April: Aries
Original Aries watercolor by Read Gallo will be featured on this month’s FREE bookmark giveaway. Winners will be drawn from the subscriber list and notified by email on 05/01/2022.
Dharma Direction’s fourth issue explores the steadfast stance of the ram. Are you ready to Go With The Flow?
Aries: The Ram
March 21 - April 20
In the spotlight.
Angels: “A Little Madonna”
Personal Essay by Debbie Abbott / Read time: 9 minutes
Taking risks, even calculated ones, sends the butterflies in my belly fluttering like a Monarch migration from my gut to my chest to my throat. The sensation of anticipation—something good or something bad—pumps adrenaline so hard through my veins I swear everyone around me can hear the whoosh of blood rushing in and out of my heart.
So it shouldn’t surprise you to hear that I am not an Aries. But, I am on the cusp.
The last day of the Aries season is April 20. My mother went into labor the day before, arriving at the hospital early on April 19. Some sources say this date is actually the last day of Aries.
Either way, she was nearly two weeks past her due date. I was supposed to be an Aries. But I wasn’t born until the evening of April 21. I was a Taurus … like my mother … like her mother. More on that next month.
Ram Or Bull … They Both Have Horns
My metaphorical horns have imbued me with unending courage. Sort of.
Malahidael, the Angel of Courage oversees the Aries season.
This angel fills the risk-taking rams with a boldness I’ll never know.
Even though it’s one of the seven deadly sins, and I shouldn’t be envious—I envy you, Aries.
Oh sure, I’ve taken risks in my life but never have I ever entered even one of them boldly. I went into each of them kicking the dirt, fuming in my fear. Somehow though, fear has never stopped me from harnessing the courage necessary to pursue a few of my soul’s many dreams.
Much like an Aries, I collect endless passion projects in my imagination.
Unlike an Aries, I can’t focus on just one of them and so I suffer from a syndrome I call: Unfinished-itis.
The muse angels fill my creative brain with one idea after another, from alternative photography like cyanotype and emulsion-lifts to collecting black rocks and white rocks for a giant yin-yang symbol under the grapefruit tree in my Zen garden. Everywhere I look, I see hidden art. I see potential in dried Aloe Vera blades to become a dragon tail sticking out of my nearby chocolate mint patch, the creature’s body frozen in time as it weaves in and out of the ebony dirt.
Because I’m not an Aries, more than most of these projects never get finished. I did complete the yin-yang rock art, but I never created the dragon in the dirt. (Though I still have the dried Aloe Vera blades stashed inside my potting table.)
Plucked one by one from my backyard, I separated the white and black rocks from all the other colors to create this yin-yang symbol in my Zen garden. Then I covered the green fabric in play sand so I can do some proper barefoot grounding with Mother Earth. ~ DA
Four Reasons Rams Are So Headstrong
How do they do it, these ambitious Aries? Here’s four reasons I attribute to their determination …
1. Fire is their ruling element—the natural urge to be dynamic, engaged, and alive crosses into many areas of life including work, play, and romance.
2. Mars is their ruling planet—commanding confidence and action to get things done. Their secret power lies in an ability to care less than the rest of us about trivial things/moments/people that really don’t matter.
3. The Ram exudes yang (masculine) energy—a transformative vibe that keeps the chi flowing through your body, turning stress and anxiety into passion and excitement.
4. Malahidael the Instigator—the angel guiding Aries whose presence can be felt whenever we take action. He brings us the impulse and strength to enact change.
My preternatural tendency to be manically dynamic comes in the form of performing.
Maybe that’s because I loved dancing along with American Bandstand from the time I learned to walk. Or because my parents loved music, taking me to my first concert: Elvis Presley in 1977.
Variety Shows like Sonny and Cher were all the rage during my formative years, and I wanted to be Cher with her beautiful long hair and unmistakable nasal-alto voice. I am, after all, a Wintu Indian descendent (on my father’s side) and when I sing along with her to the hit Halfbreed my soul still feels an energetic connection that can’t be explained.
And, while I may have won an award for the “Most Improved” singer in my ninth-grade choir, I’m no Cher.
So, I go to a karaoke bar and get my performance fix with kindred spirits who love to sing. If I were an Aries, I would have said a long time ago …
“To Hell with it … I’m going to be a professional B+ singer because not all successful artists are A+ caliber.”
But I lacked the confidence to pursue a path that was sure to crush my sensitive soul. Instead, I dabbled, taking voice lessons, singing in the church choir even though I didn’t go to church, and going to karaoke with my daughter who has a higher register, like Britney Spears, and also loves singing. It was our mother-daughter bonding time. The fact that it was in a bar doesn’t make our time spent together any less valuable.
Embracing bravery can happen when you least expect it.
One time, I pushed the limits on my own bravery when it comes to my love of singing. While enjoying a family vacation in the Mexican Riviera (with hubby and his parents) aboard the always lively Carnival Cruise Line, I auditioned for the “Carnival All-Stars.”
