I've been reading a lot lately. More than usual. Life is busy, we all know this. Every minute I have that is not spent on life has been spent on reading. It's so much easier, not to mention safer, to read than write. And it's even easier to watch Netflix.
In other words, I've been slacking off. Soaking it in. Stagnant.
I have moments during the day when I think of that exact combination of syllables and truth that describes the now, and then I'm torn in a different path and I miss the simple laying down of the written word. (That sentence was way too long and I'm well aware of the fact that I'm trying too hard.) These moments get lost in the shuffled rush of everyday and I am left mute, and lacking.
In spite of the silence, I sense the brewing of renewed inspiration. Maybe it's the occasional lifting of that damn cloud of too much, and the crisp moments when I can really be here. Maybe I'm tired of being quiet. Maybe I have something of my own to create. Even if it's not jaw-dropping brilliant, maybe it's good enough.
Maybe I have a recipe for the best chilaquiles in the world.
Do this and don't look back:
1. Take a stack of corn tortillas and cut them in quarters.
2. Fry the hell out of them.
4. Add a jar of your favorite salsa and simmer for 10-15 minutes.
5. Mix one cup of sour cream with 1/4 cup of heavy cream and a dash of salt.
6. Top fried tortillas with salsa, the sour cream mixture, and crumbled Queso Fresco.
7. Top the nachos with your favorite toppings, such as chopped green onion, cilantro, sriracha, and sliced avocado.
Here are a few obligatory photos from this past weekend:
|"I wish the wind could talk."|