another go round at it

Well, better things (have you seen that? Pamela Adlon is a force) are what I'm hoping for this year. No one's told me recently to Stay out of the sun!! so perhaps that skin issue is subsiding. Still having to deal with house and financial things (some of which were a mighty big $$ surprise; who knew a home equity line of credit came with a convenient credit card? NOT ME!). Getting down to working, but worrying constantly that the last job was the last job. Two friends on fb have become sudden widows, and I find I absolutely cannot read what they have to say (which in both cases is considerable). I'm glad (am I?) that FB is an outlet for them, but reading their separate issues and problems several times a day is not a help for me. Onward. Next time: link to something interesting. I promise. Oh, and twitter.

Read this at your peril for depression, Or, you might as well join me

pretty depressed here. Not much to do about it. skin issues (major, frankly; no fun for ME). Also, the lovely town we moved to 20 years ago now is in the midst of unregulated growth in the unincorporated county areas, so still no fun. And house has major issues at this point because of climate change (shifting, settling and so on) plus the usual: needs to be painted, chipmunks have ruined the 'lawn', and so on. sick of it. ranting and raving should be in my diary, but what the fuck.

Is there a point

because if there is, I'd like to know what it is. This has been a very difficult year. rump and his merry band, plus my personal difficulties.

hello, remember me? maybe

you don't. It hasn't been an easy year. If L hadn't been here, it would have been truly horrible. Vermont; I don't think I'm ready to let that go. I was just thinking about the old spaghetti and steak house (really!) on 103 that was there when we arrived; Mom hired the daughter (what was her name? I can see her). Learning to swim in Spring Lake. Ranch Sarca (wasn't it called that? you tell me) and the bear roast they had every summer; the ice house. The siblings of Mia F, so impossibly thin, swimming in Spring Lake, one of them up at the ranch to recuperate from whatever. The person who ended up living there, who always wore a tie with a paperclip as a tie clip. You tell me how I can let this go.

Here's a phrase

that doesn't cut it, doesn't 'do' it, doesn't express shit, really: Sorry for your loss. Really? This is when it's been used in the past month(s): I'm sorry for your loss. You're entitled to only 70 percent of his Social Security monthly payments, even though you've been married for 30 years. Sorry; you're not retirement age yet. I'm sorry; contact your congressman and complain to him/her. Those are the rules. Also? You can't earn more than a pittance before your SS monies must be returned. I'm sorry for your loss. Sign here so I can load up the hospital bed from the living room, and the oxygen tank, and the roll-away table. I'm sorry for your loss [said while looking over my shoulder], although I'll post a Facebook meme in which I claim to clasp any and all depressed persons to my personal bosom. I've even lost FB friends because I've expressed that 'sorry for your loss' doesn't cut it. They're actually offended. "What are we SUPPOSED to say?" they whine. How about: "I don't know what to say. What can I do, or not do?" There; I wrote that in September. Here it is now.

BE

BE – Nottingham Arts Theatre Performance Excerpt from Wolfgang Buttress on Vimeo.

Something elser

The Green Line from Clay Pipe Music. Other news: figuring out what to do next if the heating system is kaput. Don W is on it, with screening, some kind of glue for woodstoves, and an ancient part for this 30+-year-old Lennox system. Then he told me that he and D had hitched up a garbage can to act as some kind of venting system last year. Oy. What I don't know can fill a, well, venting garbage can. What a summer; what a year. What will I do?

Something else

to keep your mind off of everything, including, but not limited to, the dog's worrying herself over fleas she shouldn't have.

FB

Face book is now like a crowded elevator, with everyone breathing on you, sneezing, and trying to read your copy of the New Yorker, while standing on your foot and pretending not to notice. AND: it's always going down when you want to go up.

Revelations

Just a minute ago the phone rang, and on the other end was an older widow lady (not unlike me, actually, when you think about it) who offered to comfort me by reading me a Bible verse, this one from the book of Revelations. I listened to her, after being asked whether I believed in the Resurrection; to which I said yes (but don't really). But then I cried after I hung up.

D we hardly knew ye

Mad, sad, everything is wrong around here, even as we right the ship, mend the sails, look at the tidal pools. D died. that's it, really.

SAD!

to watch someone who knows no joy and doesn't understand his context. Macron, on the other hand . . .

