Tag Archives: Creativity

A Signature Smoothie

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I began this blog with a dilemma: hating coffee, but, loving coffee shops. And I’ve spent the past one-and-a-half years trying to recreate the sparks of thought, reflection, and creativity that coffee shop ambience inspires within me.

Well now, I’ve found a solution to the first half of my polar quandary. Instead of cups of gourmet coffee with frothy hearts atop their steamy ceilings, I’ve developed a recipe for a Mocha Smoothie.

 

An all-natural, caffeine-free, gluten-free, sugar-free, vegan alternative that satisfies the taste buds while nourishing the body and soul.

I drink it after workouts; post-yoga; in-between meals when cravings try to sneak in.

So, now I have the drink to sip. I just need the human company. The live conversation. The tangible infusion of the senses that only a brick-and-mortar shop can provide. That’s my next challenge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the moment, though, here’s the recipe:

  • 7 – 8 ounces of Water
  • 20 Raw Almonds + 5 Raw Cashews, soaked overnight and then rinsed
  • 1 tsp Maca Powder
  • 1 T Cocoa Powder (My favorite is Just Like Sugar Cocoa Mix)
  • Handful of Fresh Blueberries
  • 1 Scoop of Vegan Protein Powder, Mocha Flavored (My favorite is Vega)
  • 1/2 Banana – Frozen, Fresh, or Pureed (Yes, as in baby food! It offers a sumptuous, custardy texture.)
  • 8 Frozen Cherries

Place in a single-serving blender in this order. Blend for 30 -45 seconds.

 

And may your cup always be filled to the rim.

 

Your Time Here is Limited

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In contrast with the soothsayer‘s warning to Julius Caesar, “Beware the Ides of March,I find no foreboding message in this day. In fact, I celebrate it!

Please join with me and find a bit of wisdom, inspiration and prompting via The Wise Old Owls .  .  . speaking the words of Steve Jobs.

 

 

The Grind

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Mocha Muse has its very own newspaper, The Grind. It may contain a quote, a poem, song lyrics, snippets of overheard conversation or fascinating facts about creativity/life. So, leather sofa in Home Interiorsnuggle into the sofa, unfold the paper and reach for your morning cup of coffee.

Here’s the twenty-fifth issue. . . just click on newspaper to enlarge, then continue to click until text is readable for you!

 

 

 

The Grind - (12-15-2015) Crocheted Memories

 

My grandmother chose deep, aged-wine colors and crocheted her “squares” as diamonds .  .  . yes, she diagonally parked her stitchery, which inspires me to love her nonconformist aesthetics all the more .  .  !

 

 

Welcome to Mocha Muse Coffee Shop!

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jayni in FedoraI hate coffee, but . . . I love coffee shops!

This creates a dilemma, because I find all of the sounds and smells of cafes and coffeehouses very inspirational for writing.

I would love to carve out a couple of hours each day in which to sit in a funky little coffee shop and write my heart out.

But, since I don’t drink coffee and I don’t like tea and my gluten-free, sugar-free, flour-free, corn-free diet prevents me from indulging in confections . . . well, you get the point no doubt: I can’t pay my way for java house writing.

So to preserve the atmosphere of conversation and creativity; to capture the wild musings of our minds; to provide a free space for sensory experience, I’ve created a virtual coffee shop.

Now, if we imagine the sounds in the background, perhaps the Mocha Muse can be used as a place to break routine, loosen up some latent stories, roust memories, stir emotions, animate dreams . . . and give birth to whatever is percolating within the soul.

  • Enjoy my personal reflections on muse-inspired Tuesdays.
  • Browse through the artwork hanging on the walls (click on Beadery and Cartoonery tabs).
  • Curl up on the sofa and read Mocha Muse’s own newspaper, The Grind, on aimless, arbitrary, and accidentally-whimsical Monday mornings. (Which means we go to press when the waitress is in the mood!)

Grounds up!

P.S. If you’re having trouble summoning up background sounds, try this ambient enhancer. Let the noise machine transport and deposit you into the heart of coffee shop culture. Maybe to your favorite seat next to the window – or –  to that special booth that curls like a comma in the corner .  .  .  !