Passengers are chosen by audience vote during karaoke competitions all week long, then on the last day of the cruise the winners perform individually with a live band and dancers on the mainstage of the ship.
Generally, my go-to artists are other lower-register singers like Karen Carpenter, Natalie Merchant of 10,000 Maniacs, (the late) Dolores O’Riordan of The Cranberries, Poe or Fiona Apple, and occasionally, a little Madonna. This time, the only option for me on the approved song list for the competition was “Like a Virgin” by Madonna.
I almost didn’t try out because that song is in a higher register than I’m comfortable with, but the karaoke DJ begged me to audition after hearing me sing “Ode to My Family” by The Cranberries. So … I did.
I even crawled around on the floor just the way Madonna did in her 1984 music video.
The bar crowd of (maybe) 50 people roared! I was the uncontested favorite.
The night of our performance, the ocean waters were especially rough. All of us, including a girl dressed as soul singer James Brown, had rehearsed earlier that day with our specified professional dancers. I was blessed with four hunky shirtless guys in black satin pants with matching vests.
As showtime approached, the butterflies were multiplying in my belly and my chest. I prayed they wouldn’t settle into my throat and tighten my vocal chords, or flit about in my head and cause me to forget the words. Thank goodness I wouldn’t be alone onstage.
Then, about ten minutes before our curtain call, we were told we would have to perform sans dancers. Apparently, it’s in their contract that they do not perform on a stage that’s swaying. The large mainstage auditorium was a little over half full and the audience was expecting a show. So, we—the dozen performing passengers—had to improvise.
Fake It Till You Make It
I thought I was going to throw up backstage as I quickly rechoreographed my routine, by myself.
Now, keep in mind, this was not a typical karaoke performance for those of us taking the stage that night. No.
We were singing with a live band positioned in the orchestra pit below the stage. No backup tracks here.
We did NOT have a screen with the words to our songs lighting up one by one to keep us on track and remind us of lyrics we’d sang a thousand times but suddenly couldn’t remember.
I knew “Like a Virgin” like the back of my hand yet I was terrified I would forget the slightly modified version the band was going to play for me.
I needed a hefty dose of Aries energy right then.
Without a doubt, the angel Malahidael was generating the strength it took to steady my nerves when my name was announced and I walked through the slit of light in the red velvet curtain, striking a pose over the duct-taped X that marked my starting spot on the wooden planks. I don’t know if there’s a smaller feeling than standing alone on a stage.
Without thinking, my hips started bouncing when the music began and the fire inside my soul burst into flame.
Before I knew it I was strutting, then crawling on the floor, and rolling around in a pink tutu with my blonde hair crimped in the style of the 80s, silver bangles dangling around both wrists. I didn’t miss a beat or a line of the song as I danced from one side of the stage to the other … alone. The bright lights saved me from being able to see most of the faces in the audience, except for my in-laws and my husband. I could see them perfectly and part of me wondered what they were all thinking about this lady—the wife, the daughter-in-law—they knew so well but had never seen before.
Was my performance entertaining? Absolutely.
Was my pitch perfect? No.
Did it matter? I guess it depends on who you ask.
Wings Are For Flying Not Sighing
The butterflies in my belly that night were fierce. But rather than let them keep me from doing something daring (and regretting my cowardice for the rest of my life), I changed their anxious energy into usable confidence.
Heck, even Madonna herself—despite her awards and accolades—can’t be ranked as an A+ singer in the realm of greats like Barbra Streisand or Mariah Carey. Madonna’s success has always been anchored in her performance and persona, and I channeled every bit of it on that Carnival stage.
Don’t tell anyone, but there’s a DVD out there of that night with proof that even I—”Anxiety Girl” with self-esteem issues—can be brave enough to embrace a dream every now and then. Maybe there’s a little Aries in me after all.
Debbie Abbott is a former managing editor for an upscale food and lifestyle print magazine from Scottsdale, Arizona. She now spends as much time as possible working on her debut novel and sharing accounts of her life through her website and as editor and publisher of Dharma Direction.
Connect with Debbie on Facebook, through Debbie's Twitter page or visit Debbie on Instagram.
Audio Visual Art: Angel Malahidael
From digital artist Peter Mohrbacher comes a fast-forward visual adventure into the computer creation of the Aries angel. Find the artist, and more of his work at Angelarium.net. Watch time: under 5 minutes
Horns can be beautiful.
Humor: “Appearing and Disappearing Aries”
Personal Essay by Colleen Markley / Read time: 8 minutes
Content Warning: mild language and slightly sexy
Just Jolie …
The first time I heard Jolie’s name was when her friends thought she’d gone missing.
Most days, NYU Law students don’t disappear on their way to dinner.
