NOW DO YOU KNOW HOW WE FEEL?

What? We? Who’s we?

Are you one person or a multitude of like-minded people in one person?

How would I know how you individually feel and then how a multitude of like-minded people inside of you feel?

How would I know that? Did you tell me, specifically, or even generally, how you feel about anything?

How about me. Do you know how I feel? Do you care how I feel?

Why would I care how you feel if you don’t care how I feel?

Oh, you want to punish me and then say, yeah, now you now what it feels like?

So you think I’ve never been punished by anyone, by any group, by any demographic, by life itself, by prejudice, discrimination, enslavement and torture? So how could I possibly know what it feels like?

Prejudice leads to discrimination, which leads to enslavement, which leads to torture, which leads to slaughter if left unchecked. In other words, if not stopped.

I’m up to slaughter. I’ve lived through all the other stages.

So, what are you really asking?

You want me to feel your pain?

Are you ready to feel mine?

Oh, you want me to feel your pain, then you walk away without feeling my pain.

What do you call that?


PayPal-ME-300x300.jpg






 

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Sometimes I Like Humble Pie

Sometimes I get so sick of people’s endless quirks.

Then I realize I have a few of my own.

Yes, sometimes I like Humble Pie.

It’s an acquired taste. Not for everyone.

It pairs well with Chateau d’Yquem.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight







BAGEL OUT. ENGLISH MUFFIN IN.

I tried and tried to like that bagel. It just wouldn’t let me. It’s too tough, break your teeth, bite the inside of your lip trying to chew the dang thing. I developed recipes, nice ones, knowing other people worshipped the ugly thing trying to be a bun and a donut in one. No originality. Flavorless even when flavored. My dog daughter uses them like toys. Rolly Polly we call them, when Steve brings one home for Lilly Belle.

The bagel trying to be a sandwich is the biggest joke of all. I did it, tried it, it’s my way to expeiment. I succeeded by covering the hole with something that wouldn’t push through when biting into it. Spreading the thicker condiments on the lettuce rather than the bread. Some bagel-makers made a softer, more gentler, easier to stomach bagel, but they don’t stick around long. The big bagel-makers push them out.

I engineered my recipes for the head-in-the-sand bagel-eaters. They’re happy. But I can’t keep using a product that I have to alter so much in able to eat it. And they only stay fresh for one day. Hey, this isn’t in the category of a French baguette, where you know in advance to eat the day you buy.

Poppy seeds give pregnant women a positive opioid test and babies get taken away from their rightful mothers based on the results of that test.

On the ‘everything’ bagel they appear like tiny black dots all over it. That’s what bagel-eaters want, ‘everything’ so they don’t miss out on ‘anything’.

What they should have added is ‘everywhere’.

Strategy-wise, bagel-eaters don’t like to choose. Again, they’re afraid they’ll miss out on or lose something by choosing one or more over the others.

Did the bagel-makers stop putting poppyseeds on the bagels? NO. They relished in the attention, making the bagel even more appealing to addiction prone bagel-eaters. No high yet, but keep trying and it could happen if your body likes opioids, and many bagel-eating bodies do. Opioids gravitate to where they’re liked.

But those poor mothers whose babies were swiped away from them put into foster homes right from birth, because of that test. Babies bonding with strangers all because of the bagel-maker not wanting to change the recipe.

Now comes the sesame seed being highly allergic in allergy-prone people, which is a lot of people, since the number of people with allergies and sensitivities are rising through the roof. Yes, the sesame seed also appears on the ‘everything bagel’.

Still, that they kept the poppyseeds on… and washing doesn’t help much, since if you wash poppyseeds they clump together, so have to be dried, and that makes a mess and costs a whole lot more, so everybody makes light of it. Funny isn’t it? Bagel-maker too lazy to wash the poppyseeds. Change the test not the bagel, they say as they seeth through yeasty nails dug deep into their piles of dough.

That even one baby got swiped from his/her mother, and father too, is one family too much. Your baby sees some strange person first and bonds with that stranger, knows that stranger’s smell, cries for that stranger that isn’t you, just because you had to have an ‘everything’ bagel, knowing that the bagel had opioids that show up in a urine test when you go to the hospital to give birth.

What a heartache – a heartache that the entire world feels for that mother and that baby and that father and the families of both, whose smells will be strange to that baby when that baby is rightfully returned to it’s real family.

The Jews did that. And they’re still doing it.


Yes. The English Muffin is definitely superior to all bagels, seeded or not. It’s just the way life made it. Nooks and crannies is an English term, but the holes in the muffins are like basins or craters that hold liquid, that slowly seeps into the risen dough like syrup on pancakes, instead of holes where liquid falls straight through to your lap.

I’ll take the English muffin over the bagel any day of the week. I don’t have to find ways to like it. It’s perfect the way it is. Frankly I prefer my plant burgers on a lighly toasted English muffin rather than a burger bun. It’s sturdier and doesn’t fall apart as easily, but tender at the same time. Soft in the middle and lightly crisped on the edges when lightly toasted. That’s the only way I eat an English muffin, toasted.

Animal-Free is my only requirement – no milk or whey or any part of the animal disguised as a plant.

The chefs on Food Network turned their noses up at the English Muffin, but then again the bagel-makers butter their buns, plus they eat animals – the whole animal, raw, bloody, alive sometimes, insects too, so you know where their taste buds lie – at the bottom of the sewer of humanity. They laugh a lot – too much for culinary comfort. Not that it’s their fault – they can’t help themselves.

They keep telling people to stop them as they whistle past the graveyards of those they ate, to eat some more, but nobody does, because they know they’ll fight back with a vengeance few have seen in modern day. They want you to stop them as an excuse to release their brutality once more upon the world. Go ahead, I dare you.


So, the English Muffin wins hands down.

ENGLISH MUFFIN IN. BAGEL OUT.