The Grind

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Mocha Muse has its very own newspaper, The Grind. It may contain a quote, a poem, song lyrics, snippets of overheard conversation or fascinating facts about creativity/life. So, leather sofa in Home Interiorsnuggle into the sofa, unfold the paper and reach for your morning cup of coffee.

 

Here’s the nineteenth issue. . . just click on newspaper to enlarge, then continue to click until text is readable for you!

 

 

 

 

The Grind - (8-10-2015) A Perfectly Artful Creation

 

** Quote: Lev Grossman

All Language is a Longing for Home

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Child - Staring Out of Window at Rain

 

Words are the pillows upon which I cry.

                                                                      ~ journal entry

Sometimes I find inspiration to write from my own stream-of-consciousness script. Little spontaneous lines that I jot down on napkins or newspapers stranded on dirty little café tables. Or fragments that fall out from a journal page as I reread pages of ancient scribble.

 

This line has been lost for several years. Some secret search-and-rescue team recently returned it to me.

 

I ran to the comfort of its private truth. I squeezed it and out poured a cousin-quote.

 

A quote from Rumi: All language is a longing for home.

 

These two simple lines meant a whole lot to me when I committed the greatest, self-advertised failure of my life: my divorce.

 

These lines still mean a whole lot to me.

 

The power of words and the act of writing helped to heal; helped to corral me through a dark rite of passage.

 

When divorce became a reality for me, I crawled into my journal. I claimed my address as east of the spiral binding and north of the blue line.

 

There is a structure and freedom in words that offers stability. They have solid beams and spacious windows.

 

Words take flight like sparrow’s wings. Perch on rooftops – alone and watchful.

 

They watch until they understand. Then take flight again.

 

Dew drops on their wings, in the morning light, are like pearls. Shimmering opaque. Their meanings both solid and liquid.

 

Pearls are born of woundedness – injuries to the oyster, whose immune systems fight by cauterizing irritation with beauty. When the shell is opened, the pearl having healed its landlord’s house, is free to leave.

 

Free to travel the seas and the lands. Free to be pierced with holes and strung between knots to form jewelry. Wrapped around human flesh or hung to dangle from spongy earlobes. Or stitched to gauzy fabrics and floated over lithe bodies waltzing in the night.

 

The curing beads find themselves in many places alien.

 

They are mobile and always glistening with serene smiles because they are complete.

 

They are at peace.

 

They have served as healers. They travel always with their medicine kits wrapped up inside.

 

They are always at home, always content, wherever they go because they carry their homes inside their smooth exoskeletons.

 

Words are like pearls to me. They hold their historical lineages of meaning inside of their compound contraction of characters. They can be written or spoken, translated, misspelled, and mispronounced. Their definitions can be added to or subtracted from. They are flexible and unfettered by the urgency of their users.

 

They are the raw materials for communication.

 

They are neutral in war.

 

They are eternal and patient.

 

They live in dictionaries for authentication, but, they travel endlessly while still at home.

 

Like pearls, words wear their homes.

 

Humans may try to make them homeless, or arcane, but, never do they truly succeed.

 

Words are at rest around us . . . to comfort us, to provide for us, to teach us, to heal us, to furnish the homes of our thoughts: our pain, our joy, our creativity.

 

Words live individually but thrive in the community of language. As we learn to befriend words, we join the clubs of language. We seek to speak ourselves into existence. We speak our homes through word expressions. We write to see our homes constructed on a page.

 

Without language, we might not ever find our homes – the true homes inside ourselves.

 

We are free in words.

 

We are home even when homeless, if we call upon words and trust in their wisdom of generational meaning.

 

Language carries us to the doorstep.

 

We must enter the home and claim it.

 

Writing is a roadmap. Full of: Blue highways. Back roads. Dirt roads. Crooked paths.

 

Writing plots our trail back to the heart home we carry inside and project outward. tree

 

 

Language can be both a ceiling and a floor while the walls are crumbling.