the mixture stick to your figure)
5. Chop the 2 chocolate bars into chunks and add into mixture along with the chopped peanuts
6. Shape into large, rough looking balls and bake at 350 degrees for about 7-9 minutes
** Note: Do not wait until the edges of the cookies are light brown that means they are over cooked; take them out when they look as if they could use another 1-2 minutes- this means they are perfect!

Lattice of Sunlight Through the Trees

Finally school has ended for the summer and I am able to start indulging in writing poetry and reading some fantastic literature I wasn’t making time for. I recently bought the collected works of Wallace Stevens and have been utterly inspired to say the least. His poetry seems to concern the transformative power of the imagination. Stevens’ style is entirely exotic, whimsical and infused with a sense of light and Impressionism; his words are soft and quiet yet explanatory, much like the unfinished brushstrokes of the impressionist painters.
So far, my favorite poem has been “The Brave Man.” I can’t explain whether it was the power of repetition, or the dark and ominous imagery, that struck me the most; I found it both ironic and brilliant to relate such a shadowy vision to describe the sun. The sun becomes an entity that is able to exist victoriously, impervious to the hand at man, at least during the day time. The poem is beautifully written and implies a sense of dependability where the sun never tarries, and always continues on its path.

That Brave Man
Wallace Stevens

The sun, that brave man,
Comes through boughs that lie in wait,
That brave man.

Green and gloomy eyes
In the dark forms of the grass
Run away.

The good stars,
Pale helms and spiky spurs,
Run away.

Fears of my bed,
Fears of life and fears of death,
Run away.

That brave man comes up
From below and walks without meditation,
That brave man.

A Poem: "Water's Edge"

Water's Edge
By Jenna Reimer

The cold wind on the rock,
The black wind of the sea,
Broke and bent-
A blood spurted from the soul:
Falling onto stones below
Where bearded peaks of ocean
Battled the cliff.
If it could have spoke,
If it could have stood up sharply,
To the sky and howl
The trashes of life-
Felt from the crevice of this earth.

A Poem: "My Breath, Taken Twice"

My Breath, Taken Twice
By Jenna Reimer

My breath, taken twice
Is all I have to tell today.
Once, kissed by a soft wind,
My cheeks flushed a rose-red-
Twice, that breeze parting
Into an eternal distance-
This is poetry I cannot write.
This, and my heart, and all the trees,
And all the fields wide,
In time I may forget-
And never a pen will speak
This feeling so fleetingly.

It has been a while...

I haven’t posted in a long while and feel quite saddened by the fact I haven’t been making time for the one passion I seem to exude: poetry. School is finally wining down and I am looking forward to getting in some much need writing, perhaps attend a few workshops a good friend of mine offers on Thursdays. I decided I need to start making more time for the things that I enjoy as 3/4 of my life involves things that suck... suck real bad. Haha!
I have been lacking inspiration, and time, due to school and work overload so I am anticipating this summer to be full of endless posts of poetry on all subject matters! I have been particularly obsessed with Paris lately so I am sure much of the content of my poems will having a lot to do with mourning the distant land I so wish I could live in; just a forewarning. Hmmm… one day I shall bask in the amorous atmosphere of Parisian society where I will sing, dance, love, write and be entirely at peace in the city of art and culture! *sigh*

A Poem: "The Masterpiece"

The Masterpiece
By Jenna Reimer

In the prevailing gloom at days end
A faint pale light hovers over an image-
The reflection of my own discernible face.
Painful breathing
Seems to come from the darkness,
Like a mighty, remote sorrow rising
From the city streets.
A fading vision, vague and incomplete,
My left eye is lost amongst stiff shadows already;
The loin of my hip faintly visible.
I feel my head in a whirl, being swallowed
By an earth dropping into the void.
And in the cloudiness of the moonlight
A grey half-gloom fades onto my face;
The beam becomes a luminous compass,
Reflecting from this mirror a waning shroud.

Miniature Books

Miniatures, dollhouse accessories and anything utterly miniscule has always fascinated me. As a child I remember being captivated by tiny figurines and items that resembled the life size objects never cared for in my own life. The objects, as miniatures, took on an entirely new meaning and purpose; they no longer held this useless, mundane entity that it had previously represented as a larger item.

I remember owning a miniature book, although, I cannot recall what the book contained. I cherished this tiny piece of literature as if it was a piece of priceless gold, an object that I must keep hidden incase a thief was nearby. You have probably presumed the book has been long lost, which it has, but I can still smell the tiny, unreadable, pages and feel the soft leather that encapsulated them. I was on etsy.com and wanted to share some gorgeous little treasures that reminded me of the splendors of childhood keepsakes.

Money Walks... Sort Of.

Alberto Giacometti's 1960 sculpture of a 6-foot-tall, bronze slim, slim man, "Walking Man I," sold for 65 million pounds ($104.3 million) in a Sotheby's auction, shattering the record price for a work of art at auction. Perhaps a sign of a potential resurgent of art collecting? The bidding began at 12 million than quickly escalate, with roughly 10 bidders buying for the sculpture; the purchaser remains anonymous.

The 6-foot-tall bronze depicts a wiry man in mid-stride, his right foot jutting forward, his head erect and and his arms hanging at his side. Giacometti, a modern master known for his haunting sculptures of blank-faced Everymen, cast the work 60 years ago as part of a commission to plant several of his bronze figures on Chase Manhattan Bank's Pine Street plaza in New York City. The artist famously struggled with the project, eventually quitting it but casting stand-alone versions of several of the planned figures, including "Walking Man I." The price breaks the existing $104.2 million auction record, set six years ago at Sotheby's, for Pablo Picasso's 1906 portrait "Boy With a Pipe," whose buyer remains unknown.

Just who the hell was this artist whose work essentially shattered the economic cloud that of budget cuts and recessions? Alberto Giacometti,(b. Oct. 10, 1901, Borgonovo, Switz.—d. Jan. 11, 1966, Chur), Swiss sculptor and painter, best known for his attenuated sculptures of solitary figures. Notable works include “Head of a Man on a Rod” (1947) and “Composition with Seven Figures and a Head (The Forest)” (1950). His work has been compared to that of the existentialists in literature (ooohhhh happy dance happy dance); in 1963 Giacometti designed the set for Samuel Beckett’s drama Waiting for Godot.

So how do I feel about a work of art being sold for such an absurd amount of coin? I have yet to decide. I think I will forever be doomed to be vulnerable inside the complicated justifications of art and its value; I will save myself for this argument at a later date. However, I will leave you with my semi-developed thesis: Art is often taken as a primary example of something with intrinsic (rather than just instrumental) value. But what’s so valuable about ‘intrinsic’ value?