 BOYCOTT BAGELS GLOBALLY






Religious Head Coverings Oppress Women

As a young Catholic girl I had to cover my head in church; the boys didn’t have to. They had to remove their head coverings upon entering church.

The boys were allowed on the altar; the girls weren’t. Even though girls would collect and take home their surplices to wash, starch and iron for the next Sunday mass, we had to enter through the back door.

The boys could assist in the mass; the girls could not. How could you assist in mass if you weren’t allowed on the altar? Only boys could be altar boys. Fair enough, but there was not a category for altar girls. A trick I thought as a young girl learning early what a backseat was.

Of course you’re special, you’re just different. No, it doesn’t mean the boys are better, it’s just the way it is. You think too much. Stop dwelling. I’m only asking a question, not dwelling. Boys and girls are different. Your job is as important as theirs.

But they do all the fun things. Why can’t they collect, wash, starch, iron and return the surplices and I assist at mass, I thought to myself.

Catholic families learn early in life through the doctrines of the church the value of their own children through the eye of the church, the Pope’s eye and in the eyes of God, even in the eye of Jesus. It wasn’t till decades later, on a trip to Montreal to attend a doctor’s symposium on dystonia, that I made my first walk on an altar.

I drove myself from Cleveland. Brought a bunch of Vox Dei Newspapers I published (similar to the word warrior content I publish online now, only in print form) and dropped them off Johnny Appleseed-style all along the way. I was also visiting by car (a visual tour) the birthplace of my maternal grandfather in Inverness, Quebec, a Scottish community, whom I never met, since he died early of pneumonia.

One of the stops along the way was a church (not planned, just me coming up on places or people and stopping to handout or drop off papers). I stopped, found the side door hallway, left a bunch of papers at the top of the steps, then went inside the church. I sat about in the middle and as I looked toward the altar saw a used baby diaper in the middle of the aisle – blue. I thought that’s strange. How could somebody drop a used diaper in the middle of the aisle of a church and keep walking?

I moved a little closer to the altar and took a seat near the aisle. I looked around to see nobody present. Catholic churches are much the same no matter where they stand. I scan the stations of the cross and recall doing them many times during the run up to Catholic holidays. I look at the altar with regrets for all the time spent during my childhood being a Catholic second class citizen. Why was I born a girl? Other religions are the same though – I’ve studied at least the basics of most of them.

My thoughts turn to the head coverings. First it was a hat, not carried, but actually on our heads that we needed to enter the church. God was in the church. That’s all we needed to know. Cover your head. I learned that men were made in the image of God, women were not, so they bared their heads and we covered ours. God is a he not a she.

What they really meant, in my view, was that men wanted to be seen by God alone, wanted to negotiate with God, wanted to be accepted by God. Women would steal the show, so cover them up, so God can’t see them. Always secret deals going on with God and men. Men wanted God to themselves. Men didn’t want to compete with women for God’s favor. Men were self-designated go-betweens. Men designated themselves as the Gods for women.

Men wrote the bible, not women. God – Men – Women. God tells the man what to do, then the man tells the woman what to do. The man is the filter through which the woman sees what the man allows her to see. These were man-made, church-made, not woman-made laws of religion.

Jesus was a man. Gay or not it doesn’t matter. He did the same thing. You have to go through him to get to God. He was one of those Jews who likes to fulfill prophecies. It got him killed. Jews aren’t the only ones who like to fulfill prophecies for personal gain. I’ve seen members of congress do the same thing.

So here I am – alone in a church somewhere in Quebec. Dare I do the deed? Maybe I should have pre-thought an excuse for being on the altar should a priest walk in, or some big local church official or an altar boy. Or a mother who knows I don’t belong there. But I didn’t.

Next thing you know I’m siting in the papal chair looking out over the throngs of worshippers.

Eventually the Catholic church did away with demanding head coverings for women in church. It was a gradual process – hats were no longer required, but a small piece of lace secured with a bobby pin was the next and last step to head freedom. Now God could see everybody. I was glad about that.

Whenever I see a Muslim child or woman with a head covering and a man with none to me it’s a sign of oppression and I personally find it offensive. The oppression I experienced very early in life, that marred perceptions of my worthiness, is why I eventually turned away from all religions.

Muslim women forcing non-Muslim women in America to look at that symbol of oppression wherever they roam in public is the same for me as a black person being forced to look at, communicate with, do business with and work with white people who wear nooses loosely around their necks, or a Jew being forced to look at, communicate with, do business with and work with Germans, Austrians and Poles who wear Swastika arm bands.

Oh no, no, no, it doesn’t mean that. No, no…

Yes, it does mean that to me. It will always mean that to me. To watch Muslim women enjoy being oppressed makes it all the more grotesque, thus obscene. Wear it at home or in the places where you worship your oppressive Gods. This is not a religious country. It’s a multi-ethnic country that allows you the freedom to go to church, mosque, temple or wherever you gather with like-minded individuals to worship without persecution.

It’s not a symbol of oppression. No it’s not. Look at me, I’m a congresswoman.

A congressperson who thinks her hair has magical powers that will make every man except those in her family, want to rape her if she exposes it.

So here we’ve got a congressperson who wants to look like a prostitute to remind people she isn’t one (Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez), and another congressperson who wants to wear a symbol of oppression against women to prove that she isn’t oppressed (Ilhan Omar).

Both women are signaling solidarity to women in their own ethnic and religious groups, rather than to all women and all men, whom they were elected to represent while members of a federal congress. They are executing preferential prejudice by gender, ethnicity and religion as well as discrimination toward every person not in those stylized groups.

Most of all, using oppressive symbols to gain popularity among select groups is offensive and manipulative. It hurts people; it doesn’t help people

Once you’re in the USA federal rather than the USA state congress, your votes effect all people in the nation, not just your constituency, or gender-specific or religion-specific or ethnic-specific bases.