I wasn’t a law student, but I was dating one. Brian (who I’d marry three years after Jolie evaporated into thin air) had invited me to join him and his friends for dinner in Greenwich Village. I was dying to meet some of his fellow first years, but I was also nervous about super smart law students.
I worked at public television and was a little intimidated by these unknown geniuses.
They’d all been admitted to one of the top law schools in the country. I, on the other hand, had an entry level job for which I felt miserably overqualified. But I loved that I at least worked somewhere interesting.
I figured they couldn’t possibly talk about law all night long—they’d only been in class a few months. At some point we’d move on to normal dinner topics, and some of my favorite subjects: New York City, arts and culture, what they watched on TV … I figured I could be patient and a good listener with the law part of the conversation.
I didn’t know yet that two important things were going to happen that night …
One, I’d learn that law students never tire of talking about the law, no matter how boring it is.
Two, the stars were busy devising the prelude to the story of how I’d meet my Aries friend, Jolie. But that meeting wouldn’t happen until almost a decade later.
Wearing the cutest outfit I could afford from Old Navy, I rode the C-line from my Columbus Circle windowless bullpen to West Fourth Street and enjoyed every moment of my pretend commute. I loved meandering past the basketball courts and the serious street talent that was an undercurrent of the energy of the Village.
This was so much better than most days of my life when I braved Port Authority and a smelly NJ Transit bus. In the few months I’d been working, I’d been on five separate buses that had broken down. Or maybe it was the same damn bus that they just kept duct-taping back together.
On one doomed commute, the bus had barely left the depot and we were a quarter of the way through the Lincoln Tunnel when the engine started to smoke. We abandoned the bus and stood in the gray and dreary stretch of service space on the side. Traffic zipped past us, echoing in the tunnel. I waited to see if a replacement bus would arrive before the broken bus caught flames and we’d all need to run for it.
Savage Honesty
If I’d known Jolie back then, and told her that story, she would have responded, “Fuck that. Stop living with your mother in New Jersey and move to the city. You’re going to marry Brian eventually and he’s going to make a shit-ton of money so who cares if you don’t pay off your student loans. Tell him to move out of student housing, act like a grownup, and get a fucking apartment in Manhattan so you can both get laid every night. There’s no other answer.”
Aries … they don’t put up with nonsense. And they like to enjoy life. I love both of those things about Jolie, and it’s been a foundation of our friendship for years.
I wonder if I would’ve followed her advice … if I’d met her that night. I wonder if our friendship would’ve changed the trajectories of the stories that were playing out in our lives. When I think about how young we were then and how much wiser we are now, I can understand why the universe waited to bring us together. Aries and Cancer typically clash.
Wise women know how to discover each other’s strengths and celebrate them.
Back in 1997, the dinner plans had started off with just Brian’s study group (which is apparently essential for both educational and social life in law school). Then one person from his group started dating someone from another study group, and the invitation had been extended to the entire crew, until the dinner grew to 25 people.
I hadn’t realized that they were going to be traveling in a pack.
As a 22-year-old aspiring “real” New Yorker with homey introverted Cancer vibes, I found this annoying and unacceptable. Dinners should be no more than six or eight people. Ten or twelve absolute max. Anything more than that is a hassle for the restaurants, the other diners, the world.
I’d arrived at Brian’s apartment building on West Third Street expecting to find him and a few friends. Instead, the lobby was overwhelmed with loud and chatty law students who were still debating that morning’s lecture and case law. I remember trying not to be annoyed and bored, but I was feeling like the odd woman out. The ringleader who’d booked the reservation was unsuccessful trying to count the flock of people and herd the crowd.
I’d find that to be true of lawyers for years to come; it’s impossible to tell a lawyer what to do. I’ve attended my share of lawyer dinner events when the spouses are invited along—it once took nearly two hours to move them from cocktails to dinner. The waiter started playing the xylophone with a felt mallet, weaving his way through the black-ties and sequins. After 45 minutes he was sweating and red and I was worried he might pass out. (I hope he filed for worker’s comp.)
That night, we somehow managed to gather the gaggle of law students and begin the 10-minute walk to the only restaurant willing to take a booking for 25 people. We were slower than my usual New Yorker pace, but I was fine with that as we navigated the narrow and uneven sidewalks.
I silently oohed and ahhed at the architecture and brownstone buildings from the 1800s, the cobblestone side streets that had defied the progress that coated the asphalted avenues. I was trying to be cool and super NY savvy, so I kept my awe to myself. We were about a block and a half from the restaurant when the group suddenly stopped, and I waited for the reason why to drift back to me from the front of the herd.
“Where’s Jolie?”
A sort of headcount took place as everyone looked around to see where she might be. Nowhere.
A search party was formed. The reservation ringleader grew annoyed about us being late already and needing everyone there in order to be seated.
“No one will notice,” I muttered. “There are so many of us.”
