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RDJ-- Sweet Potatoes Stuffed, 10-07-09
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RDJ
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Oct 08, 2009 06:50 PDT
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Volume 11 Number 234
US Library of Congress ISSN: 1530-3292
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Sweet Potatoes Stuffed with Broccoli and Feta
2 medium sweet potatoes (8 to 10 ounces each)
3/4 cup broccoli florets, chopped
Olive oil
1 teaspoon minced garlic
Pinch of crushed red pepper
Feta cheese
Pierce potatoes with a fork, and arrange on paper towels. Microwave on
high 8 minutes, turning potatoes over after 4 minutes. Cook 3/4 cup
broccoli 3 minutes in a medium skillet in boiling salted water; drain.
Heat oil in skillet. Sauté broccoli, 1 teaspoon garlic, and a pinch of
red pepper 1 minute. Cut a slit lengthwise through each potato; push
ends inward to form a pocket. Crumble 1 tablespoon feta into each
pocket. Fill each pocket with broccoli mixture and 2 teaspoons feta.
Yield: 2 servings.
CALORIES 325 ; FAT 8g (sat 3g,mono 4g,poly 1g); CHOLESTEROL 13mg;
CALCIUM 135mg; CARBOHYDRATE 58g; SODIUM 194mg; PROTEIN 7g; FIBER 8g
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Rich's Note: The Vietnam Vignettes -- Sounds
There are still sounds that make me jump. When I hear a car or truck
back-fire, I freeze for the briefest of moments, ruling out the
possibility of a sniper firing from the cover of jungle in Vietnam.
There is no jungle, only concrete and asphalt.
At the first boom of thunder in a storm I wait for the thunking sound of
a mortar so that I can predict where the next will explode. There is no
mortar thunk, just a crackle of lightning and impending rain, the smell
of ozone instead of jungle.
And when I hear the whup-whup-whup sound of a helicopter, I
automatically look up and wish I were aboard because there is absolutely
nothing like flying as we flew there. As strange as it may sound, I
sometimes miss the simplicity of that life, wondering what it would have
been like to wear the soft black clothes, the cone-shaped straw hats
myself, to herd the horned beasts, to bend at labor in the rice paddies.
Tim tells me I was a nervous wreck when I first got back and spent a
week or two with him. He says he would wake at 3 in the morning to find
me sitting on the edge of my bed, smoking cigarettes in the dark. I must
have thought I heard something. That's all gone now. I no longer wake on
the floor, having rolled out of bed at the sound of thunder. I no longer
dive to the ground when I hear things that sound like rifle shots. But
sometimes when I'm lost in thought or preoccupied, a sudden familiar
sound will trigger a reflex that I have to control; and that's okay.
Rich can be reached at ri-@recipedujour.com
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Link of the Day:
"With all the doom and gloom in the news about our great country going
downhill fast, watching this will not only bring tears to your eyes but
should restore your hope for our future. There is a silent majority of
true patriots out there, and we won't give up on our freedom. God bless
the families of those who gave all, and God bless America .
"Killed in action the week before, the body of Sergeant First Class John
C. Beale was returned to Falcon Field in Peachtree City , Georgia , just
south of Atlanta , on June 11, 2009. The Henry County Police Department
escorted the procession to the funeral home in McDonough , Georgia . A
simple notice in local papers indicated the road route to be taken and
the approximate time. Nowadays one can be led to believe that America no
longer respects honor and no longer honors sacrifice outside the
military. Be it known that there are many places in this land where
people still recognize the courage and impact of total self-sacrifice.
Georgia remains one of those graceful places. The link below is a short
travelogue of that day's remarkable and painful journey."
http://blip.tv/play/AYGJ5h6YgmE
from Sharon
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Do You Remember?
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
Written by B. Scott and B. Russell 1970
The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows when
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother...
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