Their message: Push down the women who already fought and created their freedom by making them feel sick by association with oppressive symbolism they’re forced to view in public places, while simultaneously raising up those still oppressed by showing them they can succeed while being oppressed.

Look at us; we’re congresswomen.

Congresspeople.


Ask Ilhan Omar if she supports segregation.

Ask Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez if she supports federally funded abortion for Spanish speaking prostitutes.






 

HOME

Isolation became over time a place of comfort – a place from where I became most productive – a place I grew to call a home I own.

Now I look to own a different home.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






I Have My Own God. I Neither Need Nor Want Yours

Most people perceive God as someone who can perform humanly impossible feats of power at will or whim or urging that is communicated with or without a request or a demand from a conglomerate of molecules, atoms and chemical reactions in an organism called a human.

That’s not my God.






 

ARIZONA HIGHWAYS

grandpa and grandma jim & kate

Grandma and Grandpa long before I was born.

James Frederick Davies and Katherine Rose Germonte.


Grandpa’s father was born in England and his mother in Ireland. Grandma was born in Lithuania with Russian, Ukrainian and Polish roots.

When Dad and Mom bought their old house and Grandma and Grandpa moved to one that was all on one floor, Grandma left behind in the attic stacks of old Arizona Highways magazines. I was in second grade and had no idea how she even got them.

I’d go into that attic that Mom was turning into a clothes closet, turn on the lightbulb and sit on the floor for hours looking at the pictures of all the Indians, wondering why Grandma had magazines about Indians who lived so far away. We lived in Massachusetts and these were Indians in Arizona.

Most kids dream of being somebody important. I wanted to be an old person sitting in a rocking chair on a porch in Arizona where people would come from far and wide for my wisdom. I never told anyone that before. It seems so foolish. I was in second grade dreaming of becoming an old woman. I rocked a lot. Dad had to bolt my crib to the floor. They’d get up in the morning and my crib would be across the room and they’d wonder how it got there.

When I got older I used to wish I didn’t rock. Now it makes me dizzy. I outgrew it.

You know, when you grow up you don’t pay much attention to how your family looks. That’s an outsider thing. When I received these photos a few days ago from someone on ancestry.com, and knowing that most American Indians migrated from Russia/Asia, I began to think that Grandma had those Asian roots.

I know this sounds funny now, but Grandma had sort of kinky hair. And we always said that she looked the same no matter how old. She never seemed to change. She was tiny, under five feet and never lost the so-called baby fat on her face.

When I look at her now, except for the white skin (and in person it wasn’t that white), she looks like those Indians I saw in Arizona Highways.

I think she enjoyed looking at ‘her people’ without ever knowing for sure who her people were, except that Auntie brought her from Vilnius, Lithuania when she was ten years old. I don’t know what Auntie’s name was; we all just called her Auntie.

This photo is of Dad and his sister Ann. Her real name was ANNA, but she Americanized it to ANN. Dad was Thomas Joseph. Grandpa’s and Grandma’s other son was James Frederick, like Grandpa. Dad joined the Merchant Marines during WWII.






 

THE CONSTANT REMINDER

AFC SCALES & MIRRORS

My age is a constant reminder of my mortality.

Old age is like an incurable disease with an expiration date.

When we’re young it’s the crossing of the street or getting into a car that could end it all prematurely. It helps to lift the doom knowing the odds that it probably won’t happen and that all activities present some risk.

When we’re old it becomes the slip and fall that could end it all. None of it is within our absolute control, but we do take measures to keep ourselves safe throughout our existence no matter the age.

All precautionary measures taken being equal, old age remains a constant looming death sentence if you’re old.

There is no best way to deal with it and it certainly isn’t something one can overcome. It’s not something you can be taught or learn from somebody else. It really is a solitary…

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Good Luck

I love balance. Not as in good vs evil and settling for somewhere in between. That’s compromise.

There are endless shades of good that have no connection to evil that I just happen to like to balance – not as in a juggling act, but as a necessity desired by me to bring out the highlights of all the shades so I can see better.

It’s not for others to see. What would be the point of that? My neural connections are my own, as are yours. I don’t covet yours though I do seek to understand them on a basic, rudimentary, general level.

If by chance, and it’s always by chance, your connection and my connection collide I don’t consider it random or an accident. It is both of our connections simultaneously recognizing the universal dictum of good luck.

There is a slight but significant difference to me between ‘random’ and ‘chance’ that leads to simlutaneous recognition. Statistically significant in that realm where I drive doesn’t matter.






 

Love Goes Where It Hides

Can I hide inside your heart for a while?

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

A Territorial Daughter

I’m a territorial daughter of a natural born engineer and a mother who possessed exceptional reading, intellectual and organizational talents, both of whom were savy enough to follow their own minds in their own ways. The two left a mark on me that nobody except me can own. Not even them.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

Sharon’s All Animal

SHARON’S ALL ANIMAL –

unpredictable for the sake of her own survival – like all animals.

She’s not afraid like we are – of that connection. We fear it. She recognizes it. Embraces it.

Accepts that which she cannot change.

She is it. She has all the animal moves – the gender moves too.

It’s all her. She walks it talks it sleeps it.

Then writes it paints it cooks it – puts it all out there for us to see.

Ever notice how she doesn’t refer to herself as an animal lover, as other animal advocates and activists do?

She really doesn’t love a particular species or breed within a species, just because they’re animals. She loves her family and part of that family comprises other species.

Just like she’s not going to like a human based on their skin or gender. She respects everyone’s right to exist within certain parameters – those that affect her safety and the safety of her family and the safety of those who can’t defend themselves against intruders.

She has been throughout her career of service concerned primarily with security in every area of living. It breathes her like she’s on life support. Nobody knows where that breath comes from and it’s best not to pry.

That’s all there is to Sharon. She is one Goddamn simple animal with one Goddamn simple constitution, who embraces all of her traits, while respecting the traits of others – until they conflict with hers.

