Mini-Series — The Senses — Taste

Hearing, Sight, Smell, Taste, Touch

Welcome back to my mini-series on the five senses.  Last weekend I interrupted this series by posting a Valentine’s story.  The previous installment of this series was about the sense of smell, and I was glad everyone came out to sniff around! (Okay… I’ll try to control myself with the play on words.)  Now for the next-to-last installment of this series — Taste

Purple mouth

Think about the many different ways the sense of taste could be used to enhance your writing.  It doesn’t have to be the taste of food or drink. Consider other ways that taste could come into play. I had a friend with no sense of smell.  She said she could taste the air when it carried a strong odor.  Concentrating on that, I found she was right! My point is that taste need not be limited to foods.

For my example of taste I’m using one of the “interactive” serials I’ve provided here at this blog. Click the button at the top of the page if you want to know more about this serial.  This tidbit is from episode-6 of A Ghost in the Kitchen — Three Ingredients, Cookbook-2.  All the episodes are together and in chronological order on the serial homepage.

This serial is a culinary mystery-fantasy set in the 1920s. It’s narrated by Paisley Idelle Peabody, better known as Pip.  In this tidbit Pip is working in her grandmother’s vegetable garden.  Describing Pip’s actions, or the smell of the air is fine. However, causing the reader to think about a taste adds fullness to the scene.

Early Lucille 2

Young Lucille Ball as Pip

A scent of mint was on the breeze and I inhaled with pleasure.  I sat on the ground in Granny Fanny’s garden wiping dirt from a turnip and an interesting idea popped into my head.  “I wonder how turnips would taste cooked with some mint,” I pondered aloud. 

Cinnamon Bun, Granny’s Flemish Giant rabbit, looked at me quizzically and twitched his dirty nose.  I could have offered the huge bunny a turnip, but he clearly enjoyed digging up his own.  Just as we both went back to the dirt, a loud noise cracked the air.  I jumped half out of my skin, and Cinnamon Bun dashed to the security of his hutch.

The loud sound was followed by the beep-beep of a horn.  I looked down toward the road and saw a Dodge Roadster.  A moment later Andy Avis jumped out and hurried to the back yard, where I sat in the vegetable garden.

***

As many of you know, the serial stories are spontaneous and unedited. Looking back I could have improved this scene by having the odor of the exhaust from the car’s backfire overlay the tastes that were in Pip’s mind.  Or I might have brought out something about  the garden soil for one of the other senses.  I’m sure you get the idea.

Since this installment is about taste, I’m adding a bonus.  Click on over to A Pug in the Kitchen for this delicious offering from Suzanne.  Also, congrats to Suzanne on her new furry family member.

Creamy Spring Turnip Soup with Wilted Greens and Bacon

Creamy Turnip soup.jpg

Your Turn!

Hey! Come back!  Now it’s your turn.  A photo of an old truck and gas station might seem like an odd choice for an exercise about the sense of taste, but challenging your senses is the point.  Look closely at the image below — put yourself into the picture.   It’s a brisk day.  You were out on the road and stopped at the old gas station to fill-up.  You may or may not be the person driving the red truck.  Or perhaps you are not a patron — maybe you work there, or live across the street. I’m sure a scene is in your mind at this point.  Now add fullness to it by mentioning a taste.

Red Truck Gas Vintage

What did you taste?   Leave a comment with just a few words about a taste this photo brought to your mind.

Open Invitation:  If this inspired you to just write something or otherwise create anything according to the sense featured today, that’s even better!  If you want, you can use the comments to leave a link to your story or blog post.  Kindly link back to this post if you blog about what you wrote, cooked, painted, or photographed.

Thanks for visiting.

Mega hugs,

Teagan

 

Copyright © 2016 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this work may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

Three Ingredients II – 6: Turnips, Onions, Sauerkraut

Casper cookingWelcome back everyone! I’m pleased to tell you that today’s ingredients were sent by a reader who hasn’t always been with us here at Teagan’s Books — Jo Robinson.

