This and that
Yard birds: an avian interlude.
October 11, 2011 08:42
I am easily thrilled by wildlife in our suburb. I love seeing birdies and other critters in the yard and around the neighborhood. Besides the usual squirrels, chipmunks, robins, blue jays, grackles, crows (I love crows), cardinals and starlings that are so common around here, I have seen hawks perched on power lines or swooping to the ground in pursuit of prey, great blue herons flying over the North Shore Channel, woodpeckers (although I hear them more often than I see them), and for a short time an invisible Eastern Screen Owl called eerily through the neighborhood after night fell. A few months ago I saw an amazingly blue bird--it might have been an Indigo Bunting or an Eastern Bluebird. My heart almost stopped--it was the prettiest, bluest bird I'd ever seen! And for a while a pretty fox lived under a pine tree in a neighbor's back yard. It trotted around looking for food, never bothered anyone, and didn't seem at all fazed as we gaped and whispered and snapped pictures.
I was pretty excited to discover pretty yellow finches nibbling at the dried out coneflower heads in our front garden. We have all kinds of bird and butterfly friendly plants, so it's fun to see the plants attracting birds and butterflies.
The finches usually show up in groups of two or three, each perched on their own coneflower, and they sing the sweetest songs--like little flying flutes.
We have lots of cardinals in the area, and I think the females are just as pretty as the males. I love that they almost always come in pairs that constantly chip chip reassuringly to each other. It's like they're saying, "Are you there?" "Yep, I'm here." "Are you still there?" "Yep, still here."
"Wait, where'd you go?" "Don't worry, I'm over here now." "You there?" "Right here."
This pair was perched in our apple tree last week--no chipping, just quietly enjoying some downtime in the branches on a perfectly beautiful warm, dry early autumn afternoon.
Since I bought a bag of birdseed meant to attract songbirds, we have been seeing (and hearing!) black-capped chickadee-dee-dee-dees, cardinals, and lots of these sweet little brown house sparrows (I think they are sparrows), which liked to soak up the dappled sunlight in that same apple tree.
The Cornell Lab of Ornithology's All About Birds site describes female house sparrows as "plain buffy-brown overall with dingy gray-brown underparts." They make her sound so dull! I think she's just lovely. You don't have to be bright red like a cardinal, or blue like a bunting, or orange like a fox to be pretty. Not to me, anyway.
I was pretty excited to discover pretty yellow finches nibbling at the dried out coneflower heads in our front garden. We have all kinds of bird and butterfly friendly plants, so it's fun to see the plants attracting birds and butterflies.
The finches usually show up in groups of two or three, each perched on their own coneflower, and they sing the sweetest songs--like little flying flutes.
We have lots of cardinals in the area, and I think the females are just as pretty as the males. I love that they almost always come in pairs that constantly chip chip reassuringly to each other. It's like they're saying, "Are you there?" "Yep, I'm here." "Are you still there?" "Yep, still here."
"Wait, where'd you go?" "Don't worry, I'm over here now." "You there?" "Right here."
This pair was perched in our apple tree last week--no chipping, just quietly enjoying some downtime in the branches on a perfectly beautiful warm, dry early autumn afternoon.
Since I bought a bag of birdseed meant to attract songbirds, we have been seeing (and hearing!) black-capped chickadee-dee-dee-dees, cardinals, and lots of these sweet little brown house sparrows (I think they are sparrows), which liked to soak up the dappled sunlight in that same apple tree.
The Cornell Lab of Ornithology's All About Birds site describes female house sparrows as "plain buffy-brown overall with dingy gray-brown underparts." They make her sound so dull! I think she's just lovely. You don't have to be bright red like a cardinal, or blue like a bunting, or orange like a fox to be pretty. Not to me, anyway.
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Patsy in the spring.
April 19, 2011 01:36
When pretty blue scylla spring out of the ground and forsythia bushes burst with yellow blooms, I think of my mom. In the weeks before Mother's Day, when trees start to bud and get “fuzzy” as she described it, I think of her too. And while I clean my garden, happy to see pink peony shoots poking through the soil, Mom is there -- even though it’s been four years since I last saw her, before she passed away two days shy of her mid March birthday, just as winter was fading away.
Little Patsy Reed with her big sisters Mary and Martha, Port Washington, 1936ish.
That last trip to see her started out like all the others -- packing and re-packing too much stuff into the suitcase, too much food in the cooler, fretting over the care of the cats, leaving later than we planned, and our traditional stops at Starbucks and the Skyway McDonald's. Then up Up UP over the Skyway and onto the familiar toll roads to Cleveland Heights, Ohio. The difference this time was that Mom was gravely ill and last rites had been administered. The ominous impact of those words "last rites," delivered in an e-mail from one of my brothers, had sent me into hysterics. The only light note was Dad following up with, "If mom had been more energetic, she would have told the priest to hit the road." I'd spent the rest of the day in an anxious fog as I arranged to take off work and pull my son out of school, wondering whether this would really be the last time we saw Mom.
We usually visit Mom and Dad at Christmas time, when the skies tend to be gray and bleak. I've grown accustomed to a leafless, snowless December landscape from Chicago to Cleveland. This time, though, the miles of flat farm country were covered in a light layer of late winter snow, the skies had cleared, and the morning sun shone brightly. Trees and fences were traced in a fine white filigree. I noticed for the first time apple orchards and vineyards, their rows of dry twisted branches artfully frosted, giving a depth to this open country that I’d never seen before. Groves of tidy, uniform firs -- Christmas tree farms, we guessed -- added their green silhouettes to the scenery. Above, fluffy clouds trailed across the gloriously blue sky, and occasionally pairs of hawks drifted in wide circles over the turnpike. The midwest never looked so pretty, I thought, and I would tell Mom about it. With my son settled next to me and a Harry Potter audiobook in the CD player, I felt at peace despite the circumstances of the trip. I squinted into the miles of oncoming highway until my laugh lines ached.
What a beauty!
Mom's pretty blue eyes brightened as we approached her bedside at the Cleveland Clinic later that afternoon. A clear plastic oxygen mask was strapped around her delicate ears, and a tube in her arm led to a tower of machinery quietly dispensing doses of saline and morphine. The papery skin on her arm was bruised from too many needle sticks. She smiled weakly but warmly, the familiar smile of motherly love I’d known for so many years. We held hands and conversed as best we could, her voice ranging from a whisper to a hoarse croak and slightly muffled by the mask. Despite the difficulty, and without a single hint of frustration, she asked me about school, and how was my fiance Kenny, and had we found a house yet? She called her grandson over and talked to him about his girlfriend, his band, school, and his favorite class -- metal working. A talented and classically trained artist born and raised in Port Washington, New York, Mom delighted whenever one of her children or grandchildren pursued the creative arts. She asked him to make her a sculpture, and he promised he would.
We talked about the weather (too much snow in Cleveland over the winter, not enough in Chicago), and what I would plant in my garden that spring. Dad sat quietly reading a book, relieved, no doubt, to finally have family take over during these wearying, worrisome hospital visits he’d been making daily for weeks. Sometimes Mom closed her eyes for a while and appeared to doze, then she would open them again, smile, and find something new to talk about. I had expected a more sickly version of her, that proverbial shadow-of-the-former-self we expect when someone is on their last. She was a little bony, and her hair was thinner from a few chemo treatments for her recently diagnosed cancer. But her skin was warm, rosy and vital. She doesn’t look so bad, I thought. She’s not dying.
Gathering freckles in the sun with Dad.
While Mom rested, I left briefly to find the kitchen for patients and families where Dad said I could find crackers and bottles of water. As I made my way through the hospital halls I looked up and for the first time saw the name of the unit where Mom’s room was located: Palliative Care, where they relieve the symptoms of terminal illness without attempting a cure, where the dying are made comfortable until they pass away. I still didn’t quite believe it. Mom seemed so lucid, if a bit weary. I still wasn’t convinced I was here to say goodbye to her. But at that moment it didn’t matter; I had come to spend time with Mom and Dad, and with some of my nine siblings who were scheduled to arrive the next day. Until it was time for me to leave, I was determined to be present in each moment with my family, and not prematurely mourn my mother’s apparently imminent death.
I hope my springtime lawn is covered with scylla someday.
The next day two brothers and three sisters arrived literally by planes, trains and automobiles. By mid-afternoon, six of the ten children my parents raised on a shoestring were gathered in Mom’s room, each sharing their recent news, holding her hand, and retreating red-eyed to the seats by the window. At night we bunked down all around the house, on couches and in guest rooms, and more over at our brother-in-law Charlie's house. Charlie was married to our sister, Mary Jane, whose passing from breast cancer brought us all to Cleveland Heights on New Year’s weekend two years prior. For so long we'd felt ourselves lucky as a large family not to have been touched by death -- then breast cancer and now the maladies of old age had crept in.
Mom and Mary Jane, 1958ish.
During family meetings with the medical team and hospice staff, I stayed behind to hold Mom's hands, stroke her hair, tell her whatever story popped into my head, or read aloud. Mom's hands were warm and soft. Occasionally I would check in with her, ask if I should continue, or if she needed anything, and she would smile and nod, or croak a barely audible “yes” or “no.” Then everyone returned from the meeting and the room was filled with energy and conversation again. I often looked around the room at my many siblings, and at the two people responsible for creating us, raising us, piling us into the car for trips to the beach, for feeding us Eggs Denver and chipped beef and Cowboy Cake, for arguing with us about loud music, homework, sex and cigarettes, and eventually seeing us leave home one by one, year after year. There were storms during those growing up years, but a generation later there in that hospital room there was love and sadness and waiting.
My son and I returned home the following Saturday, to get his life back to friends, school and normal. I felt I'd said and done enough for Mom. I could leave, but I couldn't say goodbye, not in that final way. I kissed Mom on the forehead, told her I loved her, and said, "I'll see you again soon, Mom." The Harry Potter tale unfolded on the long drive back, and when we finally arrived that evening, we were grateful to see our own rooms and our kitties. But the house felt lonely and I wanted to be back with the rest of my family, and Mom.
Dad and Mom in the Land of Cleves.
The next day was warm and sunny, unusually so for early March. In the afternoon we got the call from Cleveland saying that after she’d had the chance to see or speak with all of her children, Mom's last moments were peaceful. Later, Dad told me everyone who was there gathered around Mom while a hospice worker said a touching prayer, the most beautiful he'd ever heard. I told my son and Kenny, and called my closest friends. Then I went outside to soak up the sunshine and let it dry my tears.
My peonies survived the winter!
We celebrated Mom's 81st birthday two days later with angel food cake and strawberries, one of her favorite desserts. Kenny said he could imagine Mom eating angel food cake with the angels, while my son noted that for angels it would just be called "food cake." We agreed that Mom can have all the angel food cake she wants now. It was good to be silly and light and think of her so sweetly.
Our crazy arching forsythia bush.
Dear Mom, if you ever had any questions about where you go when your time on earth was done, I can tell you. You’re blooming in blue scylla and the buds on the fuzzy trees and the yellow branches of forsythia. And you’re here with me as I till the soil in my garden at the house Kenny and I finally bought. And when I bake Cowboy Cake and pick violets and ride my bike along Lake Michigan, you’re there too.
The Sculpture, dedicated to Grandma Pat.
Your grandson made you a sculpture and painted it blue, like the water near Port Washington, like Lake Michigan, like scylla and your eyes. He attached a tall swirling spiral that reaches up Up UP, to help your spirit soar into the sky.
Little Patsy Reed with her big sisters Mary and Martha, Port Washington, 1936ish.That last trip to see her started out like all the others -- packing and re-packing too much stuff into the suitcase, too much food in the cooler, fretting over the care of the cats, leaving later than we planned, and our traditional stops at Starbucks and the Skyway McDonald's. Then up Up UP over the Skyway and onto the familiar toll roads to Cleveland Heights, Ohio. The difference this time was that Mom was gravely ill and last rites had been administered. The ominous impact of those words "last rites," delivered in an e-mail from one of my brothers, had sent me into hysterics. The only light note was Dad following up with, "If mom had been more energetic, she would have told the priest to hit the road." I'd spent the rest of the day in an anxious fog as I arranged to take off work and pull my son out of school, wondering whether this would really be the last time we saw Mom.
We usually visit Mom and Dad at Christmas time, when the skies tend to be gray and bleak. I've grown accustomed to a leafless, snowless December landscape from Chicago to Cleveland. This time, though, the miles of flat farm country were covered in a light layer of late winter snow, the skies had cleared, and the morning sun shone brightly. Trees and fences were traced in a fine white filigree. I noticed for the first time apple orchards and vineyards, their rows of dry twisted branches artfully frosted, giving a depth to this open country that I’d never seen before. Groves of tidy, uniform firs -- Christmas tree farms, we guessed -- added their green silhouettes to the scenery. Above, fluffy clouds trailed across the gloriously blue sky, and occasionally pairs of hawks drifted in wide circles over the turnpike. The midwest never looked so pretty, I thought, and I would tell Mom about it. With my son settled next to me and a Harry Potter audiobook in the CD player, I felt at peace despite the circumstances of the trip. I squinted into the miles of oncoming highway until my laugh lines ached.
What a beauty!Mom's pretty blue eyes brightened as we approached her bedside at the Cleveland Clinic later that afternoon. A clear plastic oxygen mask was strapped around her delicate ears, and a tube in her arm led to a tower of machinery quietly dispensing doses of saline and morphine. The papery skin on her arm was bruised from too many needle sticks. She smiled weakly but warmly, the familiar smile of motherly love I’d known for so many years. We held hands and conversed as best we could, her voice ranging from a whisper to a hoarse croak and slightly muffled by the mask. Despite the difficulty, and without a single hint of frustration, she asked me about school, and how was my fiance Kenny, and had we found a house yet? She called her grandson over and talked to him about his girlfriend, his band, school, and his favorite class -- metal working. A talented and classically trained artist born and raised in Port Washington, New York, Mom delighted whenever one of her children or grandchildren pursued the creative arts. She asked him to make her a sculpture, and he promised he would.
We talked about the weather (too much snow in Cleveland over the winter, not enough in Chicago), and what I would plant in my garden that spring. Dad sat quietly reading a book, relieved, no doubt, to finally have family take over during these wearying, worrisome hospital visits he’d been making daily for weeks. Sometimes Mom closed her eyes for a while and appeared to doze, then she would open them again, smile, and find something new to talk about. I had expected a more sickly version of her, that proverbial shadow-of-the-former-self we expect when someone is on their last. She was a little bony, and her hair was thinner from a few chemo treatments for her recently diagnosed cancer. But her skin was warm, rosy and vital. She doesn’t look so bad, I thought. She’s not dying.
Gathering freckles in the sun with Dad.While Mom rested, I left briefly to find the kitchen for patients and families where Dad said I could find crackers and bottles of water. As I made my way through the hospital halls I looked up and for the first time saw the name of the unit where Mom’s room was located: Palliative Care, where they relieve the symptoms of terminal illness without attempting a cure, where the dying are made comfortable until they pass away. I still didn’t quite believe it. Mom seemed so lucid, if a bit weary. I still wasn’t convinced I was here to say goodbye to her. But at that moment it didn’t matter; I had come to spend time with Mom and Dad, and with some of my nine siblings who were scheduled to arrive the next day. Until it was time for me to leave, I was determined to be present in each moment with my family, and not prematurely mourn my mother’s apparently imminent death.