And then what?

MEET THE WALL

Oh.






 

Forever In My Soul

Once you laughed with me,

and I thought it the most beautiful sound I ever heard.

I still do, and throw my head back in remembrance,

cherishing that time – forever in my soul.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

New! Fantastic! Best in Taste! AFC SPOON FILLS – 6 bites to freedom

YOU’VE NEVER SEEN NOR HEARD OF ANYTHING LIKE THIS…

AFC SPOON FILLS 2

AFC GLOBAL

AFC SPOON FILLS 2

Do you think it’s time to put the whole world on a diet? I think so.

The world, the whole world, needs to stop eating animals.

Everybody – adults, children, and other animals too. We need to find a way to feed the carnivorous animals on the planet plant food. We can do it with the will.

We need to replace animal with plant.

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African Tomato Nut Pesto Linguini

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO LINGUINI 1

AFC GLOBAL

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO

AFRICAN TOMATO NUT PESTO LINGUINI #4

Made with veggie pepperoni, garlic and extra virgin olive oil. Powerful flavors that pack a powerful pasta punch. Serve with red wine, beer or lemonade! This is my Vincent van Gogh of pesto pasta dishes. Rich, filling, satisfies on all levels.

Serves 6-8

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Groups Are Over-rated

I don’t really want to be connected to a group. I don’t know why I’m that way. I love to be around people. All kinds of people. It doesn’t even matter if they’re nice. Maybe because my DNA matches so many regions around the world – and I draw on all of them by the way – I prefer living in a multi-ethnic environment.

I don’t have to like particular features of your culture and don’t tell me to accept your ways as a condition of anything. I accept only your humanity and right to exist, not the parts of your culture that demean the human creature or any other creature.

Those whose ancestry is limited to one region probably prefer to be with people from only that region. It’s a preference predetermined by one’s DNA (deoxynucleic acid).

Discriminating against someone or shaming someone or a group of someones, because they prefer the company of people from a particular region of the world is exactly as stated – a discrimination. It works both ways however. For a group that is more comfortable with those who look, talk and eat like they do, to discriminate against everybody else is as stated – a discrimination.

By you shaming or blocking or isolating them serves no useful purpose. Name one beyond the joy of psychological torture when you’re the one inflicting the pain.

For me, the whole group thing doesn’t allow me the freedom to be me. Groups do that. There are rules of conduct that reflect certain views, that if not adhered to or followed, then excommunication from the group results. That’s the discrimination that occurs within the group. All groups are the same in that regard.

There are always people within those isolated singular-ethnic groups, who experience the surge of wanting to see what’s outside their world on the other side of the invisible fence. They’re called explorers for that reason. All cultures accept those members of their respective groups who do that. They return with knowledge of different places and Peoples and habits.

It’s the explorers who bring the world together, but as people migrate or emigrate they bring their invisible fences with them and set up their congregations where they land. They develop networks that shuffle people to new locations where similar people have settled. It makes perfect ancestral sense. People want to be with their living ancestors.

What the world fears is assimilation. I don’t want their culture. They don’t want yours. So the invisible fences stay.

No one to date has found the key to unlock that fear. People don’t want to change the way they are. They want everybody else to change to their way. Unfortunately the oldest civilizations are the most resistant to change.

That’s why it’s called resistance. Half the USA wanted change that created a better more organized less wasteful, less fearful country sixteen years post 911. The other half wanted things to stay the way they were, chipping away, while holding onto the “never going to actually get there or by the time we do nobody will care mentalities. Slowpokers I call them now.

Slowpokers over time become high maintenance.

Somebody who makes a feverish attempt at staying slow is resisting the inevitable faster pace required for meaningful positive progress.

The world needs a common cause. That’s the key.

Animal Rights has been selected.






 

That Was Quite A Sneeze

Many years ago while in nursing school and doing my maternity part of schooling, our teacher discussed pelvis sizes regarding ease of birth. She pointed me out and said, “Sharon, you’ll sneeze out your babies” – meaning I had a wide pelvis. At 69 years old I can attest to the fact that I sneezed out 7 dogs and 2 cats.






 

Call Me What?

You can call me anything you want, but I’m the realist writer there ever was.

And yes, I can change my own grammar. The usage of words is what it’s about.

And I’m using the words as I see fit for the occasion.








 

My DNA Results Are In

 

ANCESTRY DNA 1

ANCESTRY.COM \ ancestryDNA

ANCESTRY DNA 2

The big surprise was the SCANDINAVIAN influence coming in @ 31%.


ANCESTRY DNA 3

GREAT BRITAIN including WALES AND SCOTLAND @ 21% no surprise there.


ANCESTRY DNA 5

A separate category for IRELAND, SCOTLAND AND WALES was a little surprising @ 20%.


ANCESTRY DNA 4

EUROPE EAST including primarily Poland, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Austria, Russia, Hungary, Slovenia, Romania, Ukraine, Belarus, Moldova, Lithuania, Latvia, Bosnia, Herzegovinia, Croatia came in at 21%. I expected to see only Lithuania, or Russia, Poland and Lithuania because of all the ‘occupation of Lithuania’ that went on over the centuries.


ANCESTRY DNA 6

IBERIAN PENINSULA registered 6% and generally covered SPAIN and PORTUGAL, yet the physical map included Northern Coastal African countries of Morocco and Algeria. Also included in this map are Corsica Island (France) and Sardinia Island (Italy). I was wondering if I might be Spanish or French. A small amount of both. I say, 6% is statistically significant.

ANCESTRY DNA 7

EUROPE WEST @ 1% included primarily FRANCE and GERMANY with map overlays into Northern Italy, Western Spain, some countries mentioned in EUROPE EAST category plus Switzerland. Some more French here and Italian – not much but it’s on the board.