Jo lives in beautiful South Africa, and has written quite a remarkable collection of stories.  She has a wonderful imagination.  For instance in her novel “The Shadow People, The Finding” characters are hurled across time and space, and find themselves on Lapillus, a beautiful world made up of precious gems.  (If you had any idea what a self-proclaimed “rock geek” I am, you’d understand that is a huge attraction. I have such a thing for semiprecious gems…)

Jo says all creatures feathered and furred inspire her writing, so I’m curious to know which of the “critters” in our serial she likes best.

Jo Robinson bk

This week’s ingredients have remarkable health benefits.  I never knew that about sauerkraut!  Another reader, Sally at “Smorgasbord – Variety is the spice of life,” told me she recommends onions (among many other vegetables) for their healthfulness in her book on nutrition and emotional health. Check out Sally’s nutrition book, “Turning Back the Clock.”

Episode 6Maybe I need a nice “dose” of sauerkraut myself — to energize me. But on with our “interactive” serial instead! Without further lament, here is Episode-6.  Bon appétit!

6.  Turnips, Onions, Sauerkraut

A scent of mint was on the breeze and I inhaled with pleasure.  I sat on the ground in Granny Fanny’s garden wiping dirt from a turnip and an interesting idea popped into my head.  “I wonder how turnips would taste cooked with some mint,” I pondered aloud.Vintage rabbit driving

Cinnamon Bun, Granny’s Flemish Giant rabbit, looked at me quizzically and twitched his dirty nose.  I could have offered the huge bunny a turnip, but he clearly enjoyed digging up his own.  Just as we both went back to the dirt, a loud noise cracked the air.  I jumped half out of my skin, and Cinnamon Bun dashed to the security of his hutch.

The loud sound was followed by the beep-beep or a horn.  I looked down toward the road and saw a Dodge Roadster.  It wasn’t new.  I guessed it was about a 1921 model.  It was a black two-seater with a tan rag-top and tan spoke wheels.  The automobile was not familiar to me.  However, it pulled into Granny’s driveway.  A moment later Andy Avis jumped out and hurried to the back yard, where I sat in the vegetable garden.

I shook my head and chuckled to myself.  It seemed like every automobile Andy ever drove backfired like that.

“What do you think?” Andy asked motioning to the Dodge.

“It’s the berries,” I told him, because it really was a cute little vehicle.  “What happened to your Studebaker?” I voiced my thought.1921 Dodge Raodster

“Oh, it wasn’t worth the cost of shipping it to Hollywood, so I had to let her go,” he said with a touch of regret in his voice.  “Garth Gilley, down at the garage, let me rent this roadster from him.  If I knew more about how long I was going to be in town, I’d just buy it,” he said and I chuckled.  “Yes, Pip. I’ve already succumbed to the charms of a new vehicle, before the dust of the Studebaker has even settled,” he said, taking off his hat and placing it over his heart in pretend drama.

Garth,owned Gilley’s Garage.  Garth’s brother Godfrey owned Gilley’s Grocery where my grandmother and I bought much of our food.  Godfrey was attentive to Granny Fanny’s preferences for just the right produce, and Garth handled her Model-T with kid gloves.  They were good people, the Gilleys.

I took my basket of turnips, and on impulse plucked some fresh mint.  Andy followed me to the side of the cottage, that’s where the water pump was.  Always thoughtful, Andy got the water going and I rinsed off the vegetables and cleaned my hands.

Vintage Water PumpThe pump was near the open kitchen window.  An unexpected sound caused me to be immediately concerned.  Andy asked me if I needed any more water, and I shushed him.  Then I apologized in a whisper and motioned to the window.  Had I heard sobbing?  Granny was the only one inside the cottage.  Or was she?

I strained to hear, but Wriggles the pug was whining at Cinnamon Bun’s hutch, trying to get him to come outside.  I didn’t worry about Cinnamon with the dog, because the rabbit was much larger.  Besides, they seemed to be friendly with each other.  They weren’t making much noise, but it was enough to prevent me hearing what was happening inside the cottage.

Yes, yes… I know I shouldn’t listen that way, but I felt awfully protective of my grandmother.  Suddenly I heard a consoling voice.  A male voice.  Quietly I moved to the house and stood below the kitchen window.  Andy was right behind me.

“Holy Hannah,” Andy whispered.  “It can’t be.”