I hope my springtime lawn is covered with scylla someday.The next day two brothers and three sisters arrived literally by planes, trains and automobiles. By mid-afternoon, six of the ten children my parents raised on a shoestring were gathered in Mom’s room, each sharing their recent news, holding her hand, and retreating red-eyed to the seats by the window. At night we bunked down all around the house, on couches and in guest rooms, and more over at our brother-in-law Charlie's house. Charlie was married to our sister, Mary Jane, whose passing from breast cancer brought us all to Cleveland Heights on New Year’s weekend two years prior. For so long we'd felt ourselves lucky as a large family not to have been touched by death -- then breast cancer and now the maladies of old age had crept in.
Mom and Mary Jane, 1958ish.
During family meetings with the medical team and hospice staff, I stayed behind to hold Mom's hands, stroke her hair, tell her whatever story popped into my head, or read aloud. Mom's hands were warm and soft. Occasionally I would check in with her, ask if I should continue, or if she needed anything, and she would smile and nod, or croak a barely audible “yes” or “no.” Then everyone returned from the meeting and the room was filled with energy and conversation again. I often looked around the room at my many siblings, and at the two people responsible for creating us, raising us, piling us into the car for trips to the beach, for feeding us Eggs Denver and chipped beef and Cowboy Cake, for arguing with us about loud music, homework, sex and cigarettes, and eventually seeing us leave home one by one, year after year. There were storms during those growing up years, but a generation later there in that hospital room there was love and sadness and waiting.
My son and I returned home the following Saturday, to get his life back to friends, school and normal. I felt I'd said and done enough for Mom. I could leave, but I couldn't say goodbye, not in that final way. I kissed Mom on the forehead, told her I loved her, and said, "I'll see you again soon, Mom." The Harry Potter tale unfolded on the long drive back, and when we finally arrived that evening, we were grateful to see our own rooms and our kitties. But the house felt lonely and I wanted to be back with the rest of my family, and Mom.
Dad and Mom in the Land of Cleves.The next day was warm and sunny, unusually so for early March. In the afternoon we got the call from Cleveland saying that after she’d had the chance to see or speak with all of her children, Mom's last moments were peaceful. Later, Dad told me everyone who was there gathered around Mom while a hospice worker said a touching prayer, the most beautiful he'd ever heard. I told my son and Kenny, and called my closest friends. Then I went outside to soak up the sunshine and let it dry my tears.
My peonies survived the winter!We celebrated Mom's 81st birthday two days later with angel food cake and strawberries, one of her favorite desserts. Kenny said he could imagine Mom eating angel food cake with the angels, while my son noted that for angels it would just be called "food cake." We agreed that Mom can have all the angel food cake she wants now. It was good to be silly and light and think of her so sweetly.
Our crazy arching forsythia bush.Dear Mom, if you ever had any questions about where you go when your time on earth was done, I can tell you. You’re blooming in blue scylla and the buds on the fuzzy trees and the yellow branches of forsythia. And you’re here with me as I till the soil in my garden at the house Kenny and I finally bought. And when I bake Cowboy Cake and pick violets and ride my bike along Lake Michigan, you’re there too.
The Sculpture, dedicated to Grandma Pat.
Your grandson made you a sculpture and painted it blue, like the water near Port Washington, like Lake Michigan, like scylla and your eyes. He attached a tall swirling spiral that reaches up Up UP, to help your spirit soar into the sky.
Disaster averted.
March 23, 2011 11:07
Thursday, March 10, 2011.
While happily hooking my way through a crocheted wrap called the Woodland Shawl, using lovely skeins of Manos del Uruguay yarn in a color called Wildflowers, I realized something that strikes madness in the hearts of fiber crafters everywhere: the first skein and the second one did not match at ALL.
See for yourself.
My 12-year-old stepdaughter saw the obvious difference even before I pointed it out to her. The first is brighter (or in that photo darker) and more colorful than the second. (Sigh.) I knew the remaining skeins wouldn’t match either, such being the nature of this particular yarn. There are no dyelots, so there’s no guarantee one skein will match the next.
I was seriously bummed about the whole thing, having made good progress into this shawl, and really struggled with what to do. Keep going and not care about the color changes? I care -- the difference is too obvious. Crochet decorative chains of flowers to mask the changes between balls? No. Crochet with two skeins, alternating them from row to row? Too fussy, and no way to gracefully mask that operation on a two-sided project. ARGH.
The more I thought about it the more annoyed I became. By bedtime I had resigned myself to ripping the whole project and using the yarn for something else. I still obsessed about it and worried I wouldn’t sleep because of it. I know I’m not the first and only crafter to lose sleep over something like that! But I managed to calm my mind and fell asleep.
Friday, March 11, 2011.
After a decent night’s slumber (and no troubling dreams about yarn and crochet hooks), I awoke to news of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.
Grim reports flowed out of the radio, telling of the 8.9 magnitude quake, of massive damage caused by the ensuing tsunami, and of the tsunami’s trajectory through the Pacific ocean toward American shores. Words like casualties, battered, chaos, destruction, wreckage, obliteration, splintered, catastrophic, smashed, washed away, collapsed, adrift, and buried described the aftermath. A quick peek at some internet news sites showed frightful images of flooded towns, huge boats dragged inland, cars teetering over gaping cracks in the roads, houses floating out to sea, and frightened Japanese in varying states of bewilderment, shock, despair and homelessness.
Saddened and humbled, I dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, grateful that my family was safe and our house still standing solidly on its foundation. I looked out the living room window and noted appreciatively the dry streets, my neighbors’ houses all still strong and upright, children playing on the corner waiting for their school bus, their mothers chatting amicably. No earthquake or flooding here, no disaster, no wreckage. Thank goodness.
Our critters were unaffected by the news.
I'm awfully glad we live in an area of the country that, thus far, doesn’t see too many natural disasters. Sure we live near a significant seismic zone, but word on the street is we don’t really have to worry about any serious plate shifts for several hundred years. Occasionally microbursts and tornadoes blow through, but our particular midwestern neighborhood doesn’t get hit with much. On rare occasions two feet of snow fall overnight, but the snow melts, we all survive and life goes on.
That Friday, and every day since then, I was extra thankful to be out of harm's way. I occasionally imagined for a moment my house leveled by an earthquake and -- goddess willing we survived -- that we were homeless. Perish the thought. But it feels important to put myself in those poor Japanese -- and Haitian, Indonesian, American and all those who have suffered through earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, etc. -- souls’ shoes even for a few minutes. Does my sympathy, and lame attempts at empathy, help them in any way? No. I think about them, and care very much. Does that help? And is it okay to be relieved it's not happening to us?
When I looked upon my project again, I felt nothing--no annoyance at the mismatched skeins, no struggling with how to remedy it, no uncertainty about ripping out the work I had done. The whole dilemma ... well, that’s just it--it wasn’t even a dilemma anymore. The magnitude of the tragedy in Japan had reduced the whole shawl thing to a speck of cosmic dust in an infinite universe, to a drop of blue in a sea of green, to almost nothingness. Like it never existed. Fffffft! gone. I calmly pulled at the yarn, decrocheting it row by row, wound it into balls, tucked the balls into my project bag. I’d figure out what to do with those skeins eventually.
I have nothing deep and philosophical to offer here, just that we all have our troubles, both very large and very small. All I’m saying is sometimes the sh*t that happens out there helps put things strongly into perspective.
The ripped shawl, by the way, is coming back as a sweater.
While happily hooking my way through a crocheted wrap called the Woodland Shawl, using lovely skeins of Manos del Uruguay yarn in a color called Wildflowers, I realized something that strikes madness in the hearts of fiber crafters everywhere: the first skein and the second one did not match at ALL.
See for yourself.
My 12-year-old stepdaughter saw the obvious difference even before I pointed it out to her. The first is brighter (or in that photo darker) and more colorful than the second. (Sigh.) I knew the remaining skeins wouldn’t match either, such being the nature of this particular yarn. There are no dyelots, so there’s no guarantee one skein will match the next.
I was seriously bummed about the whole thing, having made good progress into this shawl, and really struggled with what to do. Keep going and not care about the color changes? I care -- the difference is too obvious. Crochet decorative chains of flowers to mask the changes between balls? No. Crochet with two skeins, alternating them from row to row? Too fussy, and no way to gracefully mask that operation on a two-sided project. ARGH.
The more I thought about it the more annoyed I became. By bedtime I had resigned myself to ripping the whole project and using the yarn for something else. I still obsessed about it and worried I wouldn’t sleep because of it. I know I’m not the first and only crafter to lose sleep over something like that! But I managed to calm my mind and fell asleep.
Friday, March 11, 2011.
After a decent night’s slumber (and no troubling dreams about yarn and crochet hooks), I awoke to news of the earthquake and tsunami in Japan.
Grim reports flowed out of the radio, telling of the 8.9 magnitude quake, of massive damage caused by the ensuing tsunami, and of the tsunami’s trajectory through the Pacific ocean toward American shores. Words like casualties, battered, chaos, destruction, wreckage, obliteration, splintered, catastrophic, smashed, washed away, collapsed, adrift, and buried described the aftermath. A quick peek at some internet news sites showed frightful images of flooded towns, huge boats dragged inland, cars teetering over gaping cracks in the roads, houses floating out to sea, and frightened Japanese in varying states of bewilderment, shock, despair and homelessness.
Saddened and humbled, I dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, grateful that my family was safe and our house still standing solidly on its foundation. I looked out the living room window and noted appreciatively the dry streets, my neighbors’ houses all still strong and upright, children playing on the corner waiting for their school bus, their mothers chatting amicably. No earthquake or flooding here, no disaster, no wreckage. Thank goodness.
Our critters were unaffected by the news.
I'm awfully glad we live in an area of the country that, thus far, doesn’t see too many natural disasters. Sure we live near a significant seismic zone, but word on the street is we don’t really have to worry about any serious plate shifts for several hundred years. Occasionally microbursts and tornadoes blow through, but our particular midwestern neighborhood doesn’t get hit with much. On rare occasions two feet of snow fall overnight, but the snow melts, we all survive and life goes on.
That Friday, and every day since then, I was extra thankful to be out of harm's way. I occasionally imagined for a moment my house leveled by an earthquake and -- goddess willing we survived -- that we were homeless. Perish the thought. But it feels important to put myself in those poor Japanese -- and Haitian, Indonesian, American and all those who have suffered through earthquakes, hurricanes, tsunamis, etc. -- souls’ shoes even for a few minutes. Does my sympathy, and lame attempts at empathy, help them in any way? No. I think about them, and care very much. Does that help? And is it okay to be relieved it's not happening to us?
When I looked upon my project again, I felt nothing--no annoyance at the mismatched skeins, no struggling with how to remedy it, no uncertainty about ripping out the work I had done. The whole dilemma ... well, that’s just it--it wasn’t even a dilemma anymore. The magnitude of the tragedy in Japan had reduced the whole shawl thing to a speck of cosmic dust in an infinite universe, to a drop of blue in a sea of green, to almost nothingness. Like it never existed. Fffffft! gone. I calmly pulled at the yarn, decrocheting it row by row, wound it into balls, tucked the balls into my project bag. I’d figure out what to do with those skeins eventually.
I have nothing deep and philosophical to offer here, just that we all have our troubles, both very large and very small. All I’m saying is sometimes the sh*t that happens out there helps put things strongly into perspective.
The ripped shawl, by the way, is coming back as a sweater.
Tagged.
December 14, 2010 12:28
I’ve been tagged by my BFF Kathy. (It was forever ago and I hope she forgives me for taking so long to respond to it.) I’m completely cool with this because it's obvious I enjoy talking about myself. Instead of nice short one-sentence answers, which her friends seem to be better at than I am, I went a little overboard. I hope you find me as interesting as I do.
Which 5 items would you take with you in a fire (besides your family members and pet(s)? Oh, tough one! There are so many things in this world I’m attached to. I become quite sentimental about stuff, especially stuff given to me by people I love (and who I’m happy to say love me too). I look around and see not-particularly-valuable china plates and cups I’ve inherited from my parents, furniture and whatnots collected at flea markets and yard sales with Programmer Dude, projects my son created all through his school years, and lots of books.
Books I try to part with but can’t. Knitting books, favorite childhood books (especially well-loved ex library copies), histories, Christmas books, gardening books, books for planning our someday honeymoon to Scotland. Then there’s all the yarn and fabric I’ve been collecting for quite some time, several LARGE plastic bins’ worth. So ... Much ... STUFF. Goodness, what would I do without all my stuff?
But of course, it isn’t stuff that makes the world go ‘round, it’s love -- the love of my dear ones who live in this house with me. So if it all went up in cinder and ash, I could (sadly) leave it all behind as long as the living ones are safe. But if I really did have the luxury of dashing around and collecting five things before exiting safely, they would be: every photo in the house that isn’t digital and can’t be replaced (that counts as one thing, right?);
two sketches of a very young me done by my mother, not so much because they are me but because they were done by mom, who was always surreptitiously sketching us (that counts as one also, yes?); a metal sculpture my son created in school, which he dedicated to mom after she died; our box of wedding mementos, including copies of our handmade invitations; and the Fall 1993 issue of Vogue Knitting, given to me by Kathy--I’m irrationally sentimental about that magazine.
What would your last meal be? For starters, lots of warm sesame semolina bread dipped into Lucini olive oil, followed by Programmer Dude’s superdelish shrimp creole spooned over a bowl of hot white rice, accompanied by glasses of chilly Pinot Grigio, ending with a decaf triple grande two pump with whip mocha from Starbucks (if it's the last meal, who gonna care about the fat and calories in a little whipped cream?). But why wait until the end--I'm thinking we need to have this meal as soon as possible!
Who was your favorite teacher and why? When I studied science writing at Columbia College, I had the good fortune of taking classes taught by Pete Gorner, a science writer with the Chicago Tribune. Pete was a little gruff and so at first I was moderately intimidated by him. But he inspired me, edited and pushed me toward quality work, helped me understand the scientific process, all of which gave me the confidence to tackle difficult scientific subjects as well as (or sometimes better than?) the science nerds who were also in those classes.
After I wrote a particularly good (if I may say so myself) article about the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco (and he thought so too judging by the "A" on the paper), Pete took me under his wing, called me his “protege” to one of his colleagues, and helped me get my first article published in the Chicago Tribune, which launched my brief but prolific freelance writing career. I won’t go into my regret at having abandoned those studies mid-way toward my degree and, hence, not following my bliss all these years, but if I ever “make it” as a science writer in the future I will credit Pete for giving me the confidence to believe I'm a good writer and for knowing I was on the right path. Thank you, Pete.
Coffee or tea? Oy, I can’t easily choose! I have two large mugs of kiwi pear Republic of Tea green tea every day, rain or shine, summer or winter, not for the caffeine buzz but for the flavor and sheer comfort of sipping tea. But I crave decaf Starbucks decaf mochas and lattes. If I had to choose, though, I’d choose the tea. Can’t get through the day without it. Wait, no, I’d choose the Starbucks. Tea. Starbucks! ACK. Tea. That’s my final answer. Tea. starbucks.