Trump and Macron react very differently when this band plays a Daft Punk medley at the Bastille Day parade. Turn your sound on for this one. pic.twitter.com/BOibX3X8tx

— Channel 4 News (@Channel4News) July 14, 2017

Such is life

I spent a good part of this weekend worrying about a health crisis in our little family. I'll probably be able to write in more detail at some point, but for now I'm in shock. To push it all aside for a while, I turned to Netflix, more specifically to the oddest series I've watched in a long time: soft porn meets shrill psychodrama in the form of Gypsy. Here's one review.

Blythe Danner, Naomi Watts, Billy Crudup: what are they doing here?

After episode 10 (no, I couldn't look away; I finished the damn thing), however, as the credits were rolling, the song "Jean" played. Glenn Yarbrough? Rod McKuen?

Rod McKuen, of course. I was instantly back, sitting with my mother, listening to her Rod McKuen LPs. I have Listen to the Warm somewhere around here . . .

I searched for the version that played over the credits: It wasn't gravelly Rod McKuen's voice. I had forgotten that Oliver had a hit (I had forgotten about Oliver, in fact). I think it was Oliver, but frankly the singer sounded more like Glenn Yarbrough.

Here's Oliver:

Here's Rod:

I think if you order

a hot dog pizza, you deserve whatever kind of hot dogs come atop that pizza. Episode 2.

Bad Restaurant Reviews, Pilot Episode

Pilot episode, in which Trip Advisor "reviews" are read back to a restaurant owner for his responses. I was reminded, in some way (why?), of The Trip. (Is it because it's two men in a food setting? comic aspect? Do you think of The Trip after watching this?) Anyway, nicely produced bit here.

Memoir/food/June

Allan Jenkins, editor of the Observer Food Monthly, has recently published a memoir, Plot 29, about being taken into care as a foster child along with his brother, interwoven with musings on garden plot and growing. I found out about the book in a tweet, of all things, from Nina Stibbe. Now, I haven't read Plot 29, but I'm hunting down a copy. Here's a snippet from an interview at London's Honey and Co. Oh, and hello. I hope to be back, sending out snippets myself. I can't take much more of the current political goings on. It's not a very hopeful period, is it?

Preserving in

salt is February's challenge over at Food in Jars; but no meat can be involved?? Well I may try bacon anyway. I've done preserved lemons (there're some in the fridge right now), had passable success with sauerkraut, have several seasoned salts sitting around on the counter. Bacon intrigues me, though. Bruce Aidells has a recipe over at Fine Cooking,  but I think I'll use Diana Henry's version . . .

Here's my preserved lemons, an amalgam of a few versions:

marmalade, achieved.

Success! Mighty tasty too. Four oranges, 1 lemon, 2 kilos of sugar: 4 half pints, 3 pints. Next time I'll cut the peel in finer strips, but it's more of an aesthetic than anything.

canning, winter edition

Ack; this is the first time I've made marmalade, but it didn't 'jam'. It's a soupy jar of sort-of suspended orange peel. I saw oranges labeled 'sour oranges' at the grocery store, so assumed they are those that are otherwise knows as Seville oranges and combined two with two navel oranges.

I have a problem getting jam to jam at the right consistency (usually too firm), so I underestimated the time needed for this person's recipe. It tastes great, by the way, so I will endeavor to fix this.

(Food Network image)

Tomorrow the jars will be upended back into the kettle to reach 220°F and jam, damn it!

Not one, but

two emergency rooms! D had what seemed to be a TIA, or small brief stroke-like spell Friday evening. Saturday morning, he felt no better so we drove to the big downtown hospital's satellite, Hospital North.

The parking lot was empty when we arrived. We were the only people there. As soon as he checked in, D was whisked back into the ER.

It was like going back to another era. While I waited in the large, empty waiting room, a cop arrived with his bag lunch, and sat down behind a desk. A man with an important looking badge arrived and then left.

The ER doctor, who seemed to be Doogie Howser's age-mate, checked this and that and discovered a very low hematocrit level. D got an ambulance ride to Downtown Hospital, where he was checked in. We arrived soon after, and sat with him in his ER holding room. While there, various specialists arrived unexpectedly to ask him general questions.

He is there today, awaiting an MRI, but feeling much better. We are hoping that whatever it is can be resolved without much to do.

Knitting post!

Make it happen . . .