We moved on ahead of the search party and managed to get seated anyway. I was anchored toward one end of the most embarrassingly long tables in the center of the huge space. It felt more like Disney than Greenwich Village, and I kept waiting for the conversation to shift away from case law and which law school professors they feared or wanted to sleep with.
And then the search party returned.
Without Jolie.
I craned my neck trying to hear the story being told at the other end of the table of 10,000 seats, but only half the party was listening. The other half was talking. Apparently, Jolie had verbally eviscerated someone in class that morning and that story needed to be told simultaneously.
Years later, when Jolie and I did find each other, I found this to be true of her over and over again. She is the kind of person people talk about. Write about. Are inspired by. Jolie is in good company with other Aries like Dolores Huerta and Gloria Steinem. She doesn’t accept nonsense—including in a hundred-person law school class where a fellow student said something inconsiderate of women’s reproductive rights. Aries are prone to impatience and often act impulsively. Jolie had given such a legal tongue lashing to the offender that his classmates had wondered if he might fall apart into tears.
Jolie was the most interesting person at dinner, and she wasn’t even there.
The story of her whereabouts hadn’t made its way down to my side of the table yet. But my initial understanding of her was carved. That was the same for everyone at dinner. I was fascinated. Others were not. Including the few who didn’t think she was very nice for telling someone off in a class in front of a hundred people, no matter how rude or insensitive the other person had been.
“That’s just Jolie,” one of her study group friends explained. And when I heard where she was, not lost at all, that made all the sense in the world.
Jolie had been in the group walking with everyone, until we passed the firehouse. The men of Engine 33/Ladder 9 had been hanging out with the garage door open to the cool night air, and Jolie had stopped to talk to them. She had opted to stay there instead of joining us for dinner.
I was dying to meet Jolie. She was my hero. Not only for her bravery in just stopping to chat up New York’s bravest (something I was too shy and insecure to even consider), but also because she’d ditched the dumb dinner with too many people.
Writing this 25 years later, I have a vague memory of a few of the people from that huge dinner. But the person I remember the most is the one I didn’t meet. Over the next three years of law school, I’d hear stories about her—and I loved each Jolie story so much that I’d retell some of them for years.
Most stories could end with “That’s just Jolie.” To me, Jolie was a legend.
And then … Jolie and I finally met 10 years later … 20 miles west of New York in a sleepy little small town that liked to think of itself as a city.
And that was when our stories began.
Over the last 14 years, Jolie and I have explored so many different avenues of our friendship. We’ve followed our passion for women’s empowerment and worked together on a nonprofit board. We’ve traveled to multiple different countries in search of the perfect beach and fruity cocktail—delivered in a coconut.
With Jolie I can say whatever comes to my head and not worry about how it will be received, because I know she is doing the same thing with me. We’ve become those friends who might not talk every day, but when we pick up the phone and finally catch up, we do so with deep and meaningful connection.
Fire … To Light What’s Right
I love that I can count on Jolie to be her complete, honest, and genuine self. Aries actually marks the beginning of every new astrological year—along with the March equinox—springing forth from winter with warmth, just like their fire sign. With Jolie, I can reveal all my fears and worries that I’ve dealt with and even the ones I’m not sure I am ready to handle yet.
When I first told Jolie I was writing a new humor column about the zodiac she was skeptical and said, “I don’t really believe in that shit.” A few months later I asked her if I could write about her, and she laughed. “Yeah, I looked it up. I guess it’s kind of accurate.”
When I finally did meet Jolie, she was pregnant with her first child, working full-time as an attorney at a law firm and commuting from Summit, NJ to New York City every day. She was busy and successful and driven to put her skills to good use. Joining the Junior League, an organization of women dedicated to improving communities through trained voluntarism, was a natural step.
The symbol of Aries is the Ram for a reason … They don’t stop until they get to where they want to go. They do it for a noble cause. And they’re unapologetic about what they get out of it for themselves, too. I loved how honest Jolie was.
“Look,” she told me and a room full of other women. “I’m here because I want to help people and you all can benefit from my legal expertise and ability to organize and get things done. But let’s be honest. I work full time and all my friends are in the city. I need to meet more people out here so my kid can make friends and be connected to where we live. I don’t want to wait around until he’s in school.”
Aries … impatient. And impactful. Their fire sign pushes them into action, and they won’t let up until achieving success. Luckily, Aries don’t have very long attention spans, so they only focus on the things that really matter to them. Everything else can be left behind.
When you do have the attention of an Aries though, you’re in the spotlight—for better or for worse.
I’m glad that Jolie and I get along so well and have so many like-minded values because I’ve seen her wrath bestowed upon those who have wronged her. I would like to avoid that place. But if I ever do manage to piss her off, I know that Jolie will be just as quick to forgive me.
Steadfast friends, Aries rarely hold a grudge.
