This is Part 2 of a three part entry. To see Part 1, click here.
Part III — Beyond the North Wind
I TRIED to forget my thirst by busying myself with bringing up some food and an empty vessel from the hold. Reaching over the side-rail, I filled the vessel with water for the purpose of laving my hands and face. To my astonishment, when the water came in contact with my lips, I could taste no salt. I was startled by the discovery. "Father!" I fairly gasped, "the water, the water; it is fresh!"
"What, Olaf?" exclaimed my father, glancing hastily around. "Surely you are mistaken. There is no land. You are going mad."
"But taste it!" I cried.
And thus we made the discovery that the water was indeed fresh, absolutely so, without the least briny taste or even the suspicion of a salty flavor.
We forthwith filled our two remaining water-casks, and my father declared it was a heavenly dispensation of mercy from the gods Odin and Thor.
We were almost beside ourselves with joy, but hunger bade us end our enforced fast. Now that we had found fresh water in the open sea, what might we not expect in this strange latitude where ship had never before sailed and the splash of an oar had never been heard?
We had scarcely appeased our hunger when a breeze began filling the idle sails, and, glancing at the compass, we found the northern point pressing hard against the glass.
In response to my surprise, my father said, "I have heard of this before; it is what they call the dipping of the needle."
We loosened the compass and turned it at right angles with the surface of the sea before its point would free itself from the glass and point according to unmolested attraction. It shifted uneasily, and seemed as unsteady as a drunken man, but finally pointed a course.
Before this we thought the wind was carrying us north by northwest, but, with the needle free, we discovered, if it could be relied upon, that we were sailing slightly north by northeast. Our course, however, was ever tending northward.
The sea was serenely smooth, with hardly a choppy wave, and the wind brisk and exhilarating. The sun's rays, while striking us slant, furnished tranquil warmth. And thus time wore on day after day, and we found from the record in our logbook, we had been sailing eleven days since the storm in the open sea.
By strictest economy, our food was holding out fairly well, but beginning to run low. In the meantime, one of our casks of water had been exhausted, and my father said: "We will fill it again." But, to our dismay, we found the water was now as salt as in the region of the Lofoden Islands off the coast of Norway. This necessitated our being extremely careful of the remaining cask.
I found myself wanting to sleep much of the time; whether it was the effect of the exciting experience of sailing in unknown waters, or the relaxation from the awful excitement incident to our adventure in a storm at sea, or due to want of food, I could not say.
I frequently lay down on the bunker of our little sloop, and looked far up into the blue dome of the sky; and, notwithstanding the sun was shining far away in the east, I always saw a single star overhead. For several days, when I looked for this star, it was always there directly above us.
It was now, according to our reckoning, about the first of August. The sun was high in the heavens, and was so bright that I could no longer see the one lone star that attracted my attention a few days earlier.
One day about this time, my father startled me by calling my attention to a novel sight far in front of us, almost at the horizon. "It is a mock sun," exclaimed my father. "I have read of them; it is called a reflection or mirage. It will soon pass away."
But this dull-red, false sun, as we supposed it to be, did not pass away for several hours; and while we were unconscious of its emitting any rays of light, still there was no time thereafter when we could not sweep the horizon in front and locate the illumination of the so-called false sun, during a period of at least twelve hours out of every twenty-four.
Clouds and mists would at times almost, but never entirely, hide its location. Gradually it seemed to climb higher in the horizon of the uncertain purply sky as we advanced.
It could hardly be said to resemble the sun, except in its circular shape, and when not obscured by clouds or the ocean mists, it had a hazy-red, bronzed appearance, which would change to a white light like a luminous cloud, as if reflecting some greater light beyond.
"We finally agreed in our discussion of this smoky furnace-colored sun, that, whatever the cause of the phenomenon, it was not a reflection of our sun, but a planet of some sort — a reality.
One day soon after this, I felt exceedingly drowsy, and fell into a sound sleep. But it seemed that I was almost immediately aroused by my father's vigorous shaking of me by the shoulder and saying: "Olaf, awaken; there is land in sight!"
I sprang to my feet, and oh! joy unspeakable! There, far in the distance, yet directly in our path, were lands jutting boldly into the sea. The shore-line stretched far away to the right of us, as far as the eye could see, and all along the sandy beach were waves breaking into choppy foam, receding, then going forward again, ever chanting in monotonous thunder tones the song of the deep. The banks were covered with trees and vegetation.