Where is your happiest place on earth? Right here in my very own home. I’ve dreamed all my adult life of having my own home, with a man I love, our kids and critters. And I finally have it! A dream come true. We’re as happy as clams in our cozy abode, fixing it up together, snuggling in front of a fire when the cold winds are a-blowin’, praising the chlorofluorocarbon gods for central air conditioning during the sweltering summer months, digging in the garden and watching it grow, sipping wine in the wee li'l back yard, secretly high-fiving each other when all of our kids join us for dinner. My happiest place on earth is right here! (Contented sigh.) Now, if someone magically transported it all to the Cotswolds, we wouldn’t complain.
What’s been your favorite age (so far)? Whatever age I am always seems to be better than the previous one. When I was in my 20s, I thought that was it, best age ever! Then I got to my 30s and was raising my son, becoming more comfortable with myself, still reasonably trim and flexible, and I thought hey, this is good! I like being in my 30s. Now that I’m in my 40s I’m happier than ever, even if I am facing some cruddy mid-life junk and those d*mn stubborn last ten pounds. But I’m doing it with more wisdom and the love of a good man by my side (I keep mentioning that because after a number of really bad relationships, I'm still on cloud nine over having finally met the Right One) in my happiest place on earth (see #5). I do sort of miss being in my 20s and not worrying about retirement savings, health care, job security, resumes and cover letters, two teenage boy$ on the car in$urance policy, jowls, crows feet, and all the other pesky grownup junk we have to deal with in our 40s ... but I’ll take now, thanks.
Do you believe in ghosts? Why/why not? I believe! For two reasons: one, several people--including my mom and my best friend-- have told me some real ghost stories, about people they know, or people who know people they know, that made me a believer; and two, I’m fine with believing in things I can't see or easily explain. I’m perfectly comfortable with the idea that the spirits of once earthly living things return and hang about for one reason or another. I’m not sure I’d feel entirely comfortable in the presence of a ghost, at first. Even though I believe, it would probably be hard to, well, believe it if I was actually seeing a ghost. But I’m open to it. As science oriented as I can be, I don’t think we can, or should be able to, concretely explain everything. There has to be some magic and mystery in the world!
Okay, now I will pay the tagging forward and offer up some Christmas related questions to Mark, Wendy, Lynette and Monica at PassionKnit, Laurie (who has woefully neglected her blog!), and back to Kathy, who is welcome to stop the endless loop of tagging right then and there. Feel free to answer in the comments section below, on your own blog, by e-mail, or not at all --because you’ve got Christmas shopping and baking and hustlebustle to take care of, right?
Actually, I wouldn't mind if anyone answered the above questions. Don't wait to be tagged!
What would your last meal be? For starters, lots of warm sesame semolina bread dipped into Lucini olive oil, followed by Programmer Dude’s superdelish shrimp creole spooned over a bowl of hot white rice, accompanied by glasses of chilly Pinot Grigio, ending with a decaf triple grande two pump with whip mocha from Starbucks (if it's the last meal, who gonna care about the fat and calories in a little whipped cream?). But why wait until the end--I'm thinking we need to have this meal as soon as possible!
Who was your favorite teacher and why? When I studied science writing at Columbia College, I had the good fortune of taking classes taught by Pete Gorner, a science writer with the Chicago Tribune. Pete was a little gruff and so at first I was moderately intimidated by him. But he inspired me, edited and pushed me toward quality work, helped me understand the scientific process, all of which gave me the confidence to tackle difficult scientific subjects as well as (or sometimes better than?) the science nerds who were also in those classes.
After I wrote a particularly good (if I may say so myself) article about the 1989 earthquake in San Francisco (and he thought so too judging by the "A" on the paper), Pete took me under his wing, called me his “protege” to one of his colleagues, and helped me get my first article published in the Chicago Tribune, which launched my brief but prolific freelance writing career. I won’t go into my regret at having abandoned those studies mid-way toward my degree and, hence, not following my bliss all these years, but if I ever “make it” as a science writer in the future I will credit Pete for giving me the confidence to believe I'm a good writer and for knowing I was on the right path. Thank you, Pete.
Okay, now I will pay the tagging forward and offer up some Christmas related questions to Mark, Wendy, Lynette and Monica at PassionKnit, Laurie (who has woefully neglected her blog!), and back to Kathy, who is welcome to stop the endless loop of tagging right then and there. Feel free to answer in the comments section below, on your own blog, by e-mail, or not at all --because you’ve got Christmas shopping and baking and hustlebustle to take care of, right?
- What is your favorite Christmas memory?
- What is your favorite food and drink that you make or buy specifically for Christmas? is it a family tradition or one of your own?
- Is Christmas a religious celebration for you, a spiritual-but-not-religious holiday, both, or something other?
- What is your favorite Christmas song or album, sung by whom?
- What one Christmas movie do you have to watch, and is there one you absolutely have to avoid?
- Is there anything special you do to get through the cold gray months of January and February once the sparkle and anticipation of Christmas has come and gone?
- Do you still believe in Santa Claus?
Actually, I wouldn't mind if anyone answered the above questions. Don't wait to be tagged!
Part Christmas, Part Hanukkah.
December 10, 2010 05:34
Although I was born Christmas, I feel like I’m slightly part Hanukkah now. Each year since I remarried--an event which brought two Jewish step-children into my life--I have anticipated the Festival of Lights with almost as much excitement as my hybrid celebration of the winter solstice/yule, and Christmas. In turn, my step-kids--who are no strangers to Christmas--are heavily exposed to a month of Christmas festivities while sharing their rituals of Hanukkah with the Christmas folk they now live with. (I'll wait a moment while you fully digest that sentence.)
My step-kids are actually half-Christmas and half-Hanukkah (their mother is Jewish, their father is not). Their parents long ago agreed the children would be raised Jewish, so they are attending the several years of Hebrew school that prepare them to become a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. Having grown up with Christian and Jewish extended families, however, they have honored their heritage from both sides by celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas from the time they were born. As each year draws to a close, they look forward to lighting Hanukkah candles as well as decorating the Christmas tree with their doting out-of-town Presbyterian grandparents.
Since their father and I were married, they now live half-time in a home brimming with Christmas during December, including decor and symbols that honor my own Christian and Celtic pre-Christian ancestry. I love to cozy up every shelf and corner with cinnamon scented candles, colored lights, evergreen branches, holly, ivy, mistletoe, pine cones, Santa Claus and Father Christmas figurines, little bottle brush trees, images of Victorian Christmas, a Mexican nativity scene (to honor my half-Mexican son), and of course a Christmas tree. All kinds of Christmas music--from popular and New Age to Renaissance and Celtic--plays in the house during the holiday season, and the everyday dishes are stored away in favor of holly-trimmed plates and mugs. There is no mistaking what we’re celebrating at this address!
Not wanting my stepkids’ Jewish heritage to disappear amidst all the trappings of Christmas, my husband and I cooked a batch of potato latkes (yes, that's the recipe I use each year, served with applesauce and sour cream, yum!) and noodle kugel starting the first year we all lived in the same house. We bought a menorah so they could light candles and sing Hanukkah blessings just as they do when they are in their fully Jewish home. I can tell they appreciate celebrating Hanukkah with the non-Hanukkah parents. I loved seeing the delight on their faces when they realized there was a menorah in this house, and when they saw the colorful Hanukkah platter we bought for serving latkes. I’m happy to help create a comforting atmosphere for them with familiar foods, symbols and decor while they take the lead in song, prayer and sometimes even dreidel games during this quiet festival. I think we’ve succeeded in letting them know their Jewishness is a welcome part of their new family and not strictly reserved for when they are with their mother.
Just about when Hanukkah is wrapping up, our little blended family (which includes my very Christmasy teenage son) has a tradition of purchasing the Christmas tree together. We bundle up and trundle off to my stepson’s high school (also my alma mater) to buy a fundraiser tree, then stop for hot chocolate and mochas to warm our hands. We decorate the tree with Christmas rock music playing in the background and plates of cookies nearby. Everyone must put at least one ornament on the tree, an easy requirement for the kids to satisfy as each of them has their own collection of ornaments, which we add to every year with a new ornament tied around their stocking. Those half-Hanukkah kids know their way around a Christmas tree, and always have a good time dressing it up! They enjoy waking up in our house on Christmas morning to stuffed stockings and gifts under the tree, a family breakfast, a lazy day enjoying their new books and games, and then a nice family dinner. It's not a religious celebration, but one of family, love, music, light, warmth, and togetherness. And plenty of homemade food. Oh, allright ... and presents!
We’re lucky our blended family gets along as well as we do, and I’m grateful that we share these very different winter holidays together. I hope that by celebrating both holidays we’re creating experiences and memories to help our Christmas and Hanukkah children honor their ancestry and be as open to diversity as their parents were (and still are). I know we will always have a menorah in our home and look forward to making delicious fried latkes every year. I’m not as certain what will become of my stepkids’ Christmas ornaments when they are grown and start their own holiday traditions. Will they celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas? or both? something else maybe? At the very least I hope they will happily remember these two holidays in a home that made room for them both.
Feel free to leave a comment!
My step-kids are actually half-Christmas and half-Hanukkah (their mother is Jewish, their father is not). Their parents long ago agreed the children would be raised Jewish, so they are attending the several years of Hebrew school that prepare them to become a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. Having grown up with Christian and Jewish extended families, however, they have honored their heritage from both sides by celebrating Hanukkah and Christmas from the time they were born. As each year draws to a close, they look forward to lighting Hanukkah candles as well as decorating the Christmas tree with their doting out-of-town Presbyterian grandparents.
Since their father and I were married, they now live half-time in a home brimming with Christmas during December, including decor and symbols that honor my own Christian and Celtic pre-Christian ancestry. I love to cozy up every shelf and corner with cinnamon scented candles, colored lights, evergreen branches, holly, ivy, mistletoe, pine cones, Santa Claus and Father Christmas figurines, little bottle brush trees, images of Victorian Christmas, a Mexican nativity scene (to honor my half-Mexican son), and of course a Christmas tree. All kinds of Christmas music--from popular and New Age to Renaissance and Celtic--plays in the house during the holiday season, and the everyday dishes are stored away in favor of holly-trimmed plates and mugs. There is no mistaking what we’re celebrating at this address!Not wanting my stepkids’ Jewish heritage to disappear amidst all the trappings of Christmas, my husband and I cooked a batch of potato latkes (yes, that's the recipe I use each year, served with applesauce and sour cream, yum!) and noodle kugel starting the first year we all lived in the same house. We bought a menorah so they could light candles and sing Hanukkah blessings just as they do when they are in their fully Jewish home. I can tell they appreciate celebrating Hanukkah with the non-Hanukkah parents. I loved seeing the delight on their faces when they realized there was a menorah in this house, and when they saw the colorful Hanukkah platter we bought for serving latkes. I’m happy to help create a comforting atmosphere for them with familiar foods, symbols and decor while they take the lead in song, prayer and sometimes even dreidel games during this quiet festival. I think we’ve succeeded in letting them know their Jewishness is a welcome part of their new family and not strictly reserved for when they are with their mother.
Just about when Hanukkah is wrapping up, our little blended family (which includes my very Christmasy teenage son) has a tradition of purchasing the Christmas tree together. We bundle up and trundle off to my stepson’s high school (also my alma mater) to buy a fundraiser tree, then stop for hot chocolate and mochas to warm our hands. We decorate the tree with Christmas rock music playing in the background and plates of cookies nearby. Everyone must put at least one ornament on the tree, an easy requirement for the kids to satisfy as each of them has their own collection of ornaments, which we add to every year with a new ornament tied around their stocking. Those half-Hanukkah kids know their way around a Christmas tree, and always have a good time dressing it up! They enjoy waking up in our house on Christmas morning to stuffed stockings and gifts under the tree, a family breakfast, a lazy day enjoying their new books and games, and then a nice family dinner. It's not a religious celebration, but one of family, love, music, light, warmth, and togetherness. And plenty of homemade food. Oh, allright ... and presents! We’re lucky our blended family gets along as well as we do, and I’m grateful that we share these very different winter holidays together. I hope that by celebrating both holidays we’re creating experiences and memories to help our Christmas and Hanukkah children honor their ancestry and be as open to diversity as their parents were (and still are). I know we will always have a menorah in our home and look forward to making delicious fried latkes every year. I’m not as certain what will become of my stepkids’ Christmas ornaments when they are grown and start their own holiday traditions. Will they celebrate Hanukkah or Christmas? or both? something else maybe? At the very least I hope they will happily remember these two holidays in a home that made room for them both. Feel free to leave a comment!
Streetwise.
November 12, 2010 12:05
A rant against resentment.
Sometime last year, a bloggermom I was internetly acquainted with wrote her “confessions of a real housewife”--a list of “dirty little secrets”--which included the following: “I buy a Streetwise paper from the homeless guy every time I go to the grocery store, but I resent him for it.”
Hunh. I had to think about this. Privileged stay-at-home mom. Buys a paper. From “the homeless guy.” Resents him for it. That just rubs me the wrong way and I’m trying to understand it. I mean, I have certainly felt uncomfortable passing the Streetwise vendors outside the grocery store, mostly because I have never purchased an issue, something I have long regretted.
But I struggle to comprehend her resentment. A quick look-up shows resentment as: to feel or show displeasure or indignation at (a person, act, remark, etc.) from a sense of injury or insult. to feel bitter, indignant, or aggrieved. be in a huff, be insulted, be offended by, be put off by, take offense, take umbrage, etc. The list goes on. Injury? insult? offense? “Homeless guy, you injure me by asking me to buy your rag, and further offend me by taking my money in exchange for it!” Seriously? Did he demand she buy the paper? say unkind things to her when she didn’t? Not likely. Whenever she bought a copy OR turned him down, he probably said, “Thank you, and God bless you ma’am.” I’m hard-pressed to see how this could be construed as insult and injury resulting in bitterness or indignation.
And I’m wondering if “the homeless guy” were, instead, a group of cute li’l uniformed girl or boy scouts, would she resent them for asking if she wants to buy cookies and popcorn? or would she happily fork over $4 each for several boxes of Thin Mints, or $10 for a bag of caramel corn, while sipping her $5 coffee, loading groceries into her shiny black Escalade, and texting on her smartphone. (DISCLAIMER: I don’t know if this woman owns an Escalade.)
But who am I to judge. My shyness has always made it difficult for me to buy a Streetwise. Having been a bit socially anxious from a young age (no longer, but once in a while it revisits me), I would feel too conspicuous--even embarrassed--standing there fiddling with my wallet. And to be honest, I was also conflicted about giving money to, well, the homeless guy. But in retrospect I’ve wished that I had at least occasionally, if not regularly, bought a copy--and dropped coins into the Salvation Army Christmas buckets--especially when my school-age son was with me, to teach him that even if we feel pinched financially we always have enough to share with others. I didn’t. Now shyness = passed, child = grown, teachable moments = lost.