Not everyone can handle being friends with someone so authentic and truthful. I’ve known quite a few insecure people who prefer to avoid real honesty. Even if they need to lie to themselves about why they can’t be around someone who loves to tell the truth. To be life-long friends with an Aries, you must be as brave and honest as they are.
Truthfulness … it’s exactly what I treasure about Jolie. At this point in my life, I have no need to waste any time on anything phony, false, or shallow. I only want to spend time in deep and meaningful relationships. Jolie has a natural ability to connect on that level because she spends zero time in nonsense. Even my own.
Jolie calls my bullshit every time.
I called her to complain about my kids not helping with chores at home—she told me I needed to stop focusing so much energy on what my house looks like and get back to real work … like my writing. She was right.
I’ve called her complaining about my husband sometimes not being a good listener and how we have no time to talk to each other because life is overwhelmingly busy and she told me to stop complaining and invite him away for a weekend so we could drink too much and spend all day in bed with the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. She was right about that, too.
Aries is ruled by Mars, the god of war … full of ambition, action, and a healthy sex drive. Jolie reminds me of the prioritizing needed for all of these. She’s right, a million times, always right.
That’s just Jolie.
Colleen Markley is a novelist and freelance writer living in New Jersey. Her award-winning essay “Unflappably Calm, Occasionally Furious, Ready and Willing to Hide the Bodies” was recently published in Sisters! Bonded by Love and Laughter. Named the June 2021 winner of the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop Humor Writer of the Month, Colleen attempts to be funny all of the months and is excited that Dharma Direction is setting that challenge bar. Lilith Land, is a story about the end of the world where only the women survive. (It’s a novel, not an action plan).
Connect with Colleen on Facebook, and through Colleen's Twitter page. Visit Colleen on Instagram or check out her website at colleenmarkley.com and sign up here for her newsletter and updates.
Some like it hot.
Culinary Craft: “The Fire Within”
Article by Chef Mark Abbott / Read time: 3 minutes + Recipe
Blazing - Fiery - Volcanic - Incendiary
For most of us living in the desert, these words bring about thoughts of incoming summers. But for the daring and brave, they also describe how we like our food. Who among us hasn’t shaken their head at the diner who uses a whole bottle of hot sauce on their meal? Why? We ponder … can they even taste their food anymore?
Tearing eyes, red faces, heavy breathing—what is going on here?
What is it that drives us to voluntarily ingest food that gives us pain? Are we masochists or do we enjoy the taste? Can this really be good for us? The answer is a resounding YES.
Spicy food has become an addiction for a lot of people in the world. To some, there is just no other way to eat, and the surprising bonus is that it is truly healthy.
The Seedy Truth
You may be wondering what it is that lights up your mouth. In most cases, the conniving culprit is the chile pepper. There are many different types of chiles found in all types of food, but the only thing they all have in common is that they contain a colorless compound called: Capsicum.
Concentrated in the membranes and around the seeds of the chiles, capsicum is the source of the fire within.
Now that you know what is fueling the flames in your fajitas, let’s look at the different ways this can be of benefit to your health. It wasn’t long ago that we were told, if you had some type of digestive issue to stay away from the spicy foods. Researches took a second look and found this was not only unnecessary, but in many cases the opposite seemed to be taking place.
The capsicum actually increased stomach secretions, thereby aiding in digestion.
This revelation unleashed a floodgate of interest and investigation about the further benefits of the chile. What they are finding is quite amazing. While these studies are still ongoing, the facts seem to be purely positive.
Photo by Mark Abbott
6 Benefits With A Bang
Capsicum can help to lower triglyceride levels in your blood, something many of us are quite concerned about.
Congested heads and lungs don’t stand much of a chance against the power of a good chile.
Studies of cultures that ingest large amounts of chiles in their daily diets show a much lower instance of certain types of cancer.
Capsicum is being studied by doctors who believe it may help in the prevention of dangerous blood clots.
Your body reacts to the pain inflicted on your taste buds in the same manner it would to a genuine injury, by releasing endorphins—your body’s natural painkillers and they can create a calming effect.
Want to burn a few extra calories? Just eat some heat. This can shoot your metabolism into the next gear and help you lose that “little extra” that seems to find us all.
Working these little miracles into your diet can be tricky.
Obviously, we all have different tolerance levels. My suggestion is to make the spice level an option in your recipe. Serve the spice on the side for your friends and family, letting each person decide what is the right amount for them.
In my recipe below for CHILE MARINATED GRILLED CHICKEN SALAD, the chicken is marinated in the chile, and the spicy vinaigrette can be added as cautiously or liberally as you desire.
You will notice that all components of the salad are grilled. This adds an amazing depth of flavor that I heartily recommend.
Many people say that variety is the spice of life, but it may turn out to be more accurate to simply say …
“Spice is Life.”