A lovely little piece I encountered elsewhere. I'm embarrassed that my own sewing machine sits bereft, alone, unloved. Another goal: sew some of these this year. If you have any pattern links, please share them.

well, yes a New Year, so of course I'm going to post here on a regular basis

At least I hope to. I've got prompts and plans and journaling ideas and a yoga Revolution over here with Adriene to participate in every day. Phew; so much going on, plus getting more positive, not dwelling on the negative (ha; 2017? I don't think so). Do you think I can do all this? well . . .

From Here, Is Here

Someone close to me told me about him, and I was . . . hmmm. Now I can't wait to see more of his work: I haven't been around much here on this blog or any other one. But this election is getting way too nasty. It's calm over here, isn't it? No chatter popping up when you don't need it. Images of crazy 70-year-olds with weird hair. Nasty trolls with their nasty thoughts. Just . . . this.

writing

An interesting and heartfelt interview on YouTube. Look her up on her blog, which has morphed from what it was at its inception to a catch-all of likes and thoughts and links. I honestly don't know what BroSpeak is, the oddly voiced interviewer. I was interested in Esther only.

Reading II (or trying to)

Why can't I sit down and read without thinking about what I'm going to make for dinner? The other day, I had that night's all planned even and especially including the leftover chicken from the exhausting Grilled Romaine and Chicken Cesar and Cobb Salad, I was in the middle of What Comes Next and How to Like It, when the thought balloon appeared: You need to check out another dumpling recipe. That Gwyneth one everyone liked.

What? Really?? I'm involved with my editing, reading a book (finally), sitting at the sewing machine (rarely), and still this compunction arises to check out an ingredient, another recipe.


Today, I'm corralled, though; L is doing dinner prep and the grilling. The kitchen half of the house smells like a lemon grove. It's 93 downtown, where I'm glad I'm not.

Reading

I was looking through issue 18 of Taproot, whose theme is Preserve.  The piece Recommended Reading: Preserve by Chelsea Slaven-Davis contains an eclectic group of books: Safekeeping by Abigail Thomas, The Coast of Chicago by Stuart Dybek, Full Moon Feast by Jessica Prentice, and Ah Ha to Zig Zag by Maira Kalman.

But it was Safekeeping by Abigail Thomas that caught my attention. I had read her memoir A Three Dog Life about the aftermath of a terrible car accident involving her husband and his eventual death, so I knew what a compelling writer and story teller she was, but I hadn't realized that she had written many other books. And Safekeeping, which is on its way to me, is about her beginnings: young motherhood, early divorce. I rooted around on the  Internet as you do, and googled and discovered this very lively 6-minute tour around her book shelves with her as guide.


I highly recommend Taproot, too. Always upbeat and makes me remember all our forays in western Massachusetts so long ago, esp. the West Brattleboro Farmers Market, ahead of its time, though I didn't realize when I frequented it.

Oh, and because of Taproot, I also have Ann Wigmore's The Sprouting book on the way. Plus I made preserved lemons. Yes, the other ones ended in the bin, but these, well, these will be different.

cutting through all the noise

If you're interested, there seem to be several vids of other pieces the LAGQ played for this particular concert. See YouTube for details.

Something to make when you'd rather you didn't have to

Do I find him slightly annoying in his unending upbeatedness? Yes, I do. But he's breezy and charming in his puppyish enthusiasm. And I have made Martha's version of this, and yes, it DOES work, and it's kind of a parlor trick, but in the end it's a one pot dinner on a weeknight when you'd rather be watching a show shot along the Hudson about a cult.

Game plan

Did I ever think I'd need another one? I guess we are all tripping up over the curb that was supposed to have been ground down to accommodate our various needs. The loss of this particular client is a bit of a blindside; I really enjoyed working on the books, each one so different. I learned a lot; D called each one a "seminar." No one is immune to a job being outsourced to cheaper labor overseas in India. Dear reader, if you have any suggestions for dealing with a sudden downturn of events, please leave a comment. And how to write a punchy cover e-mail; that would help.

It's official . . .

Yes, one of my clients had an internal shake-up and is now using a packager who sends everything overseas to India for proofing and editing. It's a sad,

sad day; this is what we've become as a business/publishing model. When I started doing this freelance, a person could actually earn a pretty good living as a copy editor. Thanks, globalization; thanks neoliberalism. Thanks 1%.