Or are they? Recently an opportunity to buy Streetwise with my son presented itself, when we were visiting our quaint suburban grocery store pumpkin patch. Said son is almost 20 years old so perhaps I’m starting this demonstration of sharing a bit late in the game. No matter, while we were in the checkout line I fished $2 out of my wallet and asked him to pick up a Streetwise for me. He refused. Wha...??? I’ve been awaiting this moment for years ... and he turns me down? What possible reason! “He just kept asking. He asked too many times. Once is enough, isn’t it?”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that, although I’m sure he was exaggerating just a bit. When you’re asked to buy something and refuse, you don’t want to be asked again. And that might convince some folks that Streetwise vendors deserve to be resented--it can be annoying hearing the Streetwise call on your way in AND out of the grocery store every time you go. Not buying, not just once but twice--from the homeless guy, fercrissakes--probably touches a zone of guilt and discomfort in people, especially right after they’ve loaded up on a week’s worth of groceries and hit Starbucks, the ATM and the DVD kiosk on their way out the door. Puzzling, though, that actually buying could inspire resentment. More on that in a sec.
Anyway, I was not going to be thwarted in this effort. I had the $2, the son, and the Streetwise vendor all in the same place at the same time. As we exited, I handed over the money and triumphantly took home my first copy! The importance of this event was likely was lost on my offspring, but not on me. I had done it. I had broken through years of shyness and conflict, bought a Streetwise, and felt good about it. Now, to understand what the controversy was all about.
So I read it, cover to cover. It is slim, well-organized and attractive, printed in color on glossy paper. And the articles are good, useful, relevant--the current issue includes an eye-opening story about efforts to end prostitution in Illinois and a feature on Cob Connection’s program of sustainable urban agriculture (read: farms on abandoned Chicago city plots)--issues certain North Shore stay-at-home bloggermoms have the luxury of ignoring. But I digress.
And now I understand how Streetwise works. Turns out the homeless or near-homeless vendors (not “homeless guys”) themselves purchase magazines in advance (at $0.75 per) then sell them for $2 each, which nets them a nice 60+% profit from each sale. They’re like mini one-paper newsstands. And they work outside--not begging, but selling--standing on their feet throughout their shifts in all kinds of cruddy Chicago weather, while the rest of us sit in comfortably warm/air conditioned houses or offices with paid holiday and vacation time. Furthermore, the Streetwise site explains:
"StreetWise helps these people by offering them an opportunity to earn an income and become financially self-sufficient ... For some vendors, selling StreetWise is how they make their living. For others, it is a stepping stone to help them get back on their feet. In either case, StreetWise gives anyone an opportunity to earn an income provided he or she shows a willingness to improve his or her life ... Some vendors use the StreetWise opportunity to put themselves through school, start a business, get a full time roof over their heads, provide for their families or as simple as putting a hot meal on their plate each night."
I’m all for that. And I feel truly lucky that I already have a full-time roof over my head, that I graduated from a good high school and have studied at reputable local colleges, that I always had a decent job in a nice indoor office, and could pay my bills, provide for my family and put hot meals on the table each night. Can I afford two bucks a week to buy a paper whose sale helps someone else achieve the same thing? Yes. Can I do it without feeling pressure ... or resentment? Indeed. Can I confidently decline if I already have a copy, or don’t feel like buying one? Yep.
So, Streetwise vendors aren’t slacking through each work day asking for liquor money or pretending to need train fare or otherwise trying to swindle your hard-earned money out of you. They’re sales people, selling a commodity. They’re not hustling or looking for freebies, just an even trade: your $2 for their magazine. You don’t want it? Don’t buy it. Just smile and say “No thank you” and be on your way. Or skip the smiling part. Or tell them (preferably honestly) “I have this week’s issue.” Or ignore them completely if that’s easiest. On the other hand, don’t demean them by buying it in a phony display of face-saving “generosity” and then cutely “confess” your Real Housewifey disgust with the whole matter on your blog. But I guess you’re safe on your blog: those homeless guys probably don’t have internet access anyway.
Just remember that while you’re all but wishing the homeless guy would get a job and leave you in peace, Streetwise vendors DO have jobs. Isn’t that what people think when they pass the scruffy man or bag lady who is shaking a cup and asking for spare change? “Get a real job, man, earn a living. Like I do.” That is exactly what your homeless guy is doing. He is making what is commonly called an “honest living” by working for his money. So that--like you--he can go into the grocery store for food, go home, sit down and have a nice hot meal.
And you resent him for it.
Feel free to leave a comment! Nothing mean or profane please. You don't have to like or agree with me, but I insist on civility.
Sometime last year, a bloggermom I was internetly acquainted with wrote her “confessions of a real housewife”--a list of “dirty little secrets”--which included the following: “I buy a Streetwise paper from the homeless guy every time I go to the grocery store, but I resent him for it.”
Hunh. I had to think about this. Privileged stay-at-home mom. Buys a paper. From “the homeless guy.” Resents him for it. That just rubs me the wrong way and I’m trying to understand it. I mean, I have certainly felt uncomfortable passing the Streetwise vendors outside the grocery store, mostly because I have never purchased an issue, something I have long regretted.
But I struggle to comprehend her resentment. A quick look-up shows resentment as: to feel or show displeasure or indignation at (a person, act, remark, etc.) from a sense of injury or insult. to feel bitter, indignant, or aggrieved. be in a huff, be insulted, be offended by, be put off by, take offense, take umbrage, etc. The list goes on. Injury? insult? offense? “Homeless guy, you injure me by asking me to buy your rag, and further offend me by taking my money in exchange for it!” Seriously? Did he demand she buy the paper? say unkind things to her when she didn’t? Not likely. Whenever she bought a copy OR turned him down, he probably said, “Thank you, and God bless you ma’am.” I’m hard-pressed to see how this could be construed as insult and injury resulting in bitterness or indignation.
And I’m wondering if “the homeless guy” were, instead, a group of cute li’l uniformed girl or boy scouts, would she resent them for asking if she wants to buy cookies and popcorn? or would she happily fork over $4 each for several boxes of Thin Mints, or $10 for a bag of caramel corn, while sipping her $5 coffee, loading groceries into her shiny black Escalade, and texting on her smartphone. (DISCLAIMER: I don’t know if this woman owns an Escalade.)
But who am I to judge. My shyness has always made it difficult for me to buy a Streetwise. Having been a bit socially anxious from a young age (no longer, but once in a while it revisits me), I would feel too conspicuous--even embarrassed--standing there fiddling with my wallet. And to be honest, I was also conflicted about giving money to, well, the homeless guy. But in retrospect I’ve wished that I had at least occasionally, if not regularly, bought a copy--and dropped coins into the Salvation Army Christmas buckets--especially when my school-age son was with me, to teach him that even if we feel pinched financially we always have enough to share with others. I didn’t. Now shyness = passed, child = grown, teachable moments = lost.
Or are they? Recently an opportunity to buy Streetwise with my son presented itself, when we were visiting our quaint suburban grocery store pumpkin patch. Said son is almost 20 years old so perhaps I’m starting this demonstration of sharing a bit late in the game. No matter, while we were in the checkout line I fished $2 out of my wallet and asked him to pick up a Streetwise for me. He refused. Wha...??? I’ve been awaiting this moment for years ... and he turns me down? What possible reason! “He just kept asking. He asked too many times. Once is enough, isn’t it?”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that, although I’m sure he was exaggerating just a bit. When you’re asked to buy something and refuse, you don’t want to be asked again. And that might convince some folks that Streetwise vendors deserve to be resented--it can be annoying hearing the Streetwise call on your way in AND out of the grocery store every time you go. Not buying, not just once but twice--from the homeless guy, fercrissakes--probably touches a zone of guilt and discomfort in people, especially right after they’ve loaded up on a week’s worth of groceries and hit Starbucks, the ATM and the DVD kiosk on their way out the door. Puzzling, though, that actually buying could inspire resentment. More on that in a sec.
Anyway, I was not going to be thwarted in this effort. I had the $2, the son, and the Streetwise vendor all in the same place at the same time. As we exited, I handed over the money and triumphantly took home my first copy! The importance of this event was likely was lost on my offspring, but not on me. I had done it. I had broken through years of shyness and conflict, bought a Streetwise, and felt good about it. Now, to understand what the controversy was all about.
So I read it, cover to cover. It is slim, well-organized and attractive, printed in color on glossy paper. And the articles are good, useful, relevant--the current issue includes an eye-opening story about efforts to end prostitution in Illinois and a feature on Cob Connection’s program of sustainable urban agriculture (read: farms on abandoned Chicago city plots)--issues certain North Shore stay-at-home bloggermoms have the luxury of ignoring. But I digress.
And now I understand how Streetwise works. Turns out the homeless or near-homeless vendors (not “homeless guys”) themselves purchase magazines in advance (at $0.75 per) then sell them for $2 each, which nets them a nice 60+% profit from each sale. They’re like mini one-paper newsstands. And they work outside--not begging, but selling--standing on their feet throughout their shifts in all kinds of cruddy Chicago weather, while the rest of us sit in comfortably warm/air conditioned houses or offices with paid holiday and vacation time. Furthermore, the Streetwise site explains:
"StreetWise helps these people by offering them an opportunity to earn an income and become financially self-sufficient ... For some vendors, selling StreetWise is how they make their living. For others, it is a stepping stone to help them get back on their feet. In either case, StreetWise gives anyone an opportunity to earn an income provided he or she shows a willingness to improve his or her life ... Some vendors use the StreetWise opportunity to put themselves through school, start a business, get a full time roof over their heads, provide for their families or as simple as putting a hot meal on their plate each night."
I’m all for that. And I feel truly lucky that I already have a full-time roof over my head, that I graduated from a good high school and have studied at reputable local colleges, that I always had a decent job in a nice indoor office, and could pay my bills, provide for my family and put hot meals on the table each night. Can I afford two bucks a week to buy a paper whose sale helps someone else achieve the same thing? Yes. Can I do it without feeling pressure ... or resentment? Indeed. Can I confidently decline if I already have a copy, or don’t feel like buying one? Yep.
So, Streetwise vendors aren’t slacking through each work day asking for liquor money or pretending to need train fare or otherwise trying to swindle your hard-earned money out of you. They’re sales people, selling a commodity. They’re not hustling or looking for freebies, just an even trade: your $2 for their magazine. You don’t want it? Don’t buy it. Just smile and say “No thank you” and be on your way. Or skip the smiling part. Or tell them (preferably honestly) “I have this week’s issue.” Or ignore them completely if that’s easiest. On the other hand, don’t demean them by buying it in a phony display of face-saving “generosity” and then cutely “confess” your Real Housewifey disgust with the whole matter on your blog. But I guess you’re safe on your blog: those homeless guys probably don’t have internet access anyway.
Just remember that while you’re all but wishing the homeless guy would get a job and leave you in peace, Streetwise vendors DO have jobs. Isn’t that what people think when they pass the scruffy man or bag lady who is shaking a cup and asking for spare change? “Get a real job, man, earn a living. Like I do.” That is exactly what your homeless guy is doing. He is making what is commonly called an “honest living” by working for his money. So that--like you--he can go into the grocery store for food, go home, sit down and have a nice hot meal.
And you resent him for it.
Feel free to leave a comment! Nothing mean or profane please. You don't have to like or agree with me, but I insist on civility.
Spring visitor.
October 19, 2010 08:31
I discovered this sneaky spring visitor while clearing pine needles and weeds out of the garden.
A pretty wee violet! In the middle of October? How do you like that.
She is keeping good company with a lovely orange mum and several Caramel Heuchera that went into the garden this summer. She must have been inspired by all the other blooms that persist even as the weather prophets forecast overnight frost.
Sedum and more cheery orange mums.
Cheery orange Gaillardia Oranges and Lemons daisies, with fall-colored azalea in the background.
Purpley mums entangled with sedum.
Dark red mums entangled with burgundy Gaillardia, which spills in the prettiest cottage garden fashion onto our sidewalk..
Happy Chappy! Seriously, this rose is called "Happy Chappy."
Double Knockout rose. Well, s'posta be double. I believe it's really a single and was mislabeled. But no matter, it's lovely and a prolific bloomer. Neglect it, ignore it, call it names, deprive it of water ... and it blooms like crazy. And looks great in front of the Black Eyed Susans (which are so dead that I've already cut them down to the ground).
The persistent peppers plant, with at least three new peppers dangling from its stem.
The Plumbago is going to seed, but still provides pretty, pure blue amidst the shades of autumn.
I love the color of rose hips. I want to wear this color! I want to be this color.
Of course there are still plenty of weeds to contend with, too. Humph! Won't let weeds get in the way of enjoying all these October blooms.
Feel free to leave a comment!
A pretty wee violet! In the middle of October? How do you like that.She is keeping good company with a lovely orange mum and several Caramel Heuchera that went into the garden this summer. She must have been inspired by all the other blooms that persist even as the weather prophets forecast overnight frost. Sedum and more cheery orange mums.Cheery orange Gaillardia Oranges and Lemons daisies, with fall-colored azalea in the background.Purpley mums entangled with sedum.Dark red mums entangled with burgundy Gaillardia, which spills in the prettiest cottage garden fashion onto our sidewalk..Happy Chappy! Seriously, this rose is called "Happy Chappy." Double Knockout rose. Well, s'posta be double. I believe it's really a single and was mislabeled. But no matter, it's lovely and a prolific bloomer. Neglect it, ignore it, call it names, deprive it of water ... and it blooms like crazy. And looks great in front of the Black Eyed Susans (which are so dead that I've already cut them down to the ground).The persistent peppers plant, with at least three new peppers dangling from its stem.The Plumbago is going to seed, but still provides pretty, pure blue amidst the shades of autumn. I love the color of rose hips. I want to wear this color! I want to be this color. Of course there are still plenty of weeds to contend with, too. Humph! Won't let weeds get in the way of enjoying all these October blooms.Feel free to leave a comment!
Chocolate lavender vanilla cookies might cause romance.
September 24, 2010 12:28
Magazine Cuisine
Next to roses and holly, lavender is one of the most romantic plants I can think of to have in the garden. I’ve tried several times to bring this romance to my various yards, but sadly the plants always died off. This time around I must have amended the soil with enough sand to recreate the hillsides of Provence, and it is flourishing at last! And another thing? When I’m watering the garden, I pass right over it. I literally ignore this beauty, and it thrives.
This bushy lavender plant reassures me that I'm at least a half-decent gardener.
Known for its calming therapeutic properties (we have a soft lavender-filled wrap that, after a few minutes in the microwave, does wonders for neck tension and headaches), lavender has historically had a place in the kitchen, too. It adds perfume to sweets, earthy depth to savory dishes, and makes a calming tea--Queen Elizabeth I drank it to soothe her migraines. I’ve long wanted to experiment with recipes calling for lavender buds or syrup, and the May/June 2010 issue of Victoria Magazine--plus my bumper crop of home-grown lavender--inspired me to make “Lavender and Vanilla Bean Cookies.” If smelling, sipping and wrapping oneself in the scent of lavender helps heal and relax, then surely eating the stuff is bound to result in total bliss!
In June my plant was thick with gorgeous purpley stems, which I harvested and dried in lovely fragrant bunches. I disbudded a number of them for the recipe, then discovered that our sweet Miss Molly cat liked to make a mess of what was left in order to nibble the dried stems. I finally had to hide the few remaining bunches on top of the highest bookshelf in the house. Bad kitty.