ANCESTRY DNA 8

The NEW ENGLAND SETTLERS ethnic categories for me included Great Britain, Ireland/Scotland/Wales and Europe West. The Davidson side of my mother’s family are from Inverness, Quebec outside of Montreal, which is included on the map along with New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island.

What I didn’t find was the Native Canadian via Quebec or Native American via Northern New York connection – the Indian blood my grandmother told us we had, “your mother won’t tell you this, but you have Indian blood in you”.

Maybe some of my siblings or cousins share that DNA. Maybe Ancestry DNA doesn’t track Canadian Natives or aboriginal peoples.

Either way it was interesting to see the results. I understand now why my mother often called me a mongrel. The dictionary says it’s a disparaging (insulting) term for a person of mixed breeds. She didn’t say it that way though. Kinda like when she’d call me her little gypsy as she ruffled my hair as I walked by.

I don’t have to look for the Indian – Canadian or American – I know it’s there somewhere.

I’m satisfied with the results. Nothing shocking once researched and explained. It takes a long time to get the results.

I recommend it for people who have never committed a crime.

It was a Christmas present from Steve. I wouldn’t have pursued it on my own.

Now he gets a present from me and we’ll compare heritages.

French and Italian – though in small amounts – surprised me too. My family didn’t talk heritage like I guess a lot of other families do. It just wasn’t important to neither father nor mother. That’s probably a good thing.

Now, I’m not going to do what so many others appear to be doing or appear to have done, and that is to try out different DNA companies to see if they get the same results as ancestry.com.

I’m satisfied. Looks like I’ve got some Northern African DNA too. A smidgen. But it’s there.

Actually I’m happy with all of it.

Hey, where’s my China connection? I’m supposed to be part Asian. It’s probably hiding in the same place those Indians are hiding. Siberia.






 

LIGHTING A CANDLE FOR BROTHER JIM

Merry Christmas Jim & Nancy!

LIGHTING A CANDLE FOR JIM





 

AFC Sweet Potato Hummus

SWEET POTATO HUMMUS

Simple and elegant combined makes everyone want to make this Velvety smooth appetizer delight! Exquisite texture and flavor. You wanted an easy appetizer to make for the holidays or any special occasion? This is it. Or, make it the same way, heat it and serve as an elegant side dish vegetable!

How much effort does it take to bake some sweet potatoes? Then what are you waiting for? Make them a few days ahead, then when needed, all you do is reach into the fridge. AFC Sweet Potato Hummus has a longer shelf life than most appetizers, so go for it. Surprise everyone with the newest State Of The Art Hummus – made Àla Sharon.

Makes 2-1/2 cups

Continue reading “AFC Sweet Potato Hummus”

Wild Flower

My mind is growing like wild flowers in July should.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

I’m Cree

Cree, when I asked I was told through a physical medium – scrabble tiles I used during my rehabilitation from a toxic brain injury caused by toxic molds.

I wasn’t too pleased with that, considering their hunting nature, but then all Indians share that nature. I still don’t like it.

Canadian. On my Grandfather’s side. I’m a Scot French Canadian Cree. Ernest Romanzo Davidson was my grandfather. He died early, when my mother was six years old. My grandmother told me, “your mother will never tell you this, but you have Indian blood in you.” I believed her.

He was born in a Scottish community in Inverness, Quebec.

Romanzo is Italian. Don’t know what that all means. Maybe I’m Italian too. Crees are noted for their cross-breeding.

Maybe my grandmother was part Indian too. My mother said she had a touch of Dutch, from upstate New York in her from her mother, but never said the rest of what she was.

Nanny never did say who I got the Indian from, and I didn’t ask.

In a letter from my mother when she was eighty-two years old, she said her father was delivered by an Indian. That’s the closest she ever came to saying anything about it. I felt like she was leaving something out, but didn’t question her. It didn’t matter.

I was part Russian most of my life until Lithuania became independent of the Soviet Union, then I was Lithuanian. I felt like I lost something, not knowing what.

My father is English and Lithuanian, also Irish and Welsh. Davies.

I could be part Chinese for all I know. My parents didn’t talk about stuff like that. Probably because we had a mixed heritage – which one do you focus on? None most likely.

Hey, maybe I’m Spanish.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

CREATE vs ENGINEER

Create connotes willy-nilly. There’s nothing willy-nilly about my process.

I engineer everything I do – the entire recipe developing process is engineered. I don’t cross my fingers, take a deep breath or hold my breath, pray, hope, wish or hand it over to the universe. I take control at every juncture.

I don’t try something merely to see if it might fly, or just out of curiosity. The world is full of curious-seekers. I’m not one of them. If I’m thinking about it, I already have a pretty good idea whether it will or won’t fly or if it won’t, can I make it fly, and is it worth it? If I’m excited about the possibility I’ll continue. If I’m holding my breath, I won’t.

In the rare instances where I have to make more than one attempt, I do so knowing in advance that I will succeed – eventually. I keep the pace that the project sets for me – not the other way around. I don’t frantically test and retest to get it right. When the skill-set matches the mind-set and the products are available to make it happen, I’ll be there to make sure it does.

Nobody can tell me to hold up a project for their own self-serving interests. Nobody can tell me to give a project to somebody else whom the world favors more. I don’t have private investors who play all sides of the fence – even the top and the bottom of the fence (put it on hold or sink it parts of the fence).

I’m not a tumbleweed. I don’t go where the wind takes me. I make the wind turn in my direction – because it sees the value in going the way of the Five Principles.

I don’t force it. It wants to be a part of this great project.

If you want to be a part of it all, then you had better show up with some talent and know what those talents are.

You can stay a tumbleweed if you want. But if you want in on this, then you had better talk to that tumble part in you and line up with the Five Principles:

No prejudice, discrimination, enslavement, torture and slaughter.

There’s nothing willy-nilly about me.

Remember that.