Mending

One of my clients may be sending editing work "overseas." Now I'm looking for a new client. Or two. Or three. I've also been very interested in reviving my sewing machine, now that I can actually see again. I may have all the time in the world to fiddle around with it. Further to searching for jobs: I did find something to apply for at a large magazine conglomerate. We'll see how that works out. Job searches of yore were downright cozy compared with the impersonal form-filling of today, heading off to HR's black hole. Ack. Musings from the chair.

Watch This Space . . . Really

I've had enough of political stuff over on Facebook; too shrill, too clawing, too strident, too fill-in-the-blank. Beyond the local, does it really matter . . . does it? I'm keeping my attention focused on the town, the school board, the zoning board rife with developers and real estate agents (because who's more in the know, right?). I'm going around looking for blogs to read. This one caught my eye. I've already gotten some of Ian Sansom's Mobile Library mysteries out of the library because of a recommendation. Irritatingly, irrationally, my town's library has books 2, 3, and 4 of the series. But NOT BOOK 1: The Case of the Missing Books. Why? Why? I also borrowed Elizabeth Jane Howard's books. Now if only my eyes worked properly, it would be smooth sailing. Happy May, all and sundry.

I thought I'd write about my eye

but I'm not today.

I'm finished. At least I think I am.

 

 Ok; I believe I'm done putting things in jars for this summer. It was a 10-day or so effort. It was tiring. It was hot. So I'm sharing my completed Scout project with you. Without D's help, I would be a tiny pool of liquid on the kitchen floor. 

However, the air has turned cooler, and my thoughts are drifting toward fall and apples . . .

Tomatoes = Jam

The garden has been so productive this year; it makes up for all the blech years of too little rain; too much rain. Blight. Pestilence. Anyway, we ended up with so many cherry tomatoes. What to do? Why, make tomato jam Food in Jars is a great site; there is a recipe there for making this with cherry tomatoes in the Comments down below, which is what I did for the most part. See the jars in the photo? Yes, mine look exactly like that. I had 3 pounds of tomatoes, mostly cherry, and some others, which I cut up very small. The ginger, cinnamon, and ground cloves, not to mention the hot pepper flakes, make this something else entirely from any jam I'm used to: a jam/chutney. And I used lime juice, not lemon. I can taste it, subtle but there.

Blogging vs. FB

I think blogging may be returning to my weekly doings. FB is not helping me much; not keeping me in touch in a timely manner with friends, letting evil trolls spout their hate and weird notions. I'm tired of it. Frank says, chill out.

Pickling

Bread and butter pickles, dill pickles, corn relish, all from The Kitchen Ecosystem by Eugenia Bone. Unlike the past few years, the garden has been prolific, with tomatoes, squash, zucchini, and lots and lots of cucumbers. We're starting to can every day. The pot my aunt and uncle gave us so many years ago seemed to have sprung a leak when first hoisted onto the stove, so D bought another one (handle-less; what's up with that?) at Ace. But now it seems the leak was a false alarm. Sigh. Battling through the heat and the rest of it this summer.

Another song

I'm enjoying listening to The Girl on the Train via the BBC. At first, it was hard to figure out who was speaking. A review called the main narrator one of the most unreliable, and she certainly is.

Summer listening . . .

Book at Bedtime starting July 13 at 10:45 pm GMT: The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

Yes No Maybe

I don't know what I feel about them, but I couldn't stop listening.

Things that happened/didn't

We did not take our trip to a coastal city. We stayed here and I finished a project and got an invoice submitted. Another candidate (crazy) tossed his hat into the ring. (Crazy).

Lovage update

Summer almost . . .

Received some very good news regarding my editing. From several fronts. Feeling rather good, actually.

L and I may be taking a little break and heading to a Georgia coastal city next week. Just for a few days. Using Airbnb. Best to do so before municipalities regulate the concept out of viability.

Our community garden has come under attack from town officials who would rather bulldoze 15 years of effort to create a baseball diamond for kids (who already have facilities), all without a word to the gardeners. Luckily, someone happened to be in the right place at the right time, and contacted some appropriate people.

It was also discovered (thankfully) that there are some old growth trees on the perimeter of the property. So much for total destruction. This is what happens when a town council member is a VP for a parking lot corporation. Mow it down, pave it over. Move on.