That's my green Escali Primo digital scale
peeking into the picture. I love that scale! It measures food (and yarn, letters, etc.) in grams or ounces, so now I not only can make recipes from British Country Living magazine (in which all ingredients are measured in grams and liters), but I also can estimate how much yarn I have in a partial ball, how much I've used, how much is left in a ball--especially handy if I'm, say, trying to use exactly half a ball for something. It also lets you place a measuring cup, bowl, pan, or other receptacle on the scale and re-set the weight to zero so you can measure things into the receptacle. It was a worthy investment and I highly recommend it.
These are simple, easy-to-make sugar cookies flavored with lavender-vanilla flavored sugar, which you make in advance (but can make and use the same day as you are making the cookies) and a tablespoon of lavender buds.
Just look how pretty that lavender-vanilla sugar mixture is! And it smells heavenly.
I made half the recipe called for (about two cups), used half that in the cookies, and have another cup left ripening in a ball jar.
Stick your nose inside a jar of this sugar and you will swoon! You could also sift out the lavender buds to use the scented sugar in hot tea or other recipes. The flavor is subtle and very appealing.
The sugar cookie dough, which includes two eggs for some added richness, goes together quickly, is chilled until firm, then rolled out.
Those dark blobs are the tiny black vanilla seeds scraped from one of the beans.
Once again the pink Kitchenaid Cook for the Cure handmixer
goes to work!
Lavender buds are so pretty to work with.
After rolling and cutting, some of the cookies came out a trifle malformed. Didn't affect the taste one bit! How about that. Don't the lavender buds look pretty in the dough?
You can see the wee flecks of real vanilla bean. I also sprinkled a few of the cookies with turbinado sugar. It was good, but didn't make or break the recipe so I'd leave it off next time.
Cooked cookies chillin' out and awaiting the taste-test.
So, how does lavender taste when baked into cookies? On my palate it imparts a clean, piney flavor which is foiled nicely by the gently flavored sugar cookie dough. It's a new and fascinating taste--not an unpleasant one, though, and not perfumey as one might expect. Everyone in the house liked them (even the kids!), though they were initially hesitant to try them. (Lavender is for soap and candles and potpourri and Method house cleaning spray, not cookies.)
They were tasty, indeed, but I couldn’t be content to leave them plain and decided they needed a dip in some melted dark chocolate. Out came the Trader Joe’s Belgian chocolate bars!
The result was divine. Chocolate, lavender and vanilla in a sugar cookie is an elegant, even sexy combination--light, rich and fragrant all at once. I think you could seduce someone with one or two of these treats. After all, lavender is known as, well, a mood enhancer especially for men, according to a study by the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation. (So is pumpkin which, lucky me, Kenny likes as much as I do ...). In fact, they are so delicious with the chocolate it’s difficult for me to eat only one (or two) of these cookies. And the crisper, more golden cookies were the absolute best ones--next time I will carefully brown as many as possible.
Not surprisingly, a plate of Chocolate Lavender Vanilla Bean Sugar Cookies goes perfectly with a pot of hot tea--Republic of Tea Kiwi Pear Green is almost always my choice but any of the typical English/Irish/Scottish black teas would do well.
I also cooked up some Lavender Simple Syrup from the same issue of Victoria Magazine, hoping to make a pitcher of refreshing Lavender Lemonade. Well, notwithstanding my suspicions that the proportions in the recipe were incorrect (or it could be that I'm just no good at making this concoction), the simple syrup was not my cup of tea. It ended up too cloying, perfumey and sweet, even when tempered with water, ice and lemons. I poured it down the drain. Lavender buds in cookies are lovely; lavender buds simmered with sugar and water are not.
Looks nice enough, yes? But I shudder even at the memory of it. Too sickly-perfume-sweet, in my humble opinion.
Ah well, perhaps my culinary adventures with lavender will be limited to scrumptious, seductive Chocolate Lavender Vanilla Bean Sugar Cookies. I can't exactly guarantee they will improve your love life (or mine) ... but it can't hurt to give them a try. Um, is it getting warm in here, or ... ?
Next to roses and holly, lavender is one of the most romantic plants I can think of to have in the garden. I’ve tried several times to bring this romance to my various yards, but sadly the plants always died off. This time around I must have amended the soil with enough sand to recreate the hillsides of Provence, and it is flourishing at last! And another thing? When I’m watering the garden, I pass right over it. I literally ignore this beauty, and it thrives.
This bushy lavender plant reassures me that I'm at least a half-decent gardener.Known for its calming therapeutic properties (we have a soft lavender-filled wrap that, after a few minutes in the microwave, does wonders for neck tension and headaches), lavender has historically had a place in the kitchen, too. It adds perfume to sweets, earthy depth to savory dishes, and makes a calming tea--Queen Elizabeth I drank it to soothe her migraines. I’ve long wanted to experiment with recipes calling for lavender buds or syrup, and the May/June 2010 issue of Victoria Magazine--plus my bumper crop of home-grown lavender--inspired me to make “Lavender and Vanilla Bean Cookies.” If smelling, sipping and wrapping oneself in the scent of lavender helps heal and relax, then surely eating the stuff is bound to result in total bliss!
In June my plant was thick with gorgeous purpley stems, which I harvested and dried in lovely fragrant bunches. I disbudded a number of them for the recipe, then discovered that our sweet Miss Molly cat liked to make a mess of what was left in order to nibble the dried stems. I finally had to hide the few remaining bunches on top of the highest bookshelf in the house. Bad kitty.
That's my green Escali Primo digital scale
peeking into the picture. I love that scale! It measures food (and yarn, letters, etc.) in grams or ounces, so now I not only can make recipes from British Country Living magazine (in which all ingredients are measured in grams and liters), but I also can estimate how much yarn I have in a partial ball, how much I've used, how much is left in a ball--especially handy if I'm, say, trying to use exactly half a ball for something. It also lets you place a measuring cup, bowl, pan, or other receptacle on the scale and re-set the weight to zero so you can measure things into the receptacle. It was a worthy investment and I highly recommend it.These are simple, easy-to-make sugar cookies flavored with lavender-vanilla flavored sugar, which you make in advance (but can make and use the same day as you are making the cookies) and a tablespoon of lavender buds.
Just look how pretty that lavender-vanilla sugar mixture is! And it smells heavenly.
I made half the recipe called for (about two cups), used half that in the cookies, and have another cup left ripening in a ball jar.
Stick your nose inside a jar of this sugar and you will swoon! You could also sift out the lavender buds to use the scented sugar in hot tea or other recipes. The flavor is subtle and very appealing.
The sugar cookie dough, which includes two eggs for some added richness, goes together quickly, is chilled until firm, then rolled out.
Those dark blobs are the tiny black vanilla seeds scraped from one of the beans.
Once again the pink Kitchenaid Cook for the Cure handmixer
goes to work!Lavender buds are so pretty to work with.
After rolling and cutting, some of the cookies came out a trifle malformed. Didn't affect the taste one bit! How about that. Don't the lavender buds look pretty in the dough?
You can see the wee flecks of real vanilla bean. I also sprinkled a few of the cookies with turbinado sugar. It was good, but didn't make or break the recipe so I'd leave it off next time.
Cooked cookies chillin' out and awaiting the taste-test.
So, how does lavender taste when baked into cookies? On my palate it imparts a clean, piney flavor which is foiled nicely by the gently flavored sugar cookie dough. It's a new and fascinating taste--not an unpleasant one, though, and not perfumey as one might expect. Everyone in the house liked them (even the kids!), though they were initially hesitant to try them. (Lavender is for soap and candles and potpourri and Method house cleaning spray, not cookies.)
They were tasty, indeed, but I couldn’t be content to leave them plain and decided they needed a dip in some melted dark chocolate. Out came the Trader Joe’s Belgian chocolate bars!
The result was divine. Chocolate, lavender and vanilla in a sugar cookie is an elegant, even sexy combination--light, rich and fragrant all at once. I think you could seduce someone with one or two of these treats. After all, lavender is known as, well, a mood enhancer especially for men, according to a study by the Smell & Taste Treatment and Research Foundation. (So is pumpkin which, lucky me, Kenny likes as much as I do ...). In fact, they are so delicious with the chocolate it’s difficult for me to eat only one (or two) of these cookies. And the crisper, more golden cookies were the absolute best ones--next time I will carefully brown as many as possible.
Not surprisingly, a plate of Chocolate Lavender Vanilla Bean Sugar Cookies goes perfectly with a pot of hot tea--Republic of Tea Kiwi Pear Green is almost always my choice but any of the typical English/Irish/Scottish black teas would do well.
I also cooked up some Lavender Simple Syrup from the same issue of Victoria Magazine, hoping to make a pitcher of refreshing Lavender Lemonade. Well, notwithstanding my suspicions that the proportions in the recipe were incorrect (or it could be that I'm just no good at making this concoction), the simple syrup was not my cup of tea. It ended up too cloying, perfumey and sweet, even when tempered with water, ice and lemons. I poured it down the drain. Lavender buds in cookies are lovely; lavender buds simmered with sugar and water are not.
Looks nice enough, yes? But I shudder even at the memory of it. Too sickly-perfume-sweet, in my humble opinion. Ah well, perhaps my culinary adventures with lavender will be limited to scrumptious, seductive Chocolate Lavender Vanilla Bean Sugar Cookies. I can't exactly guarantee they will improve your love life (or mine) ... but it can't hurt to give them a try. Um, is it getting warm in here, or ... ?
Autumn approacheth.
September 16, 2010 01:50
Signs of autumn's arrival--in my garden, around the neighborhood, in the kitchen. When chlorophyll recedes and greens blush into pinks, roses, reds. When leaves show off their full, true colors. When yellows, reds and oranges light up the landscape. When the air cools and breezes feel truly refreshing! Autumn is my favorite season, and I love its approach, its absolute colorful presence, and even its bleak departure (which, for me, simply signals time to prepare for Thanksgiving and Christmas).
My Quickfire hydrangea, planted one year ago in late summer. It started blushing the loveliest rose color in August and is still flushed.
Our Karen azaleas, which came with the house and have heartily endured several replantings around the garden, also start to change in early September. Tucked beneath are more blushing blooms: Autumn Joy sedum.
A closeup of the Autumn Joy. I love that they start out white, turn pink, and end the season on the prettiest bronze-rose note.
Route 66 coreopsis, which I put in about a month ago (they were on sale at Home Depot so I couldn't resist). Although fall is not necessarily their bloom time, they are sparking up the garden with their multitude of lively two-tone yellow and rusty-red blooms.
More blushing: Plumbago, which dies off completely in winter and arises from absolutely empty dirt every year, turns true blue in the midst of summer, and gets all rosy in the fall. I'm planting more of this in my borders in 2011.
The fading of coneflowers surely means summer is on its way out. I leave mine up, all black and prickly, all through winter. They really do attract winter birds!
The first of the holly berries on my China Boy/Girl holly plants! I've tried holly several times at several of my previous addresses, and this is the first time I've seen berries. I plopped a boy and girl plant into the same hole in the front yard, so they'll be entwined forever (and well fertilized). The berries are a bit sparse this year. I'm hopeful that over time the plants will settle in and give up nice fully berried branches each Christmas.
Even though the marigolds bloomed yellow and orange all summer long (and will continue to do so right through Halloween), they look especially at home in the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.
Likewise with the Chinese Lanterns. They've been orange for quite a while now, but I stongly associate their puffy bright orange blooms with autumn. I've cut a few branches for drying and entwining around the grapevine wreath on my front door. They remind me of my mom, who brought the magic of Chinese Lanterns and Silver Dollar plants into our home each year.
These really are quite invasive plants! You can virtually ignore them and they grow like mad.
A streak of red-orange maple leaves hint at the gorgeous blaze of color yet to come.
Acorns are flooding the sidewalks around here. At night, when it's very quiet, you can hear acorns smacking to the ground. It sounds like the squirrels are chucking them overboard.
A pretty dried oak leaf. Oak and maple leaves are my favorite.
My autumn Starbucks cups, posing with the Winter Solitude crow print. Over the years I've collected Starbucks cups for just about every season and holiday. The (somewhat premature) appearance of Pumpkin Spice Lattes is also a sure sign that fall is on its way. And try a shot of that pumpkin spice syrup in a mocha. Pumpkin and chocolate is a scrumptious combination!
As outdoor colors change, I start craving foods made from pumpkin like Pumpkin Chocolate Brownies, Pumpkin Ginger Waffles, Autumn Bisque, and these cakey pumpkin scones:
I seriously never tire of pumpkin and have lots of pumpkin recipes--some old favorites, some yet to be tried (and when I do you will see all the details here on this very blog). Seeing pumpkins (and Halloween candy, for cripes sake!) for sale in grocery store parking lots, even this early, has me excited for Halloween!
I hope you're enjoying signs of fall in your neighborhood. Feel free to share your favorite signs of autumn's arrival, and especially your favorite fall foods.
My Quickfire hydrangea, planted one year ago in late summer. It started blushing the loveliest rose color in August and is still flushed.
Our Karen azaleas, which came with the house and have heartily endured several replantings around the garden, also start to change in early September. Tucked beneath are more blushing blooms: Autumn Joy sedum.
A closeup of the Autumn Joy. I love that they start out white, turn pink, and end the season on the prettiest bronze-rose note.
Route 66 coreopsis, which I put in about a month ago (they were on sale at Home Depot so I couldn't resist). Although fall is not necessarily their bloom time, they are sparking up the garden with their multitude of lively two-tone yellow and rusty-red blooms.
More blushing: Plumbago, which dies off completely in winter and arises from absolutely empty dirt every year, turns true blue in the midst of summer, and gets all rosy in the fall. I'm planting more of this in my borders in 2011.
The fading of coneflowers surely means summer is on its way out. I leave mine up, all black and prickly, all through winter. They really do attract winter birds!
The first of the holly berries on my China Boy/Girl holly plants! I've tried holly several times at several of my previous addresses, and this is the first time I've seen berries. I plopped a boy and girl plant into the same hole in the front yard, so they'll be entwined forever (and well fertilized). The berries are a bit sparse this year. I'm hopeful that over time the plants will settle in and give up nice fully berried branches each Christmas.
Even though the marigolds bloomed yellow and orange all summer long (and will continue to do so right through Halloween), they look especially at home in the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.
Likewise with the Chinese Lanterns. They've been orange for quite a while now, but I stongly associate their puffy bright orange blooms with autumn. I've cut a few branches for drying and entwining around the grapevine wreath on my front door. They remind me of my mom, who brought the magic of Chinese Lanterns and Silver Dollar plants into our home each year.
These really are quite invasive plants! You can virtually ignore them and they grow like mad.A streak of red-orange maple leaves hint at the gorgeous blaze of color yet to come.
Acorns are flooding the sidewalks around here. At night, when it's very quiet, you can hear acorns smacking to the ground. It sounds like the squirrels are chucking them overboard.
A pretty dried oak leaf. Oak and maple leaves are my favorite.
My autumn Starbucks cups, posing with the Winter Solitude crow print. Over the years I've collected Starbucks cups for just about every season and holiday. The (somewhat premature) appearance of Pumpkin Spice Lattes is also a sure sign that fall is on its way. And try a shot of that pumpkin spice syrup in a mocha. Pumpkin and chocolate is a scrumptious combination!