I cannot express my feeling of exultation at this discovery. My father stood motionless, with his hand on the tiller, looking straight ahead, pouring out his heart in thankful prayer and thanksgiving to the gods Odin and Thor.
In the meantime, a net which we found in the stowage had been cast, and we caught a few fish that materially added to our dwindling stock of provisions.
The compass, which we had fastened back in its place, in fear of another storm, was still pointing due north, and moving on its pivot, just as it had at Stockholm. The dipping of the needle had ceased. What could this mean? Then, too, our many days of sailing had certainly carried us far past the North Pole. And yet the needle continued to point north. We were sorely perplexed, for surely our direction was now south.
We sailed for three days along the shoreline, then came to the mouth of a fjord or river of immense size. It seemed more like a great bay, and into this we turned our fishing-craft, the direction being slightly northeast of south. By the assistance of a fretful wind that came to our aid about twelve hours out of every twenty-four, we continued to make our way inland, into what afterward proved to be a mighty river, and which we learned was called by the inhabitants Hiddekel.
We continued our journey for ten days thereafter, and found we had fortunately attained a distance inland where ocean tides no longer affected the water, which had become fresh.
The discovery came none too soon, for our remaining cask of water was well-nigh exhausted. We lost no time in replenishing our casks, and continued to sail farther up the river when the wind was favorable.
Along the banks great forests miles in extent could be seen stretching away on the shore-line. The trees were of enormous size. We landed after anchoring near a sandy beach, and waded ashore, and were rewarded by finding a quantity of nuts that were very palatable and satisfying to hunger, and a welcome change from the monotony of our stock of provisions.
It was about the first of September, over five months, we calculated, since our leave-taking from Stockholm. Suddenly we were frightened almost out of our wits by hearing in the far distance the singing of people. Very soon thereafter we discovered a huge ship gliding down the river directly toward us. Those aboard were singing in one mighty chorus that, echoing from bank to bank, sounded like a thousand voices, filling the whole universe with quivering melody. The accompaniment was played on stringed instruments not unlike our harps.
This is Part One of a three part entry. This is a book I read a while ago that makes you wonder how much is fact, how much is fiction, and how much is a combination of both.
"A Voyage to the Inner World"
By WILLIS GEORGE EMERSON
With Illustrations by JOHN A. WILLIAMS
Part I — Author's Forward
Part II — Olaf Jansen's Story
Part III — Beyond the North Wind
Part IV — In the Under World
Part V — Among the Ice Packs
Part VI — Conclusion
Part VII — Author's Afterward
Part I — Author's Foreword
I FEAR the seemingly incredible story which I am about to relate will be regarded as the result of a distorted intellect super induced, possibly, by the glamor of unveiling a marvelous mystery, rather than a truthful record of the unparalleled experiences related by one Olaf Jansen, whose eloquent madness so appealed to my imagination that all thought of an analytical criticism has been effectually dispelled.
Marco Polo will doubtless shift uneasily in his grave at the strange story I am called upon to chronicle; a story as strange as a Munchausen tale. It is also incongruous that I, a disbeliever, should be the one to edit the story of Olaf Jansen, whose name is now for the first time given to the world, yet who must hereafter rank as one of the notables of earth.
I freely confess his statements admit of no rational analysis, but have to do with the profound mystery concerning the frozen North that for centuries has claimed the attention of scientists and laymen alike.
However much they are at variance with the cosmographical manuscripts of the past, these plain statements may be relied upon as a record of the things Olaf Jansen claims to have seen with his own eyes.
A hundred times I have asked myself whether it is possible that the world's geography is incomplete, and that the startling narrative of Olaf Jansen is predicated upon demonstrable facts. The reader may be able to answer these queries to his own satisfaction, however far the chronicler of this narrative may be from having reached a conviction. Yet sometimes even I am at a loss to know whether I have been led away from an abstract truth by the ignes fatui of a clever superstition, or whether heretofore accepted facts are, after all, founded upon falsity.
It may be that the true home of Apollo was not at Delphi, but in that older earth-center of which Plato speaks, where he says: "Apollo's real home is among the Hyperboreans, in a land of perpetual life, where mythology tells us two doves flying from the two opposite ends of the world met in this fair region, the home of Apollo. Indeed, according to Hecataeus, Leto, the mother of Apollo, was born on an island in the Arctic Ocean far beyond the North Wind."