Sharon Lee Davies-Tight, the animal-free chef






 

my heritage

I’m not enough of any one thing to claim anything for myself based on heritage.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

THIS IS HOW CONTROLLING MY HUSBAND IS:

LAUGH

I took the laundry cart out as a precursor to doing the laundry – only bedding today. He sees it before taking a shower and says what’s this cart doing out here? Don’t do laundry. I’ll do it on my day off.

I say I’m only doing bedding.

He says okay, then says no. I can do the bedding when I do my work clothes for the week. I’ll just throw it in when I’m down there.

I say, well leave the cart out.

He says no, I’m putting it back, as he proceeds to push the cart back into the closet saying I don’t want you to be tempted – out of sight out of mind. Relax, have some fun today. You don’t want to be doing laundry.

I’m writing something else on the computer and I say out loud: this is how controlling my husband is – blah blah blah – and I’m going to write it. We both laugh hysterically, because he’s a controlling husband and I’m a workaholic.

I say I’m going to write this and put it on our fat-site.

He said yeah, write it – we’re both still laughing. He said this is what they mean by no good deed goes unpunished.

I’m thinking maybe laughing makes you lose weight. Hm-m.

Better on a Sunday morning to be laughing rather than regretting something from the night before. Maybe that could help you lose weight too.

Maybe I’m onto something here.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight

OUR FAT SITE: https://fat-freechef.com






 

STAYING MAD – NOT STAYING MAD

I don’t stay mad at people. Never have – even as a child. Others would get mad at me because of it.

I never saw the good in it. It wasn’t in me to carry the stuff. I don’t know the why of it – only that I had no interest in getting even. Even when now I might say I do, I really don’t.

I can find better ways to waste my time and energy – all more fun.

Some may think it’s a form of mental illness or a brain defect. I consider it a rare gift.

Not staying mad has a survival advantage that staying mad doesn’t.

I wouldn’t know how to tell somebody else how to do it. For me it’s effortless. I don’t have to talk myself into it.

It doesn’t mean I don’t get mad, only that I don’t stay mad.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

THE CONTRADICTION ISSUE

COW 3

Upon choosing a healthier more compassionate diet, you will be challenged by those who have not yet taken that step, to defend your decision to not eat animals. They will argue that your animal-free diet contradicts your other animal using behaviors, thus making the issue of killing animals not worthy of consideration. They will point to your leather shoes, your wool sweater, your prescription drugs in a capsule, and the operation you may have had at some point in your life, which was the result of animal experimentation. They will look closely at what you eat, laying in waiting, ready to pounce, should you inadvertently or advertently consume any semblance of an animal product.

They will present you with a myriad of arguments: We slaughter animals because we raise them for slaughter; we’re at the top of the food chain; they don’t contribute to society; God gave us permission; they taste good; we’ve always done it; everyone else does it; men developed large arm muscles with which to hunt; we developed canine teeth with which to tear flesh; animals kill each other; it’s a matter of survival; we’re superior; plants scream when pulled from the ground; they’re dumb; they can’t feel pain or fright; they would otherwise suffer from overpopulation and starvation, all the while keeping you on the defensive, in order that you not offend – them and their right to consume animals.

What gives us the right to raise anyone for slaughter? An animal in captivity has the same capacity to feel pain, fright, and loneliness as an animal who is free. The only difference is that one gets a death sentence before s/he is born, and subsequently suffers accordingly. I suppose that being at the top of the food chain is not a bad place to be, unless we’re ever invaded by aliens who have a penchant for humans. My guess is that we’d get rid of that “next down balance of nature”  theory  real quick.

One cannot measure contribution, however, if one could, animals would be categorized as contributing a great deal to any society. However, animals do not exist on this planet for the benefit of humans; they exist for their own benefit. And I sure would like to meet the person God told that we could use the animals as we saw fit. Since when did the word dominion come to mean use, abuse and destroy? Humans wrote the bible. Where God’s inspiration left off and their self-serving motives began is a little unclear.

If we happen to be stronger than some animals, that in itself does not give us the right to use and abuse them. Nothing gives us that right. As far as tasting good, so might we. But we don’t do it, because we know that it is wrong. So whether we like it or not, rightness and wrongness is at issue here. If a woman has always battered her children, does that make it right? Of course not. If we continued to do everything we’ve always done just because we’ve always done it we’d never progress. The effort to civilize must continue.

…and who says a couple billion people can’t be wrong? Of course they can. The majority is not always right. If we did everything our neighbors did, we would be slaves to their desires, and our destinies would be in their hands.

Why men developed stronger musculature than women, nobody really knows; they can only conjecture. However, if men’s muscle development were contingent upon the amount of food they brought home from their hunts, they never would have developed, since 80% of all food gathered was close to home in the form of nuts and berries, by women who carried large baskets as well as children for hours at a time while they walked and worked. So, if hard labor was the precipitating factor in developing high levels of testosterone in men, thus giving them strong muscles with which to kill animals, then women would have developed high levels of this hormone as well, which they didn’t. Be that as it may, men’s arm muscles were used for a lot more than pulling strings on bows and arrows. And about these so-called canine teeth: these teeth are needed to open nuts, tear stalks, peel fruit and eat vegetables. I do not tear flesh, but consider these teeth important to the enjoyment of my food.

All other animals do not kill each other to eat. In fact, most animals are vegetarians. But regardless of whether an animal or human kills another, that does not give us the right to do it. Why do what somebody else does when you know the pain and suffering those actions cause?  Our judgments regarding what’s necessary for survival are biased by our own desires, habits, and previous as well as on-going conditioning by our parents, our peers, the medical profession, scientists for hire, and advertising campaigns designed by companies that want you to buy their products. If eating animals was such a cure all for what ails us, there wouldn’t be so many hospitals and nursing homes filled with sick people. Eating animals hinders our health by injecting too much saturated fat, protein and salt into our systems.