As outdoor colors change, I start craving foods made from pumpkin like Pumpkin Chocolate Brownies, Pumpkin Ginger Waffles, Autumn Bisque, and these cakey pumpkin scones:
I seriously never tire of pumpkin and have lots of pumpkin recipes--some old favorites, some yet to be tried (and when I do you will see all the details here on this very blog). Seeing pumpkins (and Halloween candy, for cripes sake!) for sale in grocery store parking lots, even this early, has me excited for Halloween!
I hope you're enjoying signs of fall in your neighborhood. Feel free to share your favorite signs of autumn's arrival, and especially your favorite fall foods.
The Butterflies Come.
August 11, 2010 01:46
As our garden grows, we're receiving more butterfly visitors. It’s always a thrill to see even the most common wildlife in our yard throughout the year -- rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels, robins, cardinals, rolypoly bugs. Because of the plentiful catmint, coneflowers, roses and orange milkweed, we also see plenty of chubby bumblebees, the occasional goldfinch, and butterflies.
Lots of flowers in our front yard for butterflies and bees to love.Recently, as we approached our front sidewalk after a family stroll with the pup, I halted dog and husband as quietly as I could when I saw a beautiful Black Swallowtail butterfly land on a coneflower.
From the Illinois Department of Natural Resources Weldon Springs Wildlife Scrapbook. 
A coneflower just like this one in our garden! In fact, it might have been this very blossom.We frequently see monarch butterflies on our flowers (did you know the monarch is the Illinois state insect?) and those fairy-like pale yellow sulphur butterflies that flit and dance in pairs from flower to flower.
Bees and butterflies love our butterfly weed.I feel honored when any butterfly visits the garden, because I have intentionally planted flowers they are known to enjoy. It’s gratifying to see mother nature’s creatures take pleasure from our garden. And this swallowtail was a rare and magical sight! We stood still and observed for the few moments it sipped at the flower’s sweetness, then it moved on. What a thrill! Do I ever have my camera with me when we get such an unusual visitor? Of course not. But I've decided the pleasure of seeing it with naked eye surpasses the privilege of capturing it through camera lens.
This morning, during another outing with The Pup, I spied a striking Tiger Swallowtail butterfly tasting a neighbor’s potted petunias.
From the Illinois Department of Natural Resources Weldon Springs Wildlife Scrapbook.I watched for a few minutes, hoping I wouldn’t creep out the homeowners if they happened to see me standing on their sidewalk staring agog in the direction of their front door. When I figured I had stared long enough, we crossed the street to admire some apricot heirloom roses (which smelled absolutely dreamy! I want me some of those) ... and the swallowtail followed! It flitted, it floated, it fleetly fleed and then flew off.
Monarchs always remind me of that dear childhood book, The Butterflies Come, about which I'll share more later. Can you imagine seeing so many gorgeous butterflies in one place? And during October -- my favorite month!
From “In Search of the Monarch Butterfly in Monterey” at InsideBayArea.com.
The Monarch Butterfly Biosphere in Michoacan, Mexico from ScienceRay.com.Spectacular! But I’m happy with the few that bring simple enchantment to my garden.
Christmas in July.
July 23, 2010 03:58
Purchased for $6 at a sidewalk sale, in 95 degree heat under the blazing sun. It's never too early -- or too late -- to acquire Christmas paraphernalia.
And the old bulb in it still worked! Sweet.
And the old bulb in it still worked! Sweet.
I cannot tell a lie ...
July 05, 2010 02:07
... I like cherry pie. And cherry cobbler. Especially on July 4th.
While listening to Ray Raphael debunk U.S. history “founding myths" on NPR, I was hatching a plan to make an easy cherry pie for Independence Day dessert.
Since laziness was still on the agenda, there would be no pitting and stewing of cherries, nor mixing/kneading/rolling of homemade pastry, a thing to which I am no stranger but which seems more sensible on a chilly autumn day.
I opted instead to make mini cherry cobblers with (gasp!) canned cherry filling. The stuff is SO easy to use, and makes sense when it's sweltering outside (even if it is considerably cooler inside): 1) remove can opener from drawer; 2) run opener around edges of cherry filling can; 3) pour filling into ramekins; 4) bake. This amount of work barely registered on my lazyometer.
I consulted the timeless and reliable Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook for a cobbler recipe, which was also as easy as ... well, easier than pie. And tasty too. Took just a few minutes to stir that together.
Four white ramekins were enlisted to hold cherries and cobbler batter.
Bake at 410 degrees (thank you, central air conditioning! it did get up to around 92 oppressive degrees on the 4th) for 20-25 minutes. Allow to cool, pose by window with natural lighting for photos. Oh my, that stuff really IS red, isn't it?
These were enjoyed after an indoor (it was bloody H-O-T outdoors during the parade! we give frequent thanks and praise to the chlorofluorocarbon gods) picnic of grilled glazed stuffed burgers and savory marinated pork chops, accompanied by refreshingly cold Bell’s Oberon Ale, one of only two beers on this planet I can actually drink (almost) an entire bottle of.
What culinary delights did you indulge in this holiday weekend?
While listening to Ray Raphael debunk U.S. history “founding myths" on NPR, I was hatching a plan to make an easy cherry pie for Independence Day dessert.
Since laziness was still on the agenda, there would be no pitting and stewing of cherries, nor mixing/kneading/rolling of homemade pastry, a thing to which I am no stranger but which seems more sensible on a chilly autumn day.
I opted instead to make mini cherry cobblers with (gasp!) canned cherry filling. The stuff is SO easy to use, and makes sense when it's sweltering outside (even if it is considerably cooler inside): 1) remove can opener from drawer; 2) run opener around edges of cherry filling can; 3) pour filling into ramekins; 4) bake. This amount of work barely registered on my lazyometer.
I consulted the timeless and reliable Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook for a cobbler recipe, which was also as easy as ... well, easier than pie. And tasty too. Took just a few minutes to stir that together.
Four white ramekins were enlisted to hold cherries and cobbler batter.
Bake at 410 degrees (thank you, central air conditioning! it did get up to around 92 oppressive degrees on the 4th) for 20-25 minutes. Allow to cool, pose by window with natural lighting for photos. Oh my, that stuff really IS red, isn't it?
These were enjoyed after an indoor (it was bloody H-O-T outdoors during the parade! we give frequent thanks and praise to the chlorofluorocarbon gods) picnic of grilled glazed stuffed burgers and savory marinated pork chops, accompanied by refreshingly cold Bell’s Oberon Ale, one of only two beers on this planet I can actually drink (almost) an entire bottle of.
What culinary delights did you indulge in this holiday weekend?
Three days of laziness.
July 03, 2010 03:14
Three-day weekend! Three-day holiday weekend. No work or summer school for anyone in this house for three whole days, so we can celebrate our nation’s independence. Whee! On the schedule: laziness. Three days of it.
For someone whose entire adult life has consisted of weeks and years of five-days-on and two-days-off, a three-day holiday weekend is a treat, indeed.
An ordinary work-week weekend is when all the chores, errands, household projects, homemade meals, return phone calls, workouts (if they make it in at all), and ... oh yes, relaxation ... that you couldn’t attend to during the week are squeezed into 48 hours. A holiday weekend is for being lazy!
I started feeling that gotta-get-it-all-done reflex when I woke up today, but I sent it packing. On this July 4th weekend I’m banishing timetables, to-do lists, and unfinished projects. I’m even (mostly) ignoring the clock to make lazing my way through the next three days my main priority.
The weather is perfect for lazing: warm, sunny, and dry, with a lovely light breeze rippling through the trees. The Cub’s game is burbling quietly out of a transistor radio on the deck, a few cicadas have started prematurely buzzing (they’ll really get their buzzers going this evening), and occasionally a fire truck visiting nearby block parties chirps its siren for the kids. Today sounds lazy.
Today is also for anticipating tomorrow’s picnic (even if it ends up being just the two of us), parade (a lazy three-block walk from our house), and Independence Day pyrotechnics (should we bike or drive? our level of laziness might have to be considered there).
So what if we haven’t figured out what’s on the menu -- we’ve got all day to decide! And the grocery stores are open tomorrow anyway (I think).
There are things to take care of this weekend, yes, but luckily they can wait. I’m enjoying this perfect summer day, thinking about grilled hamburgers and mojitos with fresh mint, antique cars and marching bands, leisurely walks with the pup, fireworks, and maybe even catching a satellite flyby (if we can stay up that late).
And if I do only half those things (or even less!) I won’t care. There’s always next weekend. Happy Independence Day!
For someone whose entire adult life has consisted of weeks and years of five-days-on and two-days-off, a three-day holiday weekend is a treat, indeed.
An ordinary work-week weekend is when all the chores, errands, household projects, homemade meals, return phone calls, workouts (if they make it in at all), and ... oh yes, relaxation ... that you couldn’t attend to during the week are squeezed into 48 hours. A holiday weekend is for being lazy!
I started feeling that gotta-get-it-all-done reflex when I woke up today, but I sent it packing. On this July 4th weekend I’m banishing timetables, to-do lists, and unfinished projects. I’m even (mostly) ignoring the clock to make lazing my way through the next three days my main priority.
The weather is perfect for lazing: warm, sunny, and dry, with a lovely light breeze rippling through the trees. The Cub’s game is burbling quietly out of a transistor radio on the deck, a few cicadas have started prematurely buzzing (they’ll really get their buzzers going this evening), and occasionally a fire truck visiting nearby block parties chirps its siren for the kids. Today sounds lazy.
Today is also for anticipating tomorrow’s picnic (even if it ends up being just the two of us), parade (a lazy three-block walk from our house), and Independence Day pyrotechnics (should we bike or drive? our level of laziness might have to be considered there).
So what if we haven’t figured out what’s on the menu -- we’ve got all day to decide! And the grocery stores are open tomorrow anyway (I think).
There are things to take care of this weekend, yes, but luckily they can wait. I’m enjoying this perfect summer day, thinking about grilled hamburgers and mojitos with fresh mint, antique cars and marching bands, leisurely walks with the pup, fireworks, and maybe even catching a satellite flyby (if we can stay up that late).
And if I do only half those things (or even less!) I won’t care. There’s always next weekend. Happy Independence Day!
Ah, spring.
June 07, 2010 09:31
I know it's nearly summer, but I'm catching up and want to share some of what's been going on in our yard this spring.
Spring chives. I keep forgetting to eat them! I finally sprinkled some on scrambled eggs. Delish! And those pretty flowers are edible, too.
Spring brunnera ("siberian bugloss"). Their petite blue flowers remind me of sweet little fairies hanging delicately over the big heart shaped leaves. I adore them! And they are super easy to grow.
Spring blanket flower. A few years ago, I thought this was a weed and nearly pulled it up. Now it's blooming like crazy!
Frau Dagmar Hastrup rose -- a "rugosa" (shrub) rose bequeathed to me by a friend-of-a-friend whose yard was too shady.
The Frau is doing well in our front yard and is blooming sweetly. I'm so glad she likes it here.
I'm so very proud of these Joseph's Coat climbing roses -- I planted them only last year and they went wild this spring! The buds are lovely -- orange and apricot. And so prolific!
The fully opened roses turn yellow and pink. It's like having 2 or 3 different colors of roses on the same plant. The leaves have, unfortunately, succumbed to either bugs or disease or both. I'll be fighting that battle for with some organic sprays I'm mixing up with Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap, baking soda, horticultural oil, and other enemies of bugs and fungus. My dream is that they will someday climb up and over our flower boxes, like these.
How gorgeous is wisteria? Let me count the ways! Alas, this is not in our yard but on a plain old brick wall surrounding a Northwestern University dorm complex that faces the lake (those lucky students). Every year I keep watch for the blooming wisteria.
So beautiful, like jewels spilling off a vine. And the scent is dreamy! Oh how I wish I could grow this against my house.
Spring Goddess, in repose among the wild ginger. The pattern is from Michelle Simkins. She was a ton of fun to knit and I'll be making more.
Spring Pup, in repose on the front steps.
I think my garden has had enough rain and would like to get on with summer. Let the countdown to June 21 begin!
Spring chives. I keep forgetting to eat them! I finally sprinkled some on scrambled eggs. Delish! And those pretty flowers are edible, too.
Spring brunnera ("siberian bugloss"). Their petite blue flowers remind me of sweet little fairies hanging delicately over the big heart shaped leaves. I adore them! And they are super easy to grow. Spring blanket flower. A few years ago, I thought this was a weed and nearly pulled it up. Now it's blooming like crazy!Frau Dagmar Hastrup rose -- a "rugosa" (shrub) rose bequeathed to me by a friend-of-a-friend whose yard was too shady.
The Frau is doing well in our front yard and is blooming sweetly. I'm so glad she likes it here.
I'm so very proud of these Joseph's Coat climbing roses -- I planted them only last year and they went wild this spring! The buds are lovely -- orange and apricot. And so prolific!
The fully opened roses turn yellow and pink. It's like having 2 or 3 different colors of roses on the same plant. The leaves have, unfortunately, succumbed to either bugs or disease or both. I'll be fighting that battle for with some organic sprays I'm mixing up with Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap, baking soda, horticultural oil, and other enemies of bugs and fungus. My dream is that they will someday climb up and over our flower boxes, like these.
How gorgeous is wisteria? Let me count the ways! Alas, this is not in our yard but on a plain old brick wall surrounding a Northwestern University dorm complex that faces the lake (those lucky students). Every year I keep watch for the blooming wisteria.
So beautiful, like jewels spilling off a vine. And the scent is dreamy! Oh how I wish I could grow this against my house.
Spring Goddess, in repose among the wild ginger. The pattern is from Michelle Simkins. She was a ton of fun to knit and I'll be making more.
Spring Pup, in repose on the front steps.
I think my garden has had enough rain and would like to get on with summer. Let the countdown to June 21 begin!
Happy Veterans Day, Dad!
November 10, 2009 11:09
My father is a veteran of World War II. I’m glad he made it through the war, met my mom, got married, and had ten kids (of which I’m the tenth, so ... ) And I’m glad he’s still alive and kicking! 
While I was growing up, I was vaguely aware that dad had been in that war, but never knew how he'd been in it because he didn’t really talk about it. Then, when my son did a grade school report about his grandfather, I started learning heretofore unknown facts about my dad -- for instance, he was in the Junior ROTC during high school, and he appears in uniform in his senior year picture (someday I'll have a scan of that); in addition to playing the guitar with a military ensemble over in France (or Germany?), he played the mellophone; although I don’t think he participated in direct combat, he did the scary work of clearing anti-tank mines; and when the war ended he performed occupation service in Germany (or possibly France). Dad has interesting stories of his time in Europe during the War, and he remembers some of those times with a good deal of warmth. If he experienced anything grim, a la Saving Private Ryan, he is not dwelling on it publicly. I greatly enjoy hearing him reminisce, and hope to document some of his memories in the near future.
Although Veterans Day was originally meant to honor those who served in World War I, it now honors soldiers from all wars, including Dear Old Dad. President Woodrow Wilson first proclaimed an Armistice Day for November 11, 1919 -- one year after the armistice was signed between the allied nations and Germany, effectively ending “the war to end all wars.” (The war formally ended when the Treaty of Versailles was signed on June 28, 1919.) In 1938, November 11 became a legal holiday -- "a day to be dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'." Then in 1953, a shoe store owner in Emporia (isn’t that a great name for a town!), Kansas named Al King started a campaign to turn Armistice Day into "All" Veterans Day. A year later President Dwight Eisenhower signed it into law, “Armistice” was replaced with “Veterans,” and it’s been Veterans Day ever since, with some controversy over whether and where to put an apostrophe. (Formally, there is no apostrophe.)
