Tag Archives: Mesta Park

Mesta Festa Chili

25 Friday Sep 2009

Posted by in In the Kitchen, Life at Home, Mesta Park

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Tomorrow is Mesta Festa.  And everyone near and far is invited to come to the neighborhood’s biggest party of the year, held each September in Mesta Park.

My husband and I have lived in this old neighborhood for three years now.  And not only is this the first time I’m planning to attend, I’m even thinking about entering the chili contest, using a modified version of my friend Cindi’s recipe.  And though I may not have a prayer of winning, it will be fun to play.

Appropriately, our lucky winner will receive a $100 dinner for two at Skirvin Hotel’s Park Avenue Grill; I write appropriately, because Bill Skirvin was Perle Mesta’s father and Perle is the namesake of our lovely old neighborhood.  The Skirvins onced lived in a stately mansion over on 16th Street and Lee.  And if you happen to come tomorrow or otherwise drop by the neighborhood, the mansion is definitely worth seeing; but since it’s a private residence, you’ll be limited to the outside view.

Mesta Festa features live music and delicious foods served by local neighborhood restaurants — Big Truck Tacos, The Prohbition Restaurant and McNellies.  And for $12, one can purchase a refillable cup to use for all the beer and wine tastings.  The weather promises to be gorgeous, and the front yards of  neighborhood homes are getting in the spirit of fall, as a few are already dressed for the annual Halloween Contest.

Meet me in Mesta Park —  located off Shartel Avenue between 18th and 19th streets —  between Noon and 5 pm tomorrow.

And if you’re unable to make the party, here’s the chili recipe for your own private festa.  From my life to yours.

Chili

2 lbs extra-lean ground beef
3 garlic cloves minced
1 large onion chopped
2 Tbsp olive oil
 
In a large skillet, sauté onion in olive oil over medium-low heat until softened, about 5 mins.  Add minced garlic and ground beef.  Cook until brown.  Drain off any excess fat.
 
In a large soup pot, combine:
 
Cooked meat mixture
1 can of favorite beans (pinto, ranch, kidney undrained, with or without jalapeno)
2 cups water
3 cans tomato sauce (24 oz. total)
2 Tbsp chili powder
2 tsp garlic salt
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp black pepper
2 tsp cumin
Pinch of Allspice
1/2 tsp red pepper (reduce or eliminate for less spicy chili )
 
Simmer over low heat uncovered for one hour, stirring occasionally.  Adjust salt seasoning to taste prior to serving.  The chili can be eaten straight-up or over corn chips and topped with chopped green onions and grated cheddar cheese.
 
 
 
 

Fall Garden Dreams

12 Saturday Sep 2009

Posted by in In the Garden, The Great Outdoors

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I’m bone weary after spending five hours preparing two front yards for fall overseedng.

BLOG_FallGardening

Heritage Hills Maple Reds

I didn’t expect to handle this chore for another few weeks.  But already, the leaves are beginning to turn in our neighborhood.  Over on Fifteenth Street, between Harvey and Hudson, a few Maples are already showing off their fall color. And at the County Extension “Hope Desk”, one gardener brought in some yellow leaves for disease diagnosis;  he may have left a little embarrassed when told the disease was called autumn.  But in my mind, there’s no need for embarrassment.  It’s backwards strange that autumn has arrived before the calendar pronounced it so; usually, it’s the other way around.

So waking up the fact that fall has really arrived, I decided I best get my lawn seed up and Adam, before the heavy leaf drop over at my Cinderella house suffocates my tender grass seedlings.  Even wearing gloves today, I got a blister on my thumb, a sure sign that I’ve grown soft over the summer.  Fall is my heaviest gardening time of the year, as it invites me to make new beds, reseed grass and plant perennials, shrubs, trees and fall bulbs.  And of course fertlize my fescue lawn, trees and shurbs and water when God forgets to.  

Fall is the absolute best time to create a new garden  in Oklahoma.  One of my neighbors next door to “Cinderella” asked me this very question today.   And now with his newly acquired knowledge, he may begin his long awaited landscape project.  He’s even invited me to help select plants, so maybe he’s serious.  I’m thinking blues and purples since his brick is yellow-orange.  But we’ll see if his plans comes to fruition — we humans have bigger dreams than time or money.