Photo by Mark Abbott
Chile Marinated Grilled Chicken Salad Recipe
2 Ancho chiles
4 chicken breasts, boneless and skinless
2 Jalapeno peppers
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 rice wine vinegar
2 Romaine lettuce hearts, cut into quarters
1 zucchini, small, sliced into half moons
8 baby carrots, halved lengthwise
1 red onion, small, sliced 1/4-inch thick
4 green onions, halved lengthwise
2 tomatoes, sliced 1/4-inch thick
2 teaspoons olive oil
12 sprigs cilanto
2 radish, sliced thin
Marinade:
Stem and seed Ancho chiles; place in small pot, add just enough water to cover.
Brings to a simmer, remove from heat and set aside for 15 minutes.
Place chiles and water in blender; add 1 teaspoon salt and puree till smooth.
Pour over raw chicken; marinate in refrigerator for at least 1 hour (may be done the day before).
Vinaigrette:
Roast Jalapeno peppers on grill until charred (lightly blackened).
Remove from heat, let cool; remove stems and seeds from peppers.
In blender, puree peppers with 1/2 cup olive oil and rice wine vinegar until smooth.
Add salt and pepper to taste.
Salad:
Toss lettuce, zucchini, carrots, red and green onion, and tomatoes in 2 teaspoons olive oil, salt and pepper; set aside.
Pull cilantro leaves off sprigs; set aside.
Method:
Over medium heat, grill marinated chicken to internal temperature of 165 degrees Fahrenheit; set aside.
Lightly grill vegetables (including lettuce, until grill marks form) then set aside.
IMPORTANT: Grill lettuce last!
This is a fast procedure … only 15-20 seconds per side.
Arrange lettuce and veggies on plate; slice chicken and place atop salad.
Garnish with radish and cilantro leaves.
Serve vinaigrette on the side to let guests decide the heat factor.
As a professional chef for over 20 years who cut his culinary teeth at a Five-Star Scottsdale resort, Mark Abbott was a regular contributor to AZ Food & Lifestyle magazine for several years. Mark was also the host of the “Two Chefs & A Car” segment, which aired locally in Phoenix on the AZ Food & Lifestyle Show. He is currently pursuing his passion for cooking with fire at Little Miss BBQ in Phoenix, where award-winning brisket is only the beginning of their smoked delights.
Connect with Mark on Instagram.
Original Aries watercolor by Read Gallo.
Romance: “Springtime in Hell”
Fantasy Fiction by L.J. Longo / Read time: 7 minutes
Content Warning: mild language and slightly sexy
A Very Important Date
Honey Goldfinch had spent 32 years training to be patient, but all her hard work didn’t stand a chance when the waitress gave her that look.
The look that says “Ah, poor chubby girl, trying so hard with her princess curls and her pink polished nails. Waiting around in a strapless dress on the cold end of spring and her date isn’t going to show.”
Bridger was going to show. He was going to meet her for milkshakes. Then they’d drive to Cape May for a romantic walk on the beach and sushi. Then in a seaside hotel, her hot Asian boyfriend was going to take off her favorite dress, because she looked fabulous, and it was her birthday, and Bridger Hahn was not the type of man to not show up.
And yet …
Ten minutes late.
Honey—the definition of optimistic—hiked up her strapless dress and approximated patience.
Twenty minutes late.
When the waitress brought the check for a double-sized milkshake, Honey explained with desperate cheer, “It’s my birthday.”
“Oh!” The waitress jumped as if Honey was about to jam the straw into her and slurp her up next. “Um. I-I’ll get you a discount. Happy Birthday!”
Honey didn’t wait for the check. She left a guilt-ridden 50-percent tip and walked straight to the Margate post office. If a mail carrier was 20 minutes late, something had gone very wrong on his very odd route.
The Margate Annex was empty except for one lone postal case lurking between an alcove and a rack full of unclaimed coats. When Honey walked purposefully toward it, the case pretended to be so aggressively normal that it was eerie. Her blonde curls bounced on her bare shoulders, and she tugged the dress into place again.
The shaker labeled “Summoning Powder” sat on top of a yellow Post-it Note with Bridger’s beautiful handwriting explaining how to contact management. She’d seen Bridger sprinkle this stuff on his hard-boiled eggs, so she suspected ordinary pepper. Still, she poured a little black mound, drew the symbol, and mumbled the words he’d written.
The black silt scowled into the shape of a tiny person in an untidy suit. “Oh, the woman! What do you want?”
Honey grabbed the little pepper-person. “Where is Bridger?”
The creature scoffed imperiously. “Our employee is delivering his route.”
“My boyfriend finishes by 10 a.m. everyday. Why isn’t he back?” And she squeezed.
The tiny mound of pepper squealed. “You cannot talk to us this way, woman! We are important! We are Eldritch!”
To prove their point the pepper-person’s arms flailed into tentacles.
To prove her point, she pinched one off. “Where is he?”
When the pepper-person stopped shrieking, they pointed with their surviving tentacle. A hot blast of air floated her curls over her shoulders and fluttered her skirt.