Starting in 1971, according to the Department of Veterans Affairs, Veterans Day was scheduled on the fourth Monday in October, in keeping with President Lyndon Johnson's “Uniform Holiday Bill." The bill promoted 3-day holiday weekends for government workers, and enabled them to travel and "and see more of this beautiful land of ours." The change caused confusion and was short-lived -- Veterans Day was changed back to November 11 in 1978 and has been celebrated on this date -- as it is in many countries, where it is known variously as Remembrance Day, Poppy Day, Armistice Day, and Veterans Day -- ever since.
I'm sure dad has a flag flying in front of his house 300 miles from my own, as it always hung in front of our childhood home on similarly patriotic holidays. I've prompted him to look for his Army of Occupation medal and dig out that high school ROTC photo. Perhaps he's doing some reminiscing about his service overseas during World War II on this day. However he is spending it, I'm grateful he lived through it and can pass the remembrances on to his many children. Dad, I salute you on this Veterans Day for your good service to the country!
Happy Halloween!
November 01, 2009 08:41
This post is definitely rushed. Something more thoughtful to come in the very near future!
Autumn has absolutely bewitched me these past few weeks -- between the trees abloom in their gorgeous reds, rusts, oranges and golds, and the refreshing chill in the air, I've been wishing I could quit my job and somehow get paid just to walk the streets for hours appreciating each beautiful fall day.
A beautiful maple tree just down the street.
These colorful days also bring the promise of my favorite holiday: Halloween! Well, perhaps Halloween is tied evenly with Christmas and Valentine’s day, all of which are joyful, colorful and fun, were favorites of the Victorians, and involve chocolate. I love Halloween for the costumed trick-or-treaters who roam the neighborhood and pile up at our door with their goody bags waiting for treats, for orange candlelit pumpkins and strings of skull lights glowing in the dark, for bats and ravens, witches, tombstones and grim reapers.
We carved six punkins this year! The sixth is perched out of sight on the mantel with a spooky crow. From left to right, the carvers were: Kinnin, Meg, Emilia, Sean, Kenny.
Nevermore! Bit blurry, but you get the idea. Kinnin did this one.
Not only is Halloween spooky by design, with its imagery of ghosts and spirits, but this time of year possesses a natural eerieness that my pre-Christian ancestors tuned into long before the holiday evolved into the festive event that we know. The Celtic celebration called Samhain (SOW-in) “is a special time of year and a powerful time for divination," according to Lisa Finander, an editor at Llewellyn.com, “when the veil between the world of the living and the dead is the thinnest, and a time when the communication between these worlds is the strongest.” At Samhain, which literally means “end of summer,” the ancient Celts acknowledged and honored the dead while they marked the end of the seasonal cycle with bonfires and ushered in their new year. Like many Celtic/pagan celebrations, Samhain was co-opted by Christians and turned into the eve of All Hallows or All Saints Day, and All Hallows Evening became Hallowe’en.
The Victorians expanded on the theme of divination and and promoted Halloween rituals -- such as looking in a mirror or eating apples -- as a means for determining one’s romantic fate. Halloween also became yet another opportunity for exchanging their famously whimsical postcards!
"He is your fate ... who's face you've seen ... in the mirror's face ... on Halloween."
"The fates tell by the cards your future destiny ... but if you share an apple
with a heart that's fancy free ... on Halloween at midnight a marriage it will be."
Although All Hallows Eve has already passed, you can still light candles in memory of friends, family members and loyal pets who’ve crossed to the other side of the veil, or to divine your future lover in the lookingglass. The moon is full right now, so go outside and enjoy the calm blue glow it is casting over the clouds and leaf-bare trees on this cool, crisp (in our corner of the midwest, anyway) All Saints night. Maybe you’ll sense something else in the air, too! I hope you had a Happy Samhain/Halloween, and are enjoying the fall colors wherever you are.
Please feel free to leave a comment -- how did you celebrate Halloween this year, or did you celebrate at all? How do you feel during this naturally mysterious time of the season? Share your favorite ways of passing time during these chilly, darkening days of autumn. Or feel free to correct any misinformation you've read above. Anything ... I'd love to hear from you!
Autumn has absolutely bewitched me these past few weeks -- between the trees abloom in their gorgeous reds, rusts, oranges and golds, and the refreshing chill in the air, I've been wishing I could quit my job and somehow get paid just to walk the streets for hours appreciating each beautiful fall day.
A beautiful maple tree just down the street.
These colorful days also bring the promise of my favorite holiday: Halloween! Well, perhaps Halloween is tied evenly with Christmas and Valentine’s day, all of which are joyful, colorful and fun, were favorites of the Victorians, and involve chocolate. I love Halloween for the costumed trick-or-treaters who roam the neighborhood and pile up at our door with their goody bags waiting for treats, for orange candlelit pumpkins and strings of skull lights glowing in the dark, for bats and ravens, witches, tombstones and grim reapers.
We carved six punkins this year! The sixth is perched out of sight on the mantel with a spooky crow. From left to right, the carvers were: Kinnin, Meg, Emilia, Sean, Kenny.
Nevermore! Bit blurry, but you get the idea. Kinnin did this one.
Not only is Halloween spooky by design, with its imagery of ghosts and spirits, but this time of year possesses a natural eerieness that my pre-Christian ancestors tuned into long before the holiday evolved into the festive event that we know. The Celtic celebration called Samhain (SOW-in) “is a special time of year and a powerful time for divination," according to Lisa Finander, an editor at Llewellyn.com, “when the veil between the world of the living and the dead is the thinnest, and a time when the communication between these worlds is the strongest.” At Samhain, which literally means “end of summer,” the ancient Celts acknowledged and honored the dead while they marked the end of the seasonal cycle with bonfires and ushered in their new year. Like many Celtic/pagan celebrations, Samhain was co-opted by Christians and turned into the eve of All Hallows or All Saints Day, and All Hallows Evening became Hallowe’en.
The Victorians expanded on the theme of divination and and promoted Halloween rituals -- such as looking in a mirror or eating apples -- as a means for determining one’s romantic fate. Halloween also became yet another opportunity for exchanging their famously whimsical postcards!
"He is your fate ... who's face you've seen ... in the mirror's face ... on Halloween."
"The fates tell by the cards your future destiny ... but if you share an apple
with a heart that's fancy free ... on Halloween at midnight a marriage it will be."
Please feel free to leave a comment -- how did you celebrate Halloween this year, or did you celebrate at all? How do you feel during this naturally mysterious time of the season? Share your favorite ways of passing time during these chilly, darkening days of autumn. Or feel free to correct any misinformation you've read above. Anything ... I'd love to hear from you!
Tap into your inner Pagan on the first day of autumn.
September 22, 2009 12:11
Happy Autumn! According to the National Weather Service, this year’s autumnal equinox will occur at 4:18 PM CST.
Ignore the oddball Victorian Christmas wish on this lovely fall postcard!
While we tend to think of the equinox as a day-long event, it is actually a moment in time when the sun is directly over the equator (sort of), creating an equal amount of day and night (more or less). Wikipedia offers an excellent, if somewhat complex, explanation of the equinoxes. If you're into astronomy, charts, very cool celestial diagrams, and words like "equinoctial" and "heliocentric," this Wikipedia page is for you.
This equinox is “the first day of fall” for most of us -- bringing the promise of leaf peeping, football games, pumpkin pies, and Halloween. But to my pre-Christian Celtic ancestors, and to those who follow their ancient traditions by way of Paganism, Wicca and other nature-based spiritual paths, the autumnal equinox -- also known as "Mabon" and "Harvest Home" -- focuses on the second harvest (the first occurring in early August) and signals the coming of winter. It is a time to gather indoors around home and hearth, and a time to turn inward spiritually to reflect on the passing year. The equinox brings us closer to Samhaim, or Halloween, which is the traditional end of the pre-Christian seasonal cycle -- the Pagan new year!
Autumn is a natural opportunity to enjoy crisp cold air and the foods that are harvested at this time of year (in our neck of the woods, anyway): apples, corn, and squashes -- and that means pumpkin. I LOVE just about anything with pumpkin in it! My best friend recently discovered the recipe site Everything Pumpkin -- all pumpkin recipes, all the time. Dreamily autumnal, in my book. Besides cooking (which I'll be doing even more of as the weather turns chily), there are many ways to celebrate the equinox like the pagans do.
Pumpkin pie! My teenage son made this beauty.
Akasha Ap Emrys offers a nice description of some symbols, colors, foods and stones that embody the autumnal equinox, and suggests Mabon activities such as "Making wine, gathering dried herbs, plants, seeds and seed pods, walking in the woods, scattering offerings in harvested fields, offering libations to trees, adorning burial sites with leaves, acorns, and pine cones to honor those who have passed over" to help you celebrate this season. Earth Witchery suggests making grapevine wreaths, scented pinecones, and apple dolls to usher in fall. Even if you just light some pretty autumn colored candles, take a walk and collect some fallen dried leaves, or tie some dried harvest corn onto your door knocker, you'll help your inner pagan feel the spirit of the equinox. Or, if it's easier, rustle up a slice of apple or pumpkin pie (and maybe a scoop of ice cream to go with!).
Piper knows what to do when fall arrives.
Karen Charboneau-Harrison of Isisbooks.com reminds us that Mabon falls during the astrological sign of Libra (mine! one of many reasons I love autunn), whose emphasis on balance parallels the equinox’s “time of equilibrium, when light and dark, day and night are equal.” So step (or look, or just think about going) outside at 4:18 p.m. (or the equivalent time in your neighborhood) to enjoy this time of equal day and night, say goodbye to summer, and rejoice in the arrival of beautiful, colorful, crisp, cool, delicious autumn.
Ignore the oddball Victorian Christmas wish on this lovely fall postcard!
While we tend to think of the equinox as a day-long event, it is actually a moment in time when the sun is directly over the equator (sort of), creating an equal amount of day and night (more or less). Wikipedia offers an excellent, if somewhat complex, explanation of the equinoxes. If you're into astronomy, charts, very cool celestial diagrams, and words like "equinoctial" and "heliocentric," this Wikipedia page is for you.
This equinox is “the first day of fall” for most of us -- bringing the promise of leaf peeping, football games, pumpkin pies, and Halloween. But to my pre-Christian Celtic ancestors, and to those who follow their ancient traditions by way of Paganism, Wicca and other nature-based spiritual paths, the autumnal equinox -- also known as "Mabon" and "Harvest Home" -- focuses on the second harvest (the first occurring in early August) and signals the coming of winter. It is a time to gather indoors around home and hearth, and a time to turn inward spiritually to reflect on the passing year. The equinox brings us closer to Samhaim, or Halloween, which is the traditional end of the pre-Christian seasonal cycle -- the Pagan new year!
Autumn is a natural opportunity to enjoy crisp cold air and the foods that are harvested at this time of year (in our neck of the woods, anyway): apples, corn, and squashes -- and that means pumpkin. I LOVE just about anything with pumpkin in it! My best friend recently discovered the recipe site Everything Pumpkin -- all pumpkin recipes, all the time. Dreamily autumnal, in my book. Besides cooking (which I'll be doing even more of as the weather turns chily), there are many ways to celebrate the equinox like the pagans do.
Pumpkin pie! My teenage son made this beauty.
Akasha Ap Emrys offers a nice description of some symbols, colors, foods and stones that embody the autumnal equinox, and suggests Mabon activities such as "Making wine, gathering dried herbs, plants, seeds and seed pods, walking in the woods, scattering offerings in harvested fields, offering libations to trees, adorning burial sites with leaves, acorns, and pine cones to honor those who have passed over" to help you celebrate this season. Earth Witchery suggests making grapevine wreaths, scented pinecones, and apple dolls to usher in fall. Even if you just light some pretty autumn colored candles, take a walk and collect some fallen dried leaves, or tie some dried harvest corn onto your door knocker, you'll help your inner pagan feel the spirit of the equinox. Or, if it's easier, rustle up a slice of apple or pumpkin pie (and maybe a scoop of ice cream to go with!).
Piper knows what to do when fall arrives.
Karen Charboneau-Harrison of Isisbooks.com reminds us that Mabon falls during the astrological sign of Libra (mine! one of many reasons I love autunn), whose emphasis on balance parallels the equinox’s “time of equilibrium, when light and dark, day and night are equal.” So step (or look, or just think about going) outside at 4:18 p.m. (or the equivalent time in your neighborhood) to enjoy this time of equal day and night, say goodbye to summer, and rejoice in the arrival of beautiful, colorful, crisp, cool, delicious autumn.
What we're not giving up.
July 29, 2009 01:25
After the initial freakout period, we’ve adjusted to the change in income, and while figuring out where to cut back we have realized a few things: 1) we’re lucky to still have one decent income and we’re keeping apace of our living expenses; 2) we aren't heavy spenders to begin with, so we don't have to “give up” things like extravagant vacations, shoe shopping sprees, or pricey (or even cheap!) restaurant dinners. We haven’t even started taking extravagant vacations, and we rarely eat out, preferring instead to cook together at home, although we still buy the occasional pair of shoes; 3) there are certain things we’re not yet ready to give up -- most notably: food. Especially the treats that create luxurious moments in our everyday lives. Some of these treats could even be considered extravagant, but buying them isn’t sending us into bankruptcy, and giving them up won't help us pay our credit card bills any faster. Sure, there might be less expensive alternatives to our favorite indulgences, but they don’t provide us with the same culinary pleasure as these do.
Really good chocolate. We’re going to give up this superfood reported to be effective in lowering blood pressure, preventing cancer, heart disease, and stroke? Not in a zillion years. Remember that every time you pay a wee bit extra for lovely dark chocolate (look for cacao content of 55% and up), you’re extending your life. ‘nuf said.
Like word games? Try Bon Mot!
July 12, 2009 09:20
If you have an iPhone or iPod touch, then you might like Bon Mot! a scrambled word game created by my dear husband, Kenny, and our friend Bill Cochran. Bill = idea for the game, visual and audio creative, hours and hours of beta testing. Kenny = weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks of programming and debugging. Bon Mot was accepted into the iTunes App store and is now available for sale, whee!
To accommodate this venture into iPhone application programming, we (meaning Kenny) created a new company, The App Orchard, from whence we hope will come many more such games applications in the future.
We would be honored if you would check out Bon Mot!, download it from the App Store for a mere $0.99 (the Apple image below will zip you straight to the Bon Mot page), play it to your heart’s content. It’s fun, easy-to-learn, and quite habit-forming! I don’t have an iPod touch yet, so I’m constantly borrowing Kenny’s or my stepdaughter’s in order to get my daily Bon Mot. If you download and play the game, please let me know what you think of it!
To accommodate this venture into iPhone application programming, we (meaning Kenny) created a new company, The App Orchard, from whence we hope will come many more such games applications in the future.