I know all about big garden dreams. I’ve been dreaming about installing new gardens in the front yard of the duplex next door for almost a year now.  Yesterday, I finally got up my courage to call Mr. Duplex Owner.  Of course, he was a little surprised by my offer.  And my boldness.  But I made my pitch and he’s thinking about it.      

blog_susans

Black-Eyed Susans Galore

If Mr. Duplex Owner says yes, I’m going to plant flowers and foliage featuring yellows and grays and tans and rusts in front of his rust colored brick home.   Because I’ve got plenty to share, his garden will receive many Black-eyed Susans.  And then I’ll purchase some silver Wormwood and tan Native Grasses because they are hardy plants for Oklahoma.  And maybe some silvery green Lambs Ear.  And white and yellow Coreopsis because these little airy fairy daisies add a bit of whimsy.   And if there’s any money left in the measly budget I allowed myself, maybe a few Daffodils.  Because I just love Daffodils.  Or some sweet little Pansies.

Soon, it will be time to wake up.   Because once Mr Duplex Owner renders his decision, there’ll be no more time for duplex dreams.  Either they become reality.  Or not.   My dream now rests in his capable hands.  And because I’ve finally shared my dream with the right person, I can rest.  Well….at least until the phone rings. 

Hi-Lo and Ritz

31 Monday Aug 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Each week brings highs and lows that keep everyday life from growing stale.    

And last week’s high arrived as low flying sparklers at the Overholser Mansion.  I wanted to shout — Hip, hip hooray!  —  the fireflies are back.  Because after a two year absence, the east lawn of the Overholser Mansion had once again become the best neighborhood spot for firefly gazing.  By sheer happenstance, we caught two repeat performances of their latest firefly ballet.  And it was worth the wait.  I was captivated; I could have parked myself in their midst and watched their flickering lights pirouette across the dark expanse for several encore performances. 

But sometimes we’re moved to be still and sometimes we’re moved just to move.  And when it comes to church these days — the scene of my most recent low-life moment —  we do both.  One Sunday we’re on the move, off visiting some local church, while the next we stay put at our current church home.  This alternating practice serves to cleanse our palate  —  in the way crackers cleanse the palate for wine tasting — by allowing us to sample new worship experiences without one running into another.  Last Sunday was our Sunday to stay put — and without need of wine or crackers —  my husband and I came home to Holy Communion.  

Our church usually serves this sacramant by intinction — where communicants dip a small portion of bread into a communal cup of grape juice —  which typically takes 20 to 30 minutes to serve.  But last week, the service had us moving between a standing line for bread to the kneeling rail for thimble-size containers of grape juice.  And with a thousand communicants facing a church altar built for forty kneelers,  the communion rail quickly became a bottleneck, which sent sinners in a Christian-like free-for-all as we jostled for an open space at the rail. 

Perhaps this new method of distribution was chosen to minimize the spread of infectious diseases. I don’t know.  But what I do know is that I observed one woman take her thimble of juice to go, just like she was going through a McDonald’s drive-through window.  Meanwhile, my husband and I joustled amongst the masses for an open spot at the kneeler, where we stayed only long enough to drink our juice.  Figuring God could hear our prayers just fine from our seats, we were making our way back when, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a few souls leaving the sanctuary early.  Questions began whirling through my mind.   Had they decided to fast?  Had they chosen to eat and run?  And then came the question to end all questions:  Who am I to ask these questions?  Then, in a flash, I  knew who I was.  I was one who was ready to join their exodus; and with the taste of grape juice still on my tongue, I looked at my husband and whispered, “Let’s go.” 

The irony that my low point should come in the midst of Holy Communion is not lost on me; nor for that matter, that my week’s high should come from low flying bugs.  I fumble within the mystery and the hi-los of it all.  What was it about the firefly dances that made me want to stay and what was it about Holy Communion that made me want to flee?     

Whatever it was, my reaction has more to say about me than it does about either event.  For some unknown reason, I did not experience God in Holy Communion.  Maybe because I was preoccupied by looking for room at the inn altar.  Maybe because I felt lost in the sea of humanity washing up on the communion rail.  And for Christ’s sake, where was the lighthouse to keep us from crashing into one another? 

At the Overholsers there was no need for a lighthouse.  There was plenty of space and light for all who wished to partake of this lowly unconventional means of grace.   And for me, this lowly means of grace was just what I needed last week.  Maybe because I had just expressed a longing to again gaze on firefies.  One moment it was a wish.  And then all of a sudden, here they were.  Just like that.  Just  light that.

And just light that, God was there too.  And there on a dusk-tinted lawn — with no bread, no crackers, no wine, no juice, no confusion, no sea of humanity, no rails to rail me in — stood me and God in a sea of fireflies “puttin’ on the ritz where fashion once sat.”  Just light that.