Superiority is always bad for the ones marked inferior, whether it be an ethnic group, a race, a religious group, an age group, a sex, a socioeconomic group, the homeless, the handicapped, the unemployed, anyone with an IQ below 120, anyone who challenges the status quo. The perception of being superior gives no one authority over another’s life. We all witnessed, in some way, the systematic slaughter of millions of humans initiated solely by the erroneous assumption of superiority of one ethnic group over another.  This is what we as humans are doing to the animals–with impunity.

…but to go so far as to claim that plants scream when pulled from the ground and use this to justify the continuation of slaughter, leaves those of us with compassionate minds no room for compassionate choices–a clever tactic from the crafty minds of those who profit from our consumption of their products. All movement makes sound. When magnified thousands of times, even something as harmless as plucking a hair from your own head, will sound pretty horrifying.

I’m sure you don’t really believe that those who can’t take intelligence tests designed for humans (or even humans who score low on such tests) are not intelligent. Animals are aware, can solve problems, use tools, communicate with each other and humans, etc. I have three dogs who have not been trained through fear to submit to my will, and their intelligence levels continue to enlighten me. The way they manipulate their environment is astounding. But even if they (or anyone else) were not as intelligent as another, that does not give us the right to hurt them. And if you think that animals can’t feel pain, then think again. When an animal is injured and squeals, why do you think they are squealing? Because they feel good? Of course not. They squeal because they hurt – just as you would. Animals do not always let you know that they are hurting – just as humans don’t. But people will assuage their consciences by telling themselves that the animals cannot feel the abuses committed against them. So why don’t they run from their aggressors? Because animals are trusting creatures – as are humans. However, the fault doesn’t lie in trusting – the fault lies in the self-serving minds of those who abuse power – for whatever reason or to whatever end.

What takes the cake are the hunters who stuff the heads of their prey and hang them on their office walls, all in the name of compassion. This concept of killing those we perceive as suffering is a frightening one. Why not go into the forests with food and medical supplies instead of guns? What will they do next, go into China, India, Africa, and solve their overpopulation and starvation problems with bullets? If I dare speak for the animals, I think they’d rather take their chances with nature. I know I would. But starvation of humans or animals need not exist anywhere on this planet. There is plenty of food to go around.  Once again, the problem lies in the crafty minds of those who abuse power – for their own selfish end. But to get back to the hunters – they hunt for the thrill of killing – nothing more. Anything else they derive from the sport can be accomplished on a picnic in the woods.

My final response to the accusation that my animal-free diet contradicts my other animal using behaviors, is simply that I didn’t create this pervasive multi-billion dollar animal abusing industry. The mass abuse (and killing is abuse) of animals by humans was not created overnight and it won’t be eliminated all at once. But I recognize the situation as unacceptable, and I’m doing something about it. I believe that change is possible, and through changing ourselves, we change the world. We have to start somewhere, so I’m starting with my diet (the meat went first, then the eggs, then dairy – and none of these went all at once). The leather shoes will go next, then the wool. All the while, new animal-free products will replace the old. And, new more effective research will be developed eliminating the use of animals in scientific experiments. I see the future as bright, and I’m doing my share, one step at a time, to make this a healthier more civilized planet for all of God’s creatures. However, as long as killing animals remains socially acceptable, you will be expected to defend your choice not to participate–and in my case, it is my pleasure to do that!

Cooking and eating animal-free takes us a step further along the path of civilization and your first step, no matter how small or faltering, contributes to the direction of this process. There is no contradiction here!

God bless you,

Sharon Lee Davies-Tight, the animal-free chef






WIND SONGS

Wind songs whisper through summer sands brash promises of winter snow nights melting in memories of that which spring failed miserably to deliver. Howling, piercing pain tunnels through funnels of hardened flesh frozen by air–whistling a tune one prefers not to hear. A tune one cannot help but stutter upon as it stops in mid-air. When…..the wind softens its approach soothing my eyes with liquid velvet billows of languid chiffon, coating rosy tenderness where hatred once made rigid the air that delivered it, I’ll be there–as always. When…..howling harshness softens the branches of the message delivered enabling the whispers to grow into words, by bending with its song, hope will have arrived right along side the message…..right on time.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

AN OCEAN OF WORDS

Hard words flowing from a soft pen, turning fondly into thoughts–as God, my God, guides with fluid snow that which will melt every heart. I want to continue, not ever having cared for endings–happy or otherwise. And I will do as I desire, whether imprisoned or free–it doesn’t matter. Smooth as black glass rippling in the twilight: reflections of a star, never knowing its effect on the glass or those who view it. Gentle as silent, giant waves, refusing to be still, yet unheard, except to those who see the reflection and refuse to allow catastrophic events blind the world to its elegance.






 

THE MESSENGER AND THE MESSAGE

I am not just the messenger, but also the receiver of the message.

So what God has to say through me to you is for me too.

In that regard, I can interpret the message in terms of what it means to me personally.

I cannot, however, interpret the message for you. 

I would not be so arrogant as to think that I know what God is saying to you. That is a totally private matter between you and your God, and me and mine.

All I’m sure of is the foundation upon which it is said: in the absence of prejudice, discrimination, enslavement, torture and slaughter–“God’s Five Principles For A Better Life.”

SLD-T






 

AN INTRODUCTION

ONE EYE BLACK FRAME

AN INTRODUCTION

In my early years, whether reading for enjoyment or for school, and I read a lot, I rarely read the introduction to a book or anything about the author. Neither did I like to see previews to a movie. I had no interest in the overview of the entire work, a summary or the titles to the chapters. I didn’t care about the historical context or what the author was thinking when he/she wrote the piece. I simply wanted to read the work, or see the movie.

Maybe I was too impatient, maybe I liked the element of surprise, maybe I wanted to judge for myself without somebody else telling me what to look for or how to interpret the work. Maybe all of the above and more. Even now when I see movie stars doing an interview on television before a movie comes out it ruins the movie for me. Once I see a movie or a T.V. show, knowing about the personal life of the star ruins the image of the character they portrayed.