We would be honored if you would check out Bon Mot!, download it from the App Store for a mere $0.99 (the Apple image below will zip you straight to the Bon Mot page), play it to your heart’s content. It’s fun, easy-to-learn, and quite habit-forming! I don’t have an iPod touch yet, so I’m constantly borrowing Kenny’s or my stepdaughter’s in order to get my daily Bon Mot. If you download and play the game, please let me know what you think of it!
Happy Birthday, America!
July 06, 2009 06:47
Buttermilk shortcakes with red strawberries, white whipped cream, and blueberries. A festive and fitting dessert for a fun day!
We watched the Evanston parade in the rain, under our umbrellas, ate fried-then-baked chicken and corn-on-the-cob while listening to Aaron Copland's "Appalachian Spring", and ended the day marveling at Evanston's fireworks display from the Northwestern campus, under clear skies and an almost-full moon. A perfectly wonderful Independence Day! I hope yours was just as good.
Critters and sirens.
June 02, 2009 02:55
I’m home today with a VERY stiff, sore neck and shoulder. I’m not sure what caused it besides “sleeping funny.” Only it isn’t funny, it really aches. I think I made it worse this morning while trying to gently stretch the muscles. Now I can barely look left or right without wincing, so I’m heading off to a local massage therapist to see if she can work out this unpleasant kink.
Being home makes me the lucky center of attention from all our critters. Mr. Sass, who normally insists on sleeping squarely on a lap, makes do when there is a laptop on said lap by snuggling as closely as he can.
I tried getting a picture of Piper sleeping a mere 12 inches from Mr. Sass on the couch, but alas she hopped off the couch and followed me into the family room when I tried sneaking in there to get the camera. Here she is instead posing next to my partially finished Corsage in Bloom. I just completed the aqua ruffled flower and am ready to proceed to a minty blue rosette.
Molly visits occasionally, sitting on the coffee table in the warm spot left by my laptop.
And Lilly lounges nearby on Kenny's easy chair.
I could get used to this working-at-home thing!
Because I was home, I got to take Piper for a walk right around mid-morning. In fact, the clocks must have struck 10:00 precisely on this first Tuesday of the month because suddenly the eerie wooOOOOing of civil defense sirens arose all around us. It was a bit chilling to hear them live, so many sirens all layered in varying ominous tones, fading in and fading out. After years of hearing them somewhat muffled from within the walls of my school or the buildings where I work, I felt for the first time the sense of urgency those loud sirens evoke. For a few moments I tried to imagine being in World War II London during The Blitz where they sounded nightly for months to warn of German bomb attacks. What an awful time that was -- such terror and destruction, resulting in the deaths of 43,000 civilians all over England.
I can’t imagine trying to cope on a day-to-day basis if our city was being bombed at night, and by day we still had to work, shop, get the kids to school, etc.
I hope we never find ourselves hearing those sirens in earnest, or sleeping in shelters or subway stations to stay safe until danger passes. May the worst reason they ring, at least here in Evanston, is to alert us that it’s time to relocate our cars to make way for snow plows.
Remember snow?
Being home makes me the lucky center of attention from all our critters. Mr. Sass, who normally insists on sleeping squarely on a lap, makes do when there is a laptop on said lap by snuggling as closely as he can.
I tried getting a picture of Piper sleeping a mere 12 inches from Mr. Sass on the couch, but alas she hopped off the couch and followed me into the family room when I tried sneaking in there to get the camera. Here she is instead posing next to my partially finished Corsage in Bloom. I just completed the aqua ruffled flower and am ready to proceed to a minty blue rosette.
Molly visits occasionally, sitting on the coffee table in the warm spot left by my laptop.
And Lilly lounges nearby on Kenny's easy chair.
I could get used to this working-at-home thing!
Because I was home, I got to take Piper for a walk right around mid-morning. In fact, the clocks must have struck 10:00 precisely on this first Tuesday of the month because suddenly the eerie wooOOOOing of civil defense sirens arose all around us. It was a bit chilling to hear them live, so many sirens all layered in varying ominous tones, fading in and fading out. After years of hearing them somewhat muffled from within the walls of my school or the buildings where I work, I felt for the first time the sense of urgency those loud sirens evoke. For a few moments I tried to imagine being in World War II London during The Blitz where they sounded nightly for months to warn of German bomb attacks. What an awful time that was -- such terror and destruction, resulting in the deaths of 43,000 civilians all over England.
I can’t imagine trying to cope on a day-to-day basis if our city was being bombed at night, and by day we still had to work, shop, get the kids to school, etc.
I hope we never find ourselves hearing those sirens in earnest, or sleeping in shelters or subway stations to stay safe until danger passes. May the worst reason they ring, at least here in Evanston, is to alert us that it’s time to relocate our cars to make way for snow plows.
Remember snow?
Springtime in Who-ville.
May 25, 2009 05:18
by Aileen Fisher
Spring up, seedlings,
weedlings, clover!
Spring out, leaves,
now winter's over.
Spring up, green things!
There's a reason
Spring's the name
to fit the season.
Spring has been absolutely beautiful here in our corner of the midwest. Lush and green, with great weather -- a perfect mix of sunshine, decent temps (60s-70s), and necessary rain. Fragrant lilacs and viburnum abound in our neighborhood, along with magnolias, flowering fruit trees, and lots of tulips, grape hyacinth, lily of the valley, daffodils. My bleeding hearts surprised me by surviving some backyard construction work and a flood of woodchips that seeped under the fence from our neighbor’s yard. To me the bleeding heart is the prettiest old fashioned spring flower, even though it has no fragrance. I’m so happy to see them blooming again!
So many flowers around our neighborhood look like they could easily be home to the residents of Who-ville. I can see Horton
gingerly carrying one of them in his trunk, informing his jungle-mates "A person's a person, no matter how small."
Or in this case large, because no one could mistake these enormous allium for a tiny little clover with itty bitty Whos on it.
Chive blossoms make perfect Who-worlds, and they're tasty too.
A whole colony of Who-villes!
Is that whofoo fluff? Or fuzzle fuzz?
These rose buds could be fun, pointy Who-heads. Wait ... is that one ... smiling?
Surely this is inspiration for an unusual Who hairstyle.
Could Whos live inside these fluffly balls of viburnum? If so, they would be drunk on their heavenly fragrance!
I hope you've had a relaxing Memorial Day weekend. Although we've had cool sunny weather all weekend, today, in typical Memorial Day fashion, it rained.
Blooming corsage progress.
May 10, 2009 01:37
The crochet thread I ordered arrived, and it is lovely! Summer Straw, Tea Rose, Aqua, and Wintergreen. So pretty, and so thin. No mistaking it for yarn, that's for certain. On the very same day a mess of skinny little steel crochet hooks I won on eBay also arrived: 11 different sized hooks for $6.50 including shipping. That’s 60 cents per hook -- less than half what they cost at the craft store. My kind of bargain!
Here is the rose I started from the Corsage in Bloom pattern. It was a bit awkward at first working on such a small scale, but I’m getting used to it and now it’s as fun as working with a regular sized hook and yarn. The Coats Opera thread has a lovely sheen and works up easily. The flower is really taking shape. See all those scallopy petals? By the time I'm done there will be 392 double crochet stitches on the outer edge!
I used to think big needles were it. My first knitting projects were on big size 11 and 13 needles, so size 8 and 9 felt comparatively small, and the work felt like it progressed so slowly. Now I appreciate the feel of petite projects in my hands and I look forward to knitting Kenny's kilt hose on size 4s and using this wee hook for making pretty little flowers. It reminds me to slow down, be patient, and really see what I’m doing. And it takes less time to complete smaller projects ... which is contrary to the “slow down” idea, but who doesn’t want to see the finished project sooner than later?
Here is the rose I started from the Corsage in Bloom pattern. It was a bit awkward at first working on such a small scale, but I’m getting used to it and now it’s as fun as working with a regular sized hook and yarn. The Coats Opera thread has a lovely sheen and works up easily. The flower is really taking shape. See all those scallopy petals? By the time I'm done there will be 392 double crochet stitches on the outer edge!
I used to think big needles were it. My first knitting projects were on big size 11 and 13 needles, so size 8 and 9 felt comparatively small, and the work felt like it progressed so slowly. Now I appreciate the feel of petite projects in my hands and I look forward to knitting Kenny's kilt hose on size 4s and using this wee hook for making pretty little flowers. It reminds me to slow down, be patient, and really see what I’m doing. And it takes less time to complete smaller projects ... which is contrary to the “slow down” idea, but who doesn’t want to see the finished project sooner than later?
Happy Mother's Day!
May 10, 2009 11:28
More than a decade earlier, a rural northern Virginia minister’s wife named Ann Jarvis also united mothers in the name of community and peace. Around 1858 she started “Mother’s Day Work Clubs” -- groups of women who worked locally to help prevent the spread of disease by improving sanitary conditions, and who assisted families of mothers suffering from tuberculosis. At the onset of the Civil War, her clubs helped raise money for much-needed medicines, conducted food inspections to guard against contamination, and tended both Union and Confederate soldiers sick with typhoid fever. She created “Mother’s Friendship Day” to ease post-war tensions, and create a sense of peace and unity between Union and Confederate woman. Her wish for “a memorial mother’s day commemorating her for the matchless service she renders to humanity in every field of life” came to fruition in 1914 when President Woodrow Wilson declared Mother’s Day a national holiday. Ann's daughter, Anna (pictured below right, next to her mother) rallied for years until she was virtually destitute to help grant her mother's wish. Ironically, Anna Jarvis never married or had children, but clearly she was devoted to her mother!
I am humbled by the work of these women, which goes far beyond what I have presented in these few paragraphs. Each felt deeply the importance and necessity of peace in the world, having experienced directly its violent opposite in their homeland. Each understood the unique position women are in as traditional nurturers to help bring about peace. Each endured the hardship of war, disease, unsanitary living conditions and social disapproval to work (peacefully) for peace, to help others live better lives -- to help them simply live. Mother’s Day is built on a firm foundation of faith, integrity, sweat and compassion, not greeting cards and chocolates.
I miss phoning my mom on this day to say, "I love you, mom!" I miss the joy of receiving sweet handmade treasures from my own son (who, incidentally, gave me a hug this morning AND is in the kitchen making me breakfast!). I appreciate the tulips and reassurances that I’m a good mother that I get from my husband. But since Mother’s Day has “real” -- not commercial -- beginnings as an effort toward peace, I need to figure out how to honor the women who began the day. While I’m working on that, I’m going sip my favorite kiwi pear green tea, enjoy the crunchy stuffed french toast being prepared for me by my two favorite guys, plant some Joseph's Coat climbing roses (oh I hope mine grow as beautifully!) in the front garden, go for a bike ride, and nurture peace and love in my own home.
Someone ...
May 05, 2009 10:20
...... isn’t letting me work on this:
It’s a Toirneach kilt sock that I’m knitting for Kenny! Actually it’s kilt hose, but I’m not sure if it’s proper or decent to call a single sock a “hose.” Makes sense for a pair of “kilt hose.” A hose is something you use to water the garden. Is a hose also something you put on your foot? At any rate, Piper keeps bobbing up and down by my knees, with a bone/rope/squeaky tennis ball in her mouth waiting for me to play with her. I, on the other hand, want to remain in my overstuffed chair by the front window enjoying a lazy day of knitting!
These hose had a bit of a false start. After carefully scrutinizing the other Toirneach projects at Ravelry, I decided to buy KnitPicks Telemark yarn -- it was economical ($15 for enough yarn for the pair!) and people seemed to get gauge with it. I ordered it in “Deep Navy,” which was nothing short of pure black. MAYBE in the brightest light you could see some blue highlights. Maybe. If you squinted. It was way more black than blue. And the swatch I knitted was rough -- not soft and foot friendly. So I conceded to the yarn recommended for the project: Louet Gems Merino in “Indigo.” Much better! Nice and soft, knits up smoothly, and the color is true navy. I made it through the lace cuff (after several tries), and the 1x1 rib on size 2 needles, and I’m at last on the calf portion. Using the magic loop on my interchangeable circulars, this is growing nicely! Although that is probably because I’m not turning the heel or knitting the toe yet. I've never knitted socks before so this is uncharted territory for me. I'm hopeful these will be ready by the time we go to the Bristol Renaissance Faire this summer, so Kenny can wear them with the kilt I made for him. Whew! That man looks good in a skirt. The unused Telemark? It's destined to become a felted skull tote.
Piper couldn't care less about knitting and kilts and ren faires! She just wants to chew and chase her squeaky ball.
Go get it, girl!
By the way ... I can crochet.
May 05, 2009 09:30
I recently taught myself how to crochet JUST so I could make this scarf. Between my learn to crochet book and the charts on this pattern, I was able to struggle through several attempts at working the scarf, repeated ripping when my effort didn't match any of the examples on Ravelry, finally making a breakthrough on how to correctly execute a double crochet, and wow! I was hooked. (Yes, that is an intentional crochet pun, which I'm sure I inherited from thousands of crocheters before me.) I easily memorized the repeats and couldn't put the project down. Then I manically tried it in about six other yarns on various hook sizes. I went a little crazy, but I've settled down now and I'm back to the kilt hose as my main project. I am looking forward to making many more of these! Friends and family can count on getting one as a gift sometime in the future.
The yarn is Dalegarn Svale in ivory. I bought this single skein from a LYS because it was recommended for a counterpane afghan I wanted to knit for my mom. The total cost for said afghan would have been something absurd like $150 using this yarn! So although I loved my dear old mom, I opted instead for about a ton of white Cotton-Ease at less than $5 per ball. White CE is much more fitting for a counterpane anyway, so the Svale became this pretty, too-short Anne Lace scarf. It's more of a collar or choker when wrapped around twice. Secured with a ceramic rose pin of my mom's, I think it looks quite romantic! Okay, not with the pink tee shirt and gardening sunburn.
I'm so confident in my new crocheting skills that I've already started the "French Country" hat (with the crocheted mum) from JooJooBees. And the next project in my cue is Corsage in Bloom, a pretty posie of roses and lily of the valley made with a skinny little size 7 steel crochet hook. Yikes! It's like crochet in miniature. I'm going for it, though--I picked up the wee li'l hook at Tom Thumb Hobby in Evanston (you should see this thing, it's super skinny!), and ordered the recommended Coats Opera Crochet Thread. Thread. I'm going from big fat yarn to little old thread? No matter, I can't wait to get started!
Happy Earth Day!
April 21, 2009 10:54
Since we’re not yet ready to build a compost heap in the back yard, install solar panels on the roof, buy a new hybrid car, or start collecting rain water to feed the garden, we’re going to celebrate by ... digging into some dirt cups! Yummy chocolate pudding (instant) mixed with whipped cream (from a tub) and crushed Oreos (low-fat), plopped into pretty recycled glass juice glasses (environmentally friendly), and topped with gummy worms and more crushed Oreo "dirt." Fast, easy, delish. What better way is there to honor our precious Earth AND make our tummies happy? Make some, eat and enjoy. Then go outside and hug a tree!
Spring Cleaning in the Garden.
April 18, 2009 08:25
Sweet little primroses look on as the detritus of last year's growing season
collects on the front sidewalk.
Our big stripey kitty Mr. Sass loves to roll around in the fresh green grass!
He gets covered with dirt and is as happy as a ... well, as a cat in dirt.