I scrunched up my face and gave Andy a look because he wasn’t making any sense.  Then the voices became louder.  The man had an accent.  Applesauce!

“No, no, no bella.  A flower like you should not cry.  Dry your tears and tell the Maestro all about it.  This will make you feel better, no?” the ghost chef consoled my grandmother — and she let him, despite the fact that she kicked his posterior into the refrigerator and slammed shut the door the first time she saw him..

My jaw dropped open.  I heard Granny mumble something about onions.man_ray_tears

“No, no, Luce dei Miei Occhi!  Light of my eyes, you do not fool the Maestro.  These tears are not from the onion.  Someone has broken your heart, I can see it.”

Suddenly the sobbing grew louder.  Poor Granny!  She was bawling her eyes out.  I moved to go inside and make sure she was okay.  However, Andy held me back.

“Actually Pip… the ghost seems to be doing a good job of comforting her.  There might be things that she needs to get off her chest that she wouldn’t necessarily want to tell her granddaughter,” my friend whispered.

I had to admit that Andy had a point.  My thoughts went to the big shindig where we had cornered the gang of bootleggers, and moments before I had accidentally found Dabney Daniels and Granny in a passionate kiss.  Granny had rejected him because she1920s Arrow couple couldn’t accept being older than the handsome detective.  I figured she was probably no more than a dozen years his senior, and I couldn’t understand why she let that bother her.  But it did, and it was her choice, so I didn’t try to convince her otherwise.  Anyhow, when you consider Granny’s mixed feelings for Detective Dabney Daniels, maybe the ghost was right.  Maybe her heart was breaking.

I heard indistinguishable words in between sobs.  Then finally she spoke clearly.  “I don’t know if it was the right thing for me, but it had to be the right thing for him.  It just had to be.  A beautiful man, still in his prime shouldn’t be saddled with an old woman,” she said, though Maestro Martino protested.  “But just because I turned him down — it didn’t mean I wanted him to move halfway up the east coast!” she cried.  “And I surely didn’t want him to run off and do something so dangerous!” she wailed.

In between a lot of blubbering we learned that Dabney Daniels went to Washington DC to become part of a special taskforce.  Granny also felt a little betrayed, because her old friend, Federal Marshal, Moses Myrick gave Daniels a glowing recommendation for the new position.

“So he’s gone for training with the U.S. Marshal’s Service Fugitive Taskforce.  That’s even more dangerous than his work as a police detective.  If anything happens to Dabney I’ll never forgive myself,” Granny sobbed.  “It’s my fault.  I pushed him into it by rejecting his romantic advances.”

Martino continued to console Granny Fanny.  Once she seemed calmer, Andy and I went to the back porch and inside the cottage.  As I opened the kitchen door I heard Kitchen Maid adbustling sounds.  To my surprise, it wasn’t Granny moving around her kitchen.  It was Maestro in his white chef’s apron and hat, along with those odd looking Renaissance era boots.  His back was to us, but he appeared to be making tea and a snack.

I couldn’t believe Granny would sit still for the ghost to be cooking in her kitchen — not after the way she had acted the first time she saw him.  I supposed that was testament to how distraught she was.  I also didn’t know what to expect the ghost chef to do when he saw us.  I thought maybe he’d wink out, disappear; whatever you’d call it.

“Ah! Signorina o Signore please do make yourselves comfortable.  The Maestro, he will soon have prepared something nice to make everyone feel better, no?” the spirit said.

Granny avoided looking at us.  I knew she didn’t want me or Andy to see her tear stained face.  She excused herself and went to wash her face.  She gave a sidelong, annoyed glance to Maestro for daring to do anything in her kitchen, but she hurried out of the room without saying anything else.

Maestro Martino turned to watch her retreating form as she went down the hall.  He was humming a tune that I recognized for a madrigal, It Was a Lover and His Lass.  So intent was the ghost on watching my grandmother’s backside that he overfilled a teacup and didn’t notice, even when the liquid spilled over the countertop to the blue and white tile floor.