Lovage or Leave it

I watched my lovage plant whither and disappear last winter, giving it the occasional watering in hopes it would reemerge. It didn't. Kind of a difficult plant to come by, too. So strongly celery-ish, good with smoked fish. Cuts the oiliness. Then L wanted a pot for some purloined mint, so I gave that one to her. Lo and behold, as she was digging around, she discovered a weird bunch of roots, still viable. The lovage! As you can see, the nodes are growing. I'll repot soon enough.

Slightly Late for Mother's Day . . .

It's a short; you might like to read The New Yorker article about it after you've seen it.

A Poem for You

http://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/01/26/solitaire-4 Thank you, Reya, for posting.

it starts to develop

I was trying to think of what I used to see Ann B. Davis in, and it was Love That Bob, starring Bob Cummings, Dwayne Hickman (from Dobie Gillis!), and the great Rosemary DeCamp. Here's an episode, if you remember watching, as I did, while yet again staying home from school, with a box of Nilla Wafers, perched in an odd upside-down position on an even more oddly placed dining room chair that didn't fit around the table in a certain house on Long Island.

Hello, voters . . .

Pretty right on, as we used to say, especially in my part of the country

Cooking Show alert

Liking Maggie Beers and Simon Bryant quite a bit, actually.

Call Your Girlfriend

Lucy Wainwright Roche

Not a good end for CC

Dream a Little . . .

Something better to contemplate than my eye . . . Pink Martini and the Von Trapps. Who knew? I love this (actually, I love both groups together and separately).

eyeline

I'm tired of having a problem with my right eye. I really don't think it's a cataract. I think it's something else, related to something else. Doctors are so removed from the patient. I don't know what to do, exactly. At least I have affordable (sort of) insurance. Certainly better than the gouging I was experiencing until the ACA kicked in. There. Here's post, sort of. More a keening.

Health. Who Cares?

I'm panicked about this Supreme Court pending decision on Hobby Lobby's ability to decide for employees what can be covered and what cannot. I'm also panicked by this federal judge. I don't think I can live w/out insurance until Medicare kicks in.

The newest Beatle?

He makes me think of the Beatles in their infancy. Very sweet. I have been listening to this more times than I care to admit.

Harissa

Hugh F-W and Pam make a simply harissa:

Crackers, but Not Nuts

I absolutely had to step away from the computer today and this endless project. I'm drowning in minutia and technical details. I couldn't bear to focus on it. Tomorrow is, as they say, another day.

So I naturally ended up in the kitchen, determined to start to get a handle on cracker making, since these are so very expensive to buy. And I am rather pleased with my efforts. I pulled out the King Arther Baker's Companion and found a simple basic cracker recipe that you can change up any number of ways. Though frankly a novice cook would likely be somewhat flummoxed by the fast and loose method and ingredient list.

I used barley flour, regular KA flour, butter, and sour cream as the liquid, since D for some reason purchased a 16-oz container of it. These aren't the most flavorful, but they did turn out crisp and tasting somewhat nutty from the barley. I'd add a lot more salt next time.

Then I decided to try something, called Carta di Musica (also called Sardinian parchment bread), using the pizza stone.  This is basically a big cracker that you bake for only a few minutes, turn over and bake another few minutes, then brush with olive oil, sprinkle with coarse salt, and throw a few rosemary leaves on top. Not bad; in fact, D got me thinking about making these and seeing whether they would sell at the farmers' market up here. They break up with a satisfying snap and would be good with any sort of dip, hummus, what have you. And I've seen similar things at Whole Foods for a lot of $$. The most expensive ingredient with these is the olive oil, and that's a scant brushing. 

Surprisingly, they didn't puff up like pita, which I thought they would. 

Looking forward to a rerun of The Good Life tonight. Then up and attem tomorrow in the world of allied health.

Moon, full, tomorrow

Also this:

N. Baker, the prequel.

Here's the Paris Review interview with N. Baker from a few years back. Quirky. And I came across it the other day because the Paris Review had tweeted it, and I very very rarely go on Twitter; maybe I do so once every six months. Another quirk. And I would definitely read The Anthologist before Traveling Sprinkler.

N. Baker

I know, I know. But I love most of his work. Here's a little piece on Salon.com about writing. And the house in the background? A twin to the one I lived in, in western New England. D once shoveled snow out of the attic. And the ghost; well, it didn't like me much but it loved L and D.