It is not my intention to attempt a discussion of the theogony of the deities nor the cosmogony of the world. My simple duty is to enlighten the world concerning a heretofore unknown portion of the universe, as it was seen and described by the old Norseman, Olaf Jansen.
Interest in northern research is international. Eleven nations are engaged in, or have contributed to, the perilous work of trying to solve Earth's one remaining cosmological mystery.
There is a saying, ancient as the hills, that "truth is stranger than fiction," and in a most startling manner has this axiom been brought home to me within the last fortnight.
It was just two o'clock in the morning when I was aroused from a restful sleep by the vigorous ringing of my door-bell. The untimely disturber proved to be a messenger bearing a note, scrawled almost to the point of illegibility, from an old Norseman by the name of Olaf Jansen. After much deciphering, I made out the writing, which simply said: "Am ill unto death. Come." The call was imperative, and I lost no time in making ready to comply.
Perhaps I may as well explain here that Olaf Jansen, a man who quite recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday, has for the last half-dozen years been living alone in an unpretentious bungalow out Glendale way, a short distance from the business district of Los Angeles, California.
It was less than two years ago, while out walking one afternoon that I was attracted by Olaf Jansen's house and its homelike surroundings, toward its owner and occupant, whom I afterward came to know as a believer in the ancient worship of Odin and Thor.
There was a gentleness in his face, and a kindly expression in the keenly alert gray eyes of this man who had lived more than four-score years and ten; and, withal, a sense of loneliness that appealed to my sympathy. Slightly stooped, and with his hands clasped behind him, he walked back and forth with slow and measured tread, that day when first we met. I can hardly say what particular motive impelled me to pause in my walk and engage him in conversation. He seemed pleased when I complimented him on the attractiveness of his bungalow, and on the well-tended vines and flowers clustering in profusion over its windows, roof and wide piazza.
I soon discovered that my new acquaintance was no ordinary person, but one profound and learned to a remarkable degree; a man who, in the later years of his long life, had dug deeply into books and become strong in the power of meditative silence.
I encouraged him to talk, and soon gathered that he had resided only six or seven years in Southern California, but had passed the dozen years prior in one of the middle Eastern states. Before that he had been a fisherman off the coast of Norway, in the region of the Lofoden Islands, from whence he had made trips still farther north to Spitzbergen and even to Franz Josef Land.
When I started to take my leave, he seemed reluctant to have me go, and asked me to come again. Although at the time I thought nothing of it, I remember now that he made a peculiar remark as I extended my hand in leave-taking. "You will come again?" he asked. "Yes, you will come again someday. I am sure you will; and I shall show you my library and tell you many things of which you have never dreamed, things so wonderful that it may be you will not believe me."
I laughingly assured him that I would not only come again, but would be ready to believe whatever he might choose to tell me of his travels and adventures.
In the days that followed I became well acquainted with Olaf Jansen, and, little by little, he told me his story, so marvelous, that its very daring challenges reason and belief. The old Norseman always expressed himself with so much earnestness and sincerity that I became enthralled by his strange narrations.
Then came the messenger's call that night, and within the hour I was at Olaf Jansen's bungalow.
He was very impatient at the long wait, although after being summoned I had come immediately to his bedside.
"I must hasten," he exclaimed, while yet he held my hand in greeting. "I have much to tell you that you know not, and I will trust no one but you. I fully realize," he went on hurriedly, "that I shall not survive the night. The time has come to join my fathers in the great sleep."
I adjusted the pillows to make him more comfortable, and assured him I was glad to be able to serve him in any way possible, for I was beginning to realize the seriousness of his condition.
The lateness of the hour, the stillness of the surroundings, the uncanny feeling of being alone with the dying man, together with his weird story, all combined to make my heart beat fast and loud with a feeling for which I have no name. Indeed, there were many times that night by the old Norseman's couch, and there have been many times since, when a sensation rather than a conviction took possession of my very soul, and I seemed not only to believe in, but actually see, the strange lands, the strange people and the strange world of which he told, and to hear the mighty orchestral chorus of a thousand lusty voices.