It Was a Lover and His Lass – Highland High School Madrigal singers 20131215

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTvcDjOrA9A

I cleared my throat loudly and then got a dishtowel and mopped up the mess.  The Maestro acted as if nothing had happened.  He served tea and sat down at the kitchen table to join Andy and me.  There was something different about his face.  I looked at him closely.  The corner of his lower lip was swollen and inflamed.  He seemed to sip his tea very carefully.

It was puzzling to me… after all, he was a ghost.  “Maestro, is everything okay,” I said pointing to the corner of my own mouth to show what I meant.

He sighed unhappily.  “No, Signorina.  It is only …” he paused, searching for the correct term.  “It is only a canker sore, I think you call it,” he said sardonically.

“Oh, that can be miserable,” I said sympathetically.

I moved to the refrigerator.  I took out a dish of sauerkraut and got a fork from the drawer.  “Here.  Get a wad of kraut Sauerkraut adand put it against the mouth ulcer for a minute or two.  Then chew it up and swallow it,” I instructed him in the same remedy Granny had
given others in the past.  “It works, I promise.”

He did as I said.  After a moment he chewed and gulped, then washed down the sauerkraut with his tea.  Andy looked at the ghost chef with a speculative expression on his face that probably matched my own.  My friend seemed to weigh a couple of options and then discard them.  Finally Andy cleared his throat and questioned Maestro Martino.

“Pardon me, but how can a ghost have a canker sore?” he asked what might have been an impertinent question as politely as he could.

“Ah Signore,” Maestro began and shook his head remorsefully.  “When first I met you two lovely young people, I told you of my predicament.  Through no fault of my own, I pissed off the Pope and in short the point of the parable is now I am a poltergeist,” he said and waited for us to confirm that we remembered.  “Perhaps I postponed providing the piece where my predicament also presents another problem,” he said looking embarrassed.

Had the spirit really used that many Ps?  I blinked and gave my head a shake to make sure I was keeping up with him.

Vintage kitchen bouquet ad“Well, part of the predicament is…” he paused and winced as apparently the ulcer pained him when he moved his mouth a certain way.  “Whenever I lust after a beautiful woman… I get the canker sore.”

Andy chortled and I gave his ankle a little kick under the table, and told him he was being insensitive.  However, Andy just laughed again.  “Pip, don’t you realize?” he asked, though I didn’t understand what he meant.  “The beautiful woman he was lusting after was your grandmother,” he said as he leaned his chair backward and
 rocked it on two legs while he chuckled at me.

My eyes popped open wide as I looked at Maestro Martino accusingly.  The ghost looked down at his teacup and nodded penitently.  I got up but I didn’t know what to do with myself.  When I rested my hand on the countertop it landed on the dishtowel, sopping wet with tea.  I threw the towel at Maestro’s face.

The ghost immediately became transparent, and the wet towel went right through him.  It plopped wetly across Andy’s face.  Apparently I threw it pretty hard.  Andy was still leaning his chair back on two legs, and he toppled over when the wet towel landed, covering his face.Lon-Chaney_London_after_Midnight poster

When Andy sat up, wet white towel still covering his face, he looked like a ghost out
of a Lon Chaney movie.  I made a comment to that effect, and Andy proceeded to make monster-like motions and chase me around the cottage, with the towel still covering his face.  It was amazing that he didn’t run into more furniture than he did.

Wriggles the pug’s sensitive ears picked up the excited noises of play and he barreled into the game.  The little dog barked as he chased behind Andy.  I ran into the parlor and both of them followed.  Granny Fanny must have been “on a mission” to learn something again, because there were several stacks of newspapers and other periodicals from the library around the room.

Unable to see very much, Andy stumbled over a stack of newspapers.  Our laughter subsided, but Wriggles hadn’t given up the game.  The pug bounced around on the strewn papers and in a moment the entire floor was covered.  Andy and I set about collecting the pages and putting them back into the right order.

I noticed that they were very old issues of the Savannah Tribune, from before I wasVintage Pug even born.  Andy was on his hands and knees trying to get newspapers away from the dog without tearing them.  Something caught his eye, and he shifted from his knees to a sitting position to read a page.  He scratched his head and made a humpf sound that I’d often heard him make when he was thinking about an idea for one of his science fiction stories.

“What is it?” I asked.