The Unthanks

A group new to me, mentioned by Rosanne Cash on a FB post as part of her current playlist this Thanksgiving eve:

Heston

I had thought he was all about translating and reconstructing. Not so, apparently.

La Mer

The original: I'm thinking about Libby Hillman, just to change the subject, and will post about her and her cooking/cookbooks and Le Petit Chef and Betty Hillman later this week. à bientôt

It's

1971 all over again

Today is the Feast of St Bartholomew

This is a fact I know only because I awoke in utter despair this a.m., not wanting to get up. At. All. Life in shreds. Work dismal. Projects uninspiring. And dispiriting. Plus this not paying me in a timely fashion for work done in a timely fashion is as unto a stone pressed upon my very head. Yes, crushing. And not very good for my credit score. Then, I was gripped by a notion that has been riding around in my head (yes, riding seems the correct word) for some time (every since I was there in the 5th grade, frankly). I was gripped by the notion that I have to go to Big Sur, California, as soon as I possibly can. Very soon. I was reading Kaffe Fassett's autobiography and was astounded to discover he grew up in Big Sur and his family still runs the restaurant Nepenthe there. And who could honestly remain comatose in bed, looking at all those colors he brings together? Anyway . . . So off I went into the interwebs, and found all kinds of things at bigsur.org, including a link to a monastery that hosts paying guests in need of solace and quietude. And so it was on its website I discovered that today is the Feast of St Bartholomew Plus I ordered a book, My Nepenthe, by Kaffe Fassett's niece . . . so that's something to look forward to receiving. Tomorrow is indeed another day.

I could have seen her in Northampton, but I didn't. Now I regret it.

Just looking over a few things, and discovered this: Quite a duet.

Unsung here

Elisabeth Luard . . . I suggest you search out her many cookbooks, some of which you can find on Abe.com. A writer of wit and intelligence, strong of will.

Merle Hazard explains the financial situation . . .

in song. Check out his website. His better half has her own website, Mason-Dixon Knitting.

warp/weft

I finally opened up my ancient Harrisville 4 harness, 6 treadle loom, after keeping it closed up for several years in the "living" room, only to discover that the leather strapping harness cables had broken or snapped on two harnesses. Argh. A week of broken things. First my computer screen, then D's laptop's mother board, or whatever it was, necessitating a new monitor for me and a rejuvenated 'new' computer for him. $500+. Not good. Good news is that I can replace these loom cables pretty inexpensively, from WEBS, which was the place I learned to weave (when I lived in Agawam!! so many years ago) and WEBS was still a mom and pop business in a house on a side street in Amherst. Now (or at least the last time I was there), they are in an industrial building in Northampton, on the way to Holyoke.

photo from Harrisville; certainly not me weaving there . . .

Just the thing

to combat the heat: an Advent piece by Byrd. Stile Antico.

Birdland

BBC has the Tweet of the Day, so I thought I'd send it along.

Twitter

About every 6 or 8 months I swoop back into Twitter, but I just can't seem to get the point of it. So many bon mots, so little time (at least on this end). To what end, all this thumb movement on expensive iPhones, Androids, and similar? I don't need to follow a celebrity's peevish rants. I don't have such computer capabilities on my phone. Since I work at home on a desktop, I don't require it, really. When I need directions, I consult a map, install a navigator in the shotgun seat, visit MapQuest, or, simply, call ahead for directions. So no GPS (the guidance system, not the school) for me. Saturday, I was sitting in front of my screen, working away, when suddenly all went black. D consulted Apple, and the technician suggested switching the cable connection on the computer. This solved the problem for half an hour, but then darkness fell again. D went out to WalMart (closest!) for a replacement cable; that didn't do it, so out further afield to test old cable. Turned out to be the monitor, so poorer by about $160.00, but reconnected to my Word files and the wider Internet world. Odd how not too long ago (in the general scheme of things) the computer was a complete mystery, clacking keys and difficult-to-learn almost programing to input anything. I'm on an Elisabeth Luard kick: Sacred Food; Classic French Cooking; etc. Also trying (again) to create a sourdough starter using a recipe in Diana Henry's Gastropub cookbook (the second one) but I'm not hopeful.