For over two hours he seemed endowed with almost superhuman strength, talking rapidly, and to all appearances, rationally. Finally he gave into my hands certain data, drawings and crude maps. "These," said he in conclusion, "I leave in your hands. If I can have your promise to give them to the world, I shall die happy, because I desire that people may know the truth, for then all mystery concerning the frozen Northland will be explained. There is no chance of your suffering the fate I suffered. They will not put you in irons, nor confine you in a mad-house, because you are not telling your own story, but mine, and I, thanks to the gods, Odin and Thor, will be in my grave, and so beyond the reach of disbelievers who would persecute."
Without a thought of the farreaching results the promise entailed, or foreseeing the many sleepless nights which the obligation has since brought me, I gave my hand and with it a pledge to discharge faithfully his dying wish.
As the sun rose over the peaks of the San Jacinto, far to the eastward, the spirit of Olaf Jansen, the navigator, the explorer and worshiper of Odin and Thor, the man whose experiences and travels, as related, are without a parallel in all the world's history, passed away, and I was left alone with the dead.
And now, after having paid the last sad rites to this strange man from the Lofoden Islands, and the still farther "Northward Ho!", the courageous explorer of frozen regions, who in his declining years (after he had passed the four-score mark) had sought an asylum of restful peace in sun-favored California, I will undertake to make public his story.
But, first of all, let me indulge in one or two reflections: Generation follows generation, and the traditions from the misty past are handed down from sire to son, but for some strange reason interest in the ice-locked unknown does not abate with the receding years, either in the minds of the ignorant or the tutored.
With each new generation a restless impulse stirs the hearts of men to capture the veiled citadel of the Arctic, the circle of silence, the land of glaciers, cold wastes of waters and winds that are strangely warm. Increasing interest is manifested in the mountainous icebergs, and marvelous speculations are indulged in concerning the earth's center of gravity, the cradle of the tides, where the whales have their nurseries, where the magnetic needle goes mad, where the Aurora Borealis illumines the night, and where brave and courageous spirits of every generation dare to venture and explore, defying the dangers of the "Farthest North."
One of the ablest works of recent years is "Paradise Found, or the Cradle of The Human Race at the North Pole," by William F. Warren. In his carefully prepared volume, Mr. Warren almost stubbed his toe against the real truth, but missed it seemingly by only a hair's breadth, if the old Norseman's revelation be true.
Dr. Orville Livingston Leech, scientist, in a recent article, says: "The possibilities of a land inside the earth were first brought to my attention when I picked up a geode on the shores of the Great Lakes. The geode is a spherical and apparently solid stone, but when broken is found to be hollow and coated with crystals. The earth is only a larger form of a geode, and the law that created the geode in its hollow form undoubtedly fashioned the earth in the same way."
In presenting the theme of this almost incredible story, as told by Olaf Jansen, and supplemented by manuscript, maps and crude drawings entrusted to me, a fitting introduction is found in the following quotation: "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth, and the earth was without form and void." And also, "God created man in his own image." Therefore, even in things material, man must be God-like, because he is created in the likeness of the Father.
A man builds a house for himself and family. The porches or verandas are all without, and are secondary. The building is really constructed for the conveniences within.
Olaf Jansen makes the startling announcement through me, an humble instrument, that in like manner, God created the earth for the "within" -- that is to say, for its lands, seas, rivers, mountains, forests and valleys, and for its other internal conveniences, while the outside surface of the earth is merely the veranda, the porch, where things grow by comparison but sparsely, like the lichen on the mountain side, clinging determinedly for bare existence.
Take an egg-shell, and from each end break out a piece as large as the end of this pencil. Extract its contents, and then you will have a perfect representation of Olaf Jansen's earth. The distance from the inside surface to the outside surface, according to him, is about three hundred miles. The center of gravity is not in the center of the earth, but in the center of the shell or crust; therefore, if the thickness of the earth's crust or shell is three hundred miles, the center of gravity is one hundred and fifty miles below the surface.
In their log-books Arctic explorers tell us of the dipping of the needle as the vessel sails in regions of the farthest north known. In reality, they are at the curve; on the edge of the shell, where gravity is geometrically increased, and while the electric current seemingly dashes off into space toward the phantom idea of the North Pole, yet this same electric current drops again and continues its course southward along the inside surface of the earth's crust.