“This name is familiar, but I don’t know why.  It’s an announcement article about a local boy rising up in the organization of the Church here,” Andy said as he continued to browse the write-up.  “Two brothers had been on scholarships to some hoity-toity business university, but during summer break, back home in Savannah, one of them suddenly joined the priesthood.”

“Do you mean the Binghamtons?” I asked

“Yepper,” he said and then smacked his palm against the polished oak floor with a loud smack that started the pug barking.

I shushed the dog by scratching his back.  Wriggles lived up to his name.  That little dog loved getting his back scratched.  He stuck out his tongue to lick his little pugged nose and wagged his tail until I thought he’d tip over.

Andy continued. “Now I remember where I’ve seen that name.  I saw it when I was researching the ownership history of the abandoned factory Manny Mayer had me buy for him.  I don’t remember the first name, except that it started with a ‘B’ but the surname was Binghamton for sure,” he said.

I remembered the old photograph I had seen at the Kingston mansion during the big shindig. It seemed like Daisy wanted me to see something in it.  I remembered it clearly.  I saw Daisy step through the broad French doors.  She went to a large framed photograph and placed her hand on it.  She nodded to 1917 Vogueme.  I knew there was information in that photograph. But then Daisy vanished.

He handed me the yellowed page.  It had a much smaller version of the same old photograph.  However this one had the surnames of the men listed under it.  Sure enough, one of them was Binghamton.  The image was so small, that it was hard to tell if one of them was a much younger version of the man who was now a bishop.

Looking closely, I realized there were two men who were thinner than the others.  The bishop was a very slight man.  So those must be the Binghamton brothers.  However, I couldn’t make out much about their faces from the old newsprint image.

Andy and I sat back and looked at each other.  One of the Binghamtons had owned the factory where Daisy the ghost girl said something happened to her.  It was something so horrible that she blocked it out of her living memory and she was afraid to go inside the place even as a ghost.

“We need to make tracks back to that factory and look around,” I said.

***

How to Preserve Onions

Next time, Barbeque Sauce, Baby Bok Choy, Aluminium Foil

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

Three Ingredients Serial – 6: Turnips, Parsnips, Juniper Berries

Episode 6 dog cat copyA truly remarkable friend in Albuquerque supplied the “ingredients” for this episode.  Clever of her to think of juniper berries and how they relate to the 1920’s and prohibition! That’s how you drive the story.

I’m delighted to have all of you readers behind the wheel, steering this mystery with the ingredients you send.  And they’re coming from all over.  When Episode-7 comes around, the food-related things will be from the UK.  So stay tuned for that one.

Remember all the previous episodes live at the serial’s homepage.  And now, Episode-6…

6.  Turnips, Parsnips, Juniper Berries

I found Granny Fanny at the far end of her back yard.  The lot was a long fenced-in rectangle.  What looked like ordinary bushes at that time of year would blossom to reveal azaleas and forsythia in warmer months.  Granny and Cinnamon Bun were gathering turnip greens and some turnips.  I think she mostly took the turnips the huge rabbit dug up.  He was clearly enjoying himself.

Margaret Mitchell

Margaret Mitchell

“Now Cinnamon Bun, you’d better eat the next turnip you dig up,” she happily chided the bunny.  “And I don’t mean just nibble at it.  I don’t think you really like eating them, but you’re having a grand old time digging them up!”

She stood when she saw me.  “Pip, you’re a sight in those boy’s clothes!”  The good natured scolding switched focus to me for the Levis and flannel shirt I wore.  “And muddy taboot,” she added.

Then she smiled fondly.  “So how was the little foal?  Did you have a nice time with Doc and Missus Vale?” she asked.  “It’s a good clip out to that farm.  Did you and Veronica get to chat much?”

I nodded and smiled.  Did we ever!  It had been Granny’s idea that I go with the veterinarian and his wife when he called to check up on the foal he delivered.  It was born the day Detective Daniels and I found the parrot, Cracker, in the dead man’s room, so the vet wasn’t available to take the bird.  Granny wanted me to get to know the veterinarian’s wife.  She said that if I was bound to be an independent woman, then I should get to know the real deal.