The swirling green vortex manifesting before her obviously went to some jungle version of Hell, complete with molten swamps and gaseous green clouds. But in the distance, a boxy white postal truck revved its engine and drove nearer.
Honey waved happily. Bridger had found his way. Easy peasy.
Supernatural Nature
Except, nobody was driving the red-and-blue striped Grumman Long Life Vehicle. It bumped over a massive vine, then stopped between worlds … with its front wheels in the backroom of the Margate post office and its back wheels in Hell.
The pepper-man leaned on his fingers. “We received a customer complaint from a witch. Something about him walking on the lawn. She’ll let him go eventually.”
“Eventually? It’s my birthday!” Honey threw the pepper-person on the ground, then ground her practical pink heel over the mound until it was a lifeless spice pile again.
Then she looked at the LLV. The truck looked back.
“All right, you.” She threw open the driver’s side door and yanked at the hem of her skirt to climb into the cockpit. The mysterious knobs and twisty buttons were probably not part of the truck’s supernatural nature. Probably.
“I don’t know how to drive,” Honey said. “So, you’ll have to do it.”
The vehicle’s engine made a confused whine then beeped its own horn, turned on its own hazards, and slowly reversed into Hell.
Springtime in Hell was hot, horrible, and humid.
Huge flat leaves whacked the truck’s windshield and splattered mud into the cockpit. Honey cranked up the window so her dress didn’t get soiled as the LLV raced down a swampy road.
But the rice paddies on the distant hills reminded Honey of the pictures of Vietnam in Bridger’s mother’s photo album. Maybe this was Bridger’s personal Hell.
Which Way is Witch
The LLV shivered to a stop in front of a tiny house made of bamboo, vines, and teeth. On the porch sat a woman wearing a straw hat, reading Better Homes and Gardens. She squinted at the mail truck.
“Well, you’re a strange looking mailman.” The woman sipped her iced tea. “I expected a new one … tomorrow.”
Honey stayed firmly in the driver’s seat. “Where is your regular mail carrier?”
The witch looked innocent but pointed with a long bony finger. Across the lawn, amid a well-groomed field of tulips, honeysuckle, and red roses, hung a vaguely man-shaped cocoon of twisted jungle vines.
Were those Bridger’s sad eyes peeking from the shadows and ferns?
“If you want him, go cut him free.” The witch tossed a machete on her lawn.
Honey noticed her wily smirk. “I don’t want to walk across your lawn. It’s against regulation.”
The woman laughed and tipped her straw hat even further back. She was bald as an egg.
Honey’s heart hammered with fear, but she smiled. “What are you going to do with that man, anyways?”
“Well, if a pretty thing like you is chasing him into Hell, he certainly had no heart for me.” The woman laughed. “What are you going to do with that man—anyways?”
“Make him drive me to Cape May to celebrate my birthday.” Honey casually shook out her curls. “You know, in certain circles it’s customary to give people gifts on their birthdays. Discounts on meals, easier riddles, that sort of thing.”
“That so? In my circles, you don’t give away nothin’ without gettin’ somethin’.”
Honey nodded at this wisdom and stroked her hair again.
“You have very pretty hair.”
“You may have it all, in exchange for the man.”
“He’s worth more than that.”
Honey hummed as if it didn’t matter. “You know, it’s easy to win a man’s heart with a fancy dress and pretty hair.”
“Is it now?” The witch considered. Then snapped at the vines.
They uncoiled like wet spaghetti and Bridger fell out, panting, looking exceptionally handsome and very surprised. He scrambled over the lawn toward the LLV. The witch raised her hand, and he sank helplessly to his knees in the grass.
“Okay,” Bridger said. “Guess, I’ll just wait then.”
Honey unzipped the strapless maxi. Really it was quite a pain and not practical at all. She liked all her other dresses much more. She refused to look embarrassed as she daintily undressed and then unpinned her wig.
Special Delivery
The witch slapped her thighs and cackled with delight. “Oh, I like that trick. Very cunning. Go on. Get in your truck, mailman.”
Bridger quickly got over the shock of seeing Honey without her wig and with her breasts out in the open. He scrambled out of the grassy trap with a sarcastic, “Yes, Ma’am.”
Honey left the wig and the dress in the mailbox then stepped back into the LLV. “Thank you, Miss Witch, for my birthday present.”
The witch cackled and waved. “Many happy returns, and may I be the first to offer my blessing and congratulations.”
That didn’t make any sense to Honey, but she wasn’t going to say so.
The LLV rattled and shifted its cockpit around to raise the mail tray and make room for Honey. Bridger hopped into the driver’s seat and wasted no time in shutting the door, grabbing the next mail drop, and driving forward.
Honey teased, “Very professional of you.”
“Well … you know, the job …” Bridger cleared his throat then smirked at her. “Love your outfit, by the way. Shaved head and—all.”