In the appendix to his work, Captain Sabine gives an account of experiments to determine the acceleration of the pendulum in different latitudes. This appears to have resulted from the joint labor of Peary and Sabine. He says: "The accidental discovery that a pendulum on being removed from Paris to the neighborhood of the equator increased its time of vibration, gave the first step to our present knowledge that the polar axis of the globe is less than the equatorial; that the force of gravity at the surface of the earth increases progressively from the equator toward the poles."
According to Olaf Jansen, in the beginning this old world of ours was created solely for the "within" world, where are located the four great rivers — the Euphrates, the Pison, the Gihon and the Hiddekel. These same names of rivers, when applied to streams on the "outside" surface of the earth, are purely traditional from an antiquity beyond the memory of man.
On the top of a high mountain, near the fountain-head of these four rivers, Olaf Jansen, the Norseman, claims to have discovered the long-lost "Garden of Eden," the veritable navel of the earth, and to have spent over two years studying and reconnoitering in this marvelous "within" land, exuberant with stupendous plant life and abounding in giant animals; a land where the people live to be centuries old, after the order of Methuselah and other Biblical characters; a region where one-quarter of the "inner" surface is water and three-quarters land; where there are large oceans and many rivers and lakes; where the cities are superlative in construction and magnificence; where modes of transportation are as far in advance of ours as we with our boasted achievements are in advance of the inhabitants of "darkest Africa."
The distance directly across the space from inner surface to inner surface is about six hundred miles less than the recognized diameter of the earth. In the identical center of this vast vacuum is the seat of electricity — a mammoth ball of dull red fire — not startlingly brilliant, but surrounded by a white, mild, luminous cloud, giving out uniform warmth, and held in its place in the center of this internal space by the immutable law of gravitation. This electrical cloud is known to the people "within" as the abode of "The Smoky God." They believe it to be the throne of "The Most High."
Olaf Jansen reminded me of how, in the old college days, we were all familiar with the laboratory demonstrations of centrifugal motion, which clearly proved that, if the earth were a solid, the rapidity of its revolution upon its axis would tear it into a thousand fragments.
The old Norseman also maintained that from the farthest points of land on the islands of Spitzbergen and Franz Josef Land, flocks of geese may be seen annually flying still farther northward, just as the sailors and explorers record in their log-books. No scientist has yet been audacious enough to attempt to explain, even to his own satisfaction, toward what lands these winged fowls are guided by their subtle instinct. However, Olaf Jansen has given us a most reasonable explanation.
The presence of the open sea in the Northland is also explained. Olaf Jansen claims that the northern aperture, intake or hole, so to speak, is about fourteen hundred miles across. In connection with this, let us read what Explorer Nansen writes, on page 288 of his book: "I have never had such a splendid sail. On to the north, steadily north, with a good wind, as fast as steam and sail can take us, an open sea mile after mile, watch after watch, through these unknown regions, always clearer and clearer of ice, one might almost say: 'How long will it last?' The eye always turns to the northward as one paces the bridge. It is gazing into the future. But there is always the same dark sky ahead which means open sea." Again, the Norwood Review of England, in its issue of May 10, 1884, says: "We do not admit that there is ice up to the Pole — once inside the great ice barrier, a new world breaks upon the explorer, the climate is mild like that of England, and, afterward, balmy as the Greek Isles."
Some of the rivers "within," Olaf Jansen claims, are larger than our Mississippi and Amazon rivers combined, in point of volume of water carried; indeed their greatness is occasioned by their width and depth rather than their length, and it is at the mouths of these mighty rivers, as they flow northward and southward along the inside surface of the earth, that mammoth icebergs are found, some of them fifteen and twenty miles wide and from forty to one hundred miles in length.
Is it not strange that there has never been an iceberg encountered either in the Arctic or Antarctic Ocean that is not composed of fresh water? Modern scientists claim that freezing eliminates the salt, but Olaf Jansen claims differently.
Ancient Hindoo, Japanese and Chinese writings, as well as the hieroglyphics of the extinct races of the North American continent, all speak of the custom of sun-worshiping, and it is possible, in the startling light of Olaf Jansen's revelations, that the people of the inner world, lured away by glimpses of the sun as it shone upon the inner surface of the earth, either from the northern or the southern opening, became dissatisfied with "The Smoky God," the great pillar or mother cloud of electricity, and, weary of their continuously mild and pleasant atmosphere, followed the brighter light, and were finally led beyond the ice belt and scattered over the "outer" surface of the earth, through Asia, Europe, North America and, later, Africa, Australia and South America.