Similarly, when I view a work of art, I have no interest in what period in the artist’s life they created it, what they were suffering or celebrating, or the process they went through to develop it. I want every work of art to reach me on a level of familiarity, to surprise me within my vast realm of familiarity, or to simply awe me, absent the familiarity, by the splendor of the image or the brilliance of the work, even if I don’t understand it. When I look at a rainbow in the sky I don’t need nor want to know the history of the sun and the rain and what created the rainbow in order to thoroughly enjoy it.

Most of us don’t know how electricity really works, or how computers do what they do, but we’re all awed by the result, even though we don’t understand the process.

Even in museums–historical, art, science or otherwise–rarely do I read the plaque that accompanies the display. I am enthralled, or not, by the work. It impacts me, or it doesn’t. Impact is the key. Blow me away by the ugliness, the perversity of the art, or blow me away by the subtlety of the art, or find a place where I settle into the art.

Years ago, for our weekly entertainment, my husband and I would stay up to the early morning hours with our three dogs, a bottle of wine, after a few beers, and a book of poetry. He read, we listened. One poem always got read more than once on each occasion: Walt Whitman’s “When Lilacs Last In The Dooryard Bloomed”. We didn’t need to understand all of it or really anything about it, for it to reach both of us on a deep level of emotional knowing, longing and healing. The title alone does that. Years later when the news said that he was gay and writing about his gay lover who died, it ruined it for me. Not that he was gay, but that now my personal interpretation was not valid.

I didn’t have to know that Van Gogh cut his ear off, or now, maybe he didn’t, according to current news reports, in order to enjoy his paintings. Now every time I see one of his paintings, that’s the image I see.

Introductions are a form of advertising. If you don’t like the advertisement, you won’t read the book. If you don’t like the preview to the movie, you won’t see the movie. If you don’t know anything about the artist, you won’t view the art. Now, who’s being impatient? As far as having to know every little detail of the creator’s life in order to enjoy the work, I say the creator wants you to interpret the work through the prism of your life, not theirs–at least this artist, writer, chef does.

The only benefit you’ll get by reading anything I write twice, or by looking at anything I create more than once is that you’ll see more detail.

The names of people, groups, nations found in WAKING UP THE PLANET, A CALM LONG RANT and VIVID VIEWS were used, not to offend, but to point out flaws in order to help everyone else. They were real examples, instead of hypotheticals. Substitute any name, any group, any nation for the one used and what applies to one applies to all.






 

MY ONLY GOAL

 MY ONLY GOAL

I have only one goal in life.

That goal is to free God. That’s it.

I figure if I can free God, then the ripples, trickles and undulations created by that action / movement / force/ will free everything else.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

THERE ARE NO AMATEURS

The word artist becomes prejudicial when everyone thinks painter when they read it.

All life and non-life is art.

The being or the rock is created with the purpose of expressing its uniqueness through the totality of its existence.

There are no amateurs to that end – only contributors.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

A DIFFERENT SLANT

A DIFFERENT SLANT

A different slant on the news, a different slant on life, a different slant on the world as we once knew it, as we currently know it and as we will come to know it –

that’s what Word Warrior Davies-Tight is all about.

The slant that everybody overlooked, because they were too quick to jump in, too lazy to figure something out, or just felt more comfortable going with the crowd, standing and chiming in with the majority, is what I focus on, which means I’m usually not going to be the first one out there with a view or an opinion.

I find no value in agreeing or disagreeing simply to put my thoughts into the conversation just to be heard. Unless it’s something new, something the mainstream overlooked or thought irrelevant at the time, or unless it’s something I feel strongly about that needs repetition, chances are I won’t be interjecting my words into the discourse. If somebody else has already illuminated a point, that I was going to illuminate, I let it go. My job was done by somebody else, and I go on to the next thing.

When I was a child my mother took me to the doctor because I started then stopped talking. The doctor said, ‘Leave her alone. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’ll talk when she wants to talk’. That’s about how it is with my writing. When I have something to write, I’ll write it.

In college I recall one of my professors talking about ‘publish or perish’. I’ve often thought about that throughout my writing career, and fully understood the concept.

Even on Facebook, if you don’t post for a few months everybody forgets who you are and it takes a long time to get back into the ‘game’.

Although I’m fully cognizant of the ‘perish’ part – and do worry now and then about not posting on a regular schedule – it isn’t in my nature to force an opinion or view from myself nor to look feverishly for a different slant or that four leaf clover, or that diamond in the rough that didn’t sparkle enough for anybody to notice – just so that I get noticed.

If it’s there for me to find, I’ll find it when the time is right for me to find it.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

WHERE MY VOICE COMES FROM

When I write artistically, I write in many voices. Could me yours, somebody else’s or mine.

The goal is to communicate the human animal’s and the non-human animal’s experience.

When I use the word “I”, once again it could be you, somebody else or me speaking. In that sense I assume a conduit role to communicate what I think is meaningful to all humans and/or non-human animals.

It doesn’t really matter where the voice comes from, since we all share the animal experience.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

ME, ARTIST

EVERYTHING I DO (write, cook, paint, and otherwise create), I DO FROM AN ARTIST’S PERSPECTIVE, LOOKING ALWAYS FOR THE ESSENCE, the core, the foundation, the truth behind the facts as they present themselves for interpretation and further expression.

THE MOST I can give you is to understand your prejudice.

THE LEAST I can give you is to think of you in my weakest, most selfish moments.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight






 

MY SECRET

I’ll share a secret with you about myself, that I’ve never communicated to anyone. Years ago while still very young I read somewhere, either in a newspaper or magazine or book, that if somebody could actually write the way their mind actually thinks they’d make a million dollars. I’ve been trying to make that million dollars, in one way or another, ever since that light bulb switched on in my brain.

~ Sharon Lee Davies-Tight