“It’s easier than—” Honey resisted the urge to hit him and hide her smile by looking away. “Oh, shut up.”
A little while later, Bridger’s route took them on the Milky Way, a long white road surrounded by starlight and dotted with mailboxes. He pulled over and they sat together looking at the distant galaxies together.
“You know,” Honey said dreamily, hoping the rest of her life would be filled with moments like this. “We’re still going to Cape May. I want my sushi.”
He kissed the top of her shaved head. “Sure we are. You ought to put on a shirt or something first.”
She laughed and smacked him playfully this time.
“Also, uh … Happy Birthday.” He reached into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt and handed her a tiny drooping honeysuckle. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you. Can’t believe you went through all that trouble for flowers.” She sniffed the flower.
“You deserve more than—”
“It smells like … cake and smoke?”
“Oh shit,” Bridger said. “Quick—make a wish. It’s a … whole thing. Wish!”
“What?” A flower. From a witch’s garden. Oh! She ought to wish for something good like world peace or an end to poverty. But her mind jumbled with surprise and thoughts like …
Moments like this forever.
Protect him from crazy shit like today.
Husband? … crowded together with …
Chubby girls don’t get wishes! … and …
Wish for something practical! Total financial freedom.
She must have made some kind of wish because the flower hissed and crumbled into a pile of leaves in her hand. “Did it work?” She held out the crumble of petals.
Bridger moved the flower ash with his finger and then picked up a sparkling diamond engagement ring. “I guess not.” He offered the ring to her, adding …
“If you marry me, it’s basically a curse.”
Honey squealed and giggled and took the ring, then put it back in his hand. “No. That’s not right. Bridger Hahn, if you’re going to ask me to marry you, don’t do it sarcastically.”
“Okay. I’ll try again later.” He chuckled and tucked the ring back into his breast pocket.
She couldn’t stop giggling. “At the sushi place, if they see you get down on one knee, they’ll bring us cheesecake.”
“Why haven’t I been proposing to you every time we go out to eat?” Bridger kept grinning, too. “Also, you know I have extra clothes in the back, right?”
Honey blinked at him. Then shook her head. “You’re such a bastard.”
“I was enjoying the view.” He slid open the door to the cargo bay.
As soon as she was out of sight, rifling through his backpack, he asked nervously. “That was a yes, right?”
Honey managed to stop herself from laughing. “I expect a genuine, heartfelt speech about how wonderful I am and a glass of something delicious and expensive.”
Then, because she couldn’t contain herself— “But yeah, totally. Yes!”
L.J. Longo is an award-winning Romance author, a queer geek and feminist writing a medley of dark romance (which can be found through Evernight Publishing) magical realism, weird sci-fi/fantasy, and very implausible creative non-fiction. She recently received Third Place recognition for her submission to the Writer’s Digest Annual Short Story Fiction Contest with her entry titled, "To Harvest Lavender."
Connect to L.J. on Facebook and on L.J.'s Twitter page.
Poet-Tree
Original poetry this month by Debbie Abbott
Aries energy Just Might help to harness hope.
Music
“Call me cursed, or call me blessed. If you can’t handle my worst … You ain’t getting my best.” ~ Lady Gaga
Playlist: Aries
Once upon a time, MTV was my go-to for music, to listen to (and to watch) while I was doing everything from cleaning the kitchen to curling my hair. I was also one of those people who was constantly making mix tapes (then CDs) and giving them to my friends and family … always with the intent of sharing my love of musical messages. And with the hope that they, too, would feel the love that lies within the words and melodies of my favorite songs. To fill the void of MTV’s tumble into something far-removed from music, I created The Muse-Sick channel on YouTube. ~ DA
Please enjoy Dharma Direction’s playlist for April, curated by our contributors to celebrate all things Aries. This month’s songs are listed below. Keep in mind that the playlist on YouTube changes each month to focus on the current zodiac.
“A Million Dreams” - P!nk and Willow Sage Hart
“Sorry Not Sorry” - Demi Lovato
“Like A Virgin” - Madonna
“Girl On Fire” - Alicia Keys
“Halfbreed” - Cher
“I Will Survive” - Gloria Gaynor
“Million Reasons” - Lady Gaga
“Honey, I’m Home” - Shania Twain
“These Boots Are Made For Walking” - Nancy Sinatra
“Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” - Elton John
“Vincent” (Starry, Starry Night) - Don McLean
Congratulations!!
The award for Best Animation at the Tucson, Arizona APEX FILM FESTIVAL 2022 goes to Dharma Direction contributor, Adam Krug, for his work on “The Clockmaker” stop-motion animated video featured in our debut issue, January: Capricorn. In case you missed seeing it in that first issue, we’re including it again below. Way to go, Adam!
Color Therapy: Aries
FREE Downloadable/Printable — just get your crayons, pencils, pastels, or paints and right-click the image below.
Aries People