It is a notable fact that, as we approach the Equator, the stature of the human race grows less. But the Patagonians of South America are probably the only aborigines from the center of the earth who came out through the aperture usually designated as the South Pole, and they are called the giant race.
Olaf Jansen avers that, in the beginning, the world was created by the Great Architect of the Universe, so that man might dwell upon its "inside" surface, which has ever since been the habitation of the "chosen."
They who were driven out of the "Garden of Eden" brought their traditional history with them.
The history of the people living "within" contains a narrative suggesting the story of Noah and the ark with which we are familiar. He sailed away, as did Columbus, from a certain port, to a strange land he had heard of far to the northward, carrying with him all manner of beasts of the fields and fowls of the air, but was never heard of afterward.
On the northern boundaries of Alaska, and still more frequently on the Siberian coast, are found boneyards containing tusks of ivory in quantities so great as to suggest the burying-places of antiquity. From Olaf Jansen's account, they have come from the great prolific animal life that abounds in the fields and forests and on the banks of numerous rivers of the Inner World. The materials were caught in the ocean currents, or were carried on ice-floes, and have accumulated like driftwood on the Siberian coast. This has been going on for ages, and hence these mysterious bone-yards.
On this subject William F. Warren, in his book already cited, pages 297 and 298, says: "The Arctic rocks tell of a lost Atlantis more wonderful than Plato's. The fossil ivory beds of Siberia excel everything of the kind in the world. From the days of Pliny, at least, they have constantly been undergoing exploitation, and still they are the chief headquarters of supply. The remains of mammoths are so abundant that, as Gratacap says, 'the northern islands of Siberia seem built up of crowded bones.' Another scientific writer, speaking of the islands of New Siberia, northward of the mouth of the River Lena, uses this language: 'Large quantities of ivory are dug out of the ground every year. Indeed, some of the islands are believed to be nothing but an accumulation of drift-timber and the bodies of mammoths and other antediluvian animals frozen together.' From this we may infer that, during the years that have elapsed since the Russian conquest of Siberia, useful tusks from more than twenty thousand mammoths have been collected."
But now for the story of Olaf Jansen. I give it in detail, as set down by himself in manuscript, and woven into the tale, just as he placed them, are certain quotations from recent works on Arctic exploration, showing how carefully the old Norseman compared with his own experiences those of other voyagers to the frozen North. Thus wrote the disciple of Odin and Thor:
So a little while ago a friend of mine said I should write down my diet.
Well it’s not really a “diet”. Diets don’t work. I tried doing a diet once where I wouldn’t eat any processed foods—it was hard. Not the eating of the food, but the finding of the food. Because I couldn’t always bring food into work and finding un-processed food outside of my own kitchen was beyond ridiculous.
Anyway, this had got me thinking in another direction. Which I soon started. The rules are simple; if you make it, you can eat it. Nothing is restricted. Nothing.
You want Ho-Hos? Go ahead.
You want lasagna? Enjoy it!
You want chocolate chip cookies every day? I'm with-ya.
But you have to make it. Everything. From scratch. No mixes, or packaged meals allowed.
It really makes you think, how badly do I want this? Is it worth the effort?
And you’re thinking; I don’t have time for that! I'm a crappy cook.
I don't have time either, but I have learned to schedule one day on the weekend to cook, and when I cook, I make a lot. Like if I make chili, I make 3 months’ worth. I then portion it and freeze it. (I highly recommend saving glass jars, or buying some preserving jars if you do this.) And you're only a crappy cook because you're out of practice.
Currently in my freezer I have homemade ravioli, corn dogs, breaded chicken, spaghetti sauce, sweet potato casserole, rosemary bread, waffles, cookie dough, I could go on. But it is all homemade. No mixes, or instant meals. I do have frozen peas though :) Even ice cream should be homemade. Target has ice cream makers for $25!
Again, a part of the mentality is, how bad do you want it? With the advent of the internet, recipes of all types have become accessible to the everyday person.