1920s woman scientist-microscope“Yes, it was a nice drive,” I told her, and went into detail about the charming little foal, and what an accomplished and remarkable woman Veronica Vale was.

Veronica told me that for many years she worked at the South London Hospital for Women and Children.  Of course it was in England, but even more interesting, it had an all-woman staff.  Then Veronica retired and went back home to Savannah.  She met the widowed Vincent and partnered with him in his veterinary practice, doing what she called “lab work” with microscopes and other scientific things that I had never been around.  I had only touched a microscope one time.  I thought doing that kind of work must be the cat’s meow.

In turn I told the Vales about the man who turned up dead at the local premier of the movie “Night of the Killer Clam.”  I told them how strange I thought it was for him to have cilantro bits all over his shoes.  Doc Vale shrugged and looked puzzled.  Veronica seemed more interested as he drove.  “They still don’t know what killed the man?” she asked as the car puttered along.

I shook my head, and Mrs. Doctor Vale… or Doctor Mrs. Vale… Oh applesauce!  I didn’t know what title to give the woman.  She told me to call her Veronica, so I did.  Anyhow she looked at me conspiratorially and said she’d talk to Detective Daniels and see if she could get any samples to look at under her microscope.Turnip greens label

“I’m glad you had a good time,” Granny said, bringing me back to the present moment.  She looked pleased.  “Dabney Daniels is coming by to get some of these greens.  We’ve got more than we can use.  People who want catering don’t seem to eat turnip greens,” she added.

With a shooing motion she sent me inside to change clothes.  Granny didn’t think it was proper for a young woman to go around in trousers unless it was for a specific labor-related purpose.  They were acceptable for the “barn call” to see the new foal, but not if a visitor was coming to the house.

Detective Daniels arrived just as I put on a headband I had bought at a boutique in downtown Savannah.  It was a little plain (I wanted one with rhinestones) but it was pretty.  I noticed a little 1922_Saturday_Evening_Postflower arrangement Granny had set on the drop-leaf table in the parlor.  It had Cherokee roses and several stems of juniper.  I broke off a sprig with berries and tucked it into my headband to jazz it up.

“What’s that in your hair?” Daniels greeted me when I opened the door.

“Hello to you too,” I said.

“What are those,” he repeated.  The man was like a bulldog; single minded.  “Juniper berries?” he asked then chuckled.  “You’ll have me thinking Granny Fanny has gotten into bootlegging,” he commented and I looked a question at him.  “Don’t tell me you don’t know…  Okay, playing innocent, I see.”

I crossed my arms and raised one eyebrow at him.  “Detective Daniels, whatever are you talking about?”

He sighed and muttered that maybe I really didn’t know.  “Juniper berries are used in making gin,” he informed me.

Then a mischievous twinkle lit his eyes.  I had not seen that playful side of the policeman, and I rather liked it.  “Do I need to check the bathtub to make sure this establishment is not turning into a speakeasy?” he joked.  “Is there bathtub gin on the premises?”

“If Granny is making gin, then I sure don’t know where Cat_menu_Episode-6 copyshe’s hiding it!” I laughed.

“What do you mean, making gin?” Granny said as she walked into the room.

I could have sworn there was a guilty blush on her face.  I wondered if Granny really did have a stash of hooch somewhere.  She cleared her throat and deftly changed the subject.  “Dabney, Pip and I are about to sit down to some lamb and parsnip stew.  And I have some greens and cornbread to go with it.  Won’t you join us?”

The detective licked his lips just as his stomach growled.  I knew the answer to that question without having to hear it.

***

Lamb & Parsnip Stew

Credit:  The Old Farmer’s Almanac

Yield:  Makes 4 servings.

2 pounds cubed lamb

2 medium onions, quartered

2-1/2 cups water

1/2 teaspoon salt

2 large carrots, scraped and sliced

8 small parsnips, scraped and sliced

1 bay leaf

Brown lamb in a large stewpot, then add onions and sauté.  Add remaining ingredients, bring to a boil, and simmer for up to 2 hours.  Remove bay leaf before serving.  Juices can be thickened with flour or mashed potato to make gravy, if desired.

***

Tune in again next week.  Same flapper time, same flapper channel.

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.