In short, the food and meals are better for me. No preservatives, low processing, no extra added salt or sugars. And they are pre-portioned by me. So I don’t over eat, or left feeling hungry. And you’ll eat good, yummy food! The first time you walk by all that pre-made food, chips, cookies, frozen dishes, canned meals in the grocery store will shock you. If you’re consistent with setting one day on the weekend to cook one dish, it will happen.
Plus, if you do this, you’ll get better at multi-tasking your cooking time, meaning; when I make spaghetti sauce, I will also make pizza. When I roast a chicken, (afterward) I also make stock, then soup, and stuffing with that stock, also chicken pot pies. If I’m cooking ground beef, I’ll make chili, taco meat, and hamburgers all on the same day. I try not to waste anything.
How to get started.
How to get started on doing this? Well don’t treat it like a diet. Treat it like a life style change. A change you have to start slowly, or it will never stick.
The best way to do it is to pick a dish from a restaurant you love. A dish that would not last 2 days in your frig as leftovers. Go online and search for a copycat version of the recipe. There will probably be a kazillion recipes, so just be critical with what the author states as the ingredients. For example: when I looked up P.F. Changs Lettuce Wraps, one author stated to use ketchup. Now I know there is no ketchup in the lettuce wraps I’ve eaten, so just watch what they state as the ingredients. Copy it into a word program to save it and print it. Pick something that won’t be too terribly hard to make, or you’ll get discouraged if it doesn’t turn out. Also, before you double or triple the recipe size for freezing, be sure to test it.
Just start from there. Slowly, you’ll replace all the items in your pantry, frig, and freezer with homemade meals, and snacks.
And the equivalency of me ‘falling off the wagon’ is when I eat out, though technically the restaurants (supposedly) are cooking from scratch also, which means I’m still adhering to the rules. And I'm not talking about fast food crap.
*You want potato chips? Fine, make them.
*You want cheesecake? Mmm, cheeeesecake...
*You want pizza? Don’t forget to buy the yeast.
*You want hot wings? Look up a hot wing recipe.
*Mac N Cheese. That’s an easy one, just remember to add some bread crumbs on top for some crunch. 'The Yard House' has a yummy macNcheess-look it up.
* Tacos? Pull out the rolling pin, you gotta roll out some tortillas
* Krispy Creme Donuts....*droool* That's right! Nothing is off the table. IF you make it, then you can eat it. The goal is to try to make everything! Icing and all, from scratch.
One of my favorite recipe sites is epicurious.com. You can build your own recipe box from tons of other recipe sites. You can even make a grocery list off of the ingredients from the recipes you want to use.
This “diet” does not take into account for the fresh vegetables and fruit I buy, but these items have a short preserving life. They are added weekly to the meals I have created months ago. You can preserve them, but it takes dry ice.
There are a few things I do not make such as cereal, spaghetti noodles (because I don’t have a noodle press or hanger) and condiments (though occasionally I make salad dressing, <Old Spaghetti Factory Pesto dressing is to die for.>) I find the preservatives in condiments are helpful if you don’t go through them quickly. I have a bottle of ketchup that will probably last until it expires...
The next step, is of course, having your own garden to cook from...
I'm sorry, he is just a cutie pie.
How's this for a cool picture.
This optical illusion was first created in 1861. Look at the two thick vertical lines. Do they look straight or curved to you? Hold a ruler up to the screen and you will see that they are indeed straight.
Would you believe that the colors of squares A and B are the same? They are!
Use your fingers or a piece of paper with holes cut through it to block out the rest of the picture and you will see that they are.
When you move your eyes in a circular motion around this image, you will see what appears to be spokes moving around with your eyes.
Though I admit I see it better when I scroll the page up and down :)
Is anyone else a little disturbed by all the species reports coming in? You know, the frogs, the bees, and the butterflies? I’m not into being an alarmist, but this is alarming. Mother Nature doesn’t mess around when she feels it’s time to create a balance again. What will happen when key species begin to seriously fail?
The poor bees. Because of greedy corporations and bureaucracy it may be too late for them. The American Honey Bee is close to extinction because of this...
What is that theory? A butterfly flaps it's wings in Central Park and creates a typhoon on the other side of the planet. It should be fairly obvious why these species demise would be detrimental to us.
What Mother Nature has in store for us will not be pleasant. When She does take action, I will laugh at the naive people surprised by this, because all the signs are here.
It's quite simple; Mommy doesn't get mad, she gets even.
Be sure to do this one full screen for the best view.
Awww, the scientist are getting all excited.
Why? Because their $2 billion toy-ehm... I mean, cosmic ray detector, the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer on the International Space Station has found the first significant hint of dark matter. This is the elusive substance that is believed to hold the cosmos together but has never been directly observed. Dark matter is thought to make up about a quarter of all the matter in the universe.
Within months the scientists will collect the data and analyze it at CERN.
The findings last Wednesday are based on seeing an excess of positrons - positively charged subatomic particles. Since the 7-ton AMS magnetic detector began studying cosmic ray particles in space, it found about 400,000 positrons whose surging energies indicate they might have been created when particles of dark matter collided and destroyed each other.
Unraveling the mystery of dark matter could help scientists better understand what holds our universe and galaxies together.
So...I guess it isn't duck tape (or gaff tape)...because that's what holds my universe together.
I remember ages ago having a heated argument with one of my classmates during our lunch hour about the fourth dimension. He believed it was where our soul went after death, and I believed it was time (temporal dimension).
When you look at the psychics of it, many scientists believe that the temporal dimension is the fourth. But the problem I see with this now is it does not correlate to the first 3 and it should, or be termed or defined as something else.
I’ll explain why. In physics spatial dimensions have a classical theory describing three physical dimensions: the basic directions in which we can move are up/down, left/right, and forward/backward. Movement in any other direction can be expressed in terms of just these three. In its simplest form: a line describes one dimension, a plane describes two dimensions, and a cube describes three dimensions.
Example Co-ordinate Systems:
So you see the first three dimensions are spatial environments. Where Time is not. Have you ever read the definition of “time” in the dictionary?
Small excerpt from Merriam-Webster Dictionary
Noun- Measured or measurable period. More broadly, it is a continuum that lacks spatial dimensions. Philosophers have sought an understanding of time by focusing on the broad questions of the relation between time and the physical world and the relation between time and consciousness. Those who adopt an absolutist theory of time regard it as a kind of container within which the universe exists and change takes place, and believe that its existence and properties are independent of the physical universe. According to the rival relationist theory, time is nothing over and above change in the physical universe. Largely because of Albert Einstein, it is now held that time cannot be treated in isolation from space (see space-time). Some argue that Einstein's theories of relativity vindicate relationist theories, others that they vindicate the absolutist theory. The primary issue concerning the relation between time and consciousness is the extent, if any, to which time or aspects of time depend on the existence of conscious beings. Events in time are normally thought of in terms of notions of past, present, and future, which some philosophers treat as mind-dependent; others believe that time is independent of perception and hold that past, present, and future are objective features of the world.
That is just a small excerpt. It is one of the longest descriptions you will ever read in the dictionary.
It is also interesting to note that (if you ever go) in the Astral Realm, time appears to move at a different rate there, compared to here.
In physics, three dimensions of space and one of time is the accepted norm. There are theories that try to unify different forces and such—these theories require more dimensions. Superstring theory, M-theory and Bosonic string theory respectively posit that physical space has 10, 11 and 26 dimensions. These extra dimensions are said to be spatial. However, we perceive only three spatial dimensions and, to date, no experimental or observational evidence is available to confirm the existence of these extra dimensions. A possible explanation that has been suggested is that space acts as if it were "curled up" in the extra dimensions on a subatomic scale, possibly at the quark/string level of scale or below.
Some complex networks are characterized by fractal dimensions. The concept of dimension can be generalized to include networks embedded in space and characterize by their spatial constraints.
So is the Temporal Dimension the 4th Dimension? I don’t think so. I think it needs its own classification. Dimensions should be spatial measurement only. To clarify, parallel dimensions probably have measurable spatial features, I think it is safe to classify them in with dimensions as well. Even the Astral Realm I would consider as a dimension, but Time...?
I use dimensions heavily in my next book because the character Kealin becomes trapped in one different from where she belongs.
I know it seems like such a nit-picky thing to debate with myself, plus the guy I had lunch with ages ago doesn’t even know the debate is still going on in my head. What a wack-a-doodle I am.
I've been working on creating a new look for the website. Hope you like it. If you see any issues, just drop me a line and I'll fix it.
Here's a little fun I tossed in there: somewhere on the website is a hidden page. Think you can find it? You'll know it when you find it. :)
Where is your doppelganger?
Now you see'm, now you don't.