Diaries

I picked Joan Wyndham's Love Lessons: A Wartime Diary off the shelf and started to read. This is her diary of being a student-ish person in wartime London. A very fresh voice from so long ago. I recommend searching out a copy. Then a FB friend pointed out that Rumer Godden's books are being republished by Virago. Greengage Summer, Kingfishers Catch Fire . . . Which made me remember Persephone Books, a great (re)publisher of forgotten or underappreciated women writers/books. Great cover/interior designs. I saw Few Eggs and No Oranges, another wartime diary, which I will save to buy. Persephone also publishes Etty Hillesum's wartime diaries. I recommend reading what she had to say. Glasses frames need major adjustment, in case you're wondering. Will be dropping in there tomorrow.

hello

Finally picked up my glasses today; had been putting if off because of the expense. Infuriatingly, they still need an adjustment. Eye guy blaming my cataract. Hmmm. I read in an afternoon Thea Goodman's The Sunshine When She's Gone. I liked it enough (so much?) that I went to her website, where she lists some books she especially likes. So I got A.M. Homes's May We Be Forgiven, which is so quirky and well written that I went to HER website and found this little link of her talking about writing: Now I am going on an A.M. Homes marathon, I think.

Cricket & Snail

I may see them perform tomorrow.

Photos?

L dropped and broker her camera almost upon arriving in Paris, so her blog hasn't been really up and attem. However, funds were finally funneled to her for purchase of replacement, so watch her blog. I know I will be.

Hey

happy Spring! we are unexpectedly having a fire here in the fireplace.

I just received my information on Crown Point Road in Shrewsbury:

The Crown Point Road: An Introduction Across the state of Vermont a chain of markers stretches from the banks of the Connecticut River to the shore of Lake Champlain. Erected at different times, by different people, and made of different materials - granite, marble, stone, wood, metal - the markers have one thing in common; they mark the route of the old Crown Point Military Road. Built in 1759-60, during the French and Indian War, the Crown Point Road was of great importance in the early history of Vermont. It was ordered constructed by General Jeffrey Amherst following his capture of the French forts at Ticonderoga and Crown Point. Its purpose was to connect the great stone fortress at Crown Point, then being built, with Fort No. 4, now Charlestown, New Hampshire. There was a suitable branch nearly straight west to Fort Ticonderoga. This military road was of prime importance in the plans of General Amherst. The new fort at Crown Point was to be a strong point in the defense [and future development] of the colonies, and a jumping-off point in the campaign against the French in Canada. The new road to No. 4, then the northernmost outpost in the Connecticut River valley, would serve to bring much needed supplies to the fort at Crown Point, as well as troops from New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut. The road, though a poor one by today’s standards, was built well enough to serve its purpose. Portions of the road were graded, trees were cut, stumps removed, bridges and causeways were built, and corduroy sections were laid in swampy areas. Over this road, in the 1760 campaign, passed Colonial troops with supplies, munitions, cattle and sheep for the support of the army at Crown Point. The Crown Point Road was again used for military purposes during the Revolution when troops and supplies were sent over the road from Fort No. 4 to support the American position at Ticonderoga. But perhaps the road’s most lasting contribution to Vermont’s history was its use by settlers in the period between the French and Indian War and the Revolution. The road opened a large area of Vermont for settlement and, with the defeat of the French and the lessening danger from Indian raids, settlers were soon traveling the Crown Point Road and building their homes in the valleys and on the hillsides of Vermont. The Crown Point Road of today has changed greatly. Much of the road has disappeared entirely, reclaimed by the forest. Other parts have been plowed under or bulldozed away to meet the needs of the expanding population of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Some sections of the road are marked and can be followed as trails, while other sections are barely discernible paths through the woods, marked only by the lilac-fringed cellar holes and stone walls of abandoned farms. A few short stretches of the old military road are still in use as town roads. Written by: Martin J. Howe, First President of the CPRA

I'm glad I'm a member. If any of you can make it to one of the organization's outings, I would suggest it

Horseradish

Freshly harvested from out back, the root is soaking to get rid of some of the dirt that clings to all the crevices. Rather octopus-like, don't you think? We planted it two years ago, and this is the first root we've dug up.

I remember (many years ago) when our across-the-way neighbors in western Mass. asked if they could dig up some of the horseradish in the field between our house and the church. We didn't even know we had a patch of it! Turned out, we had a lot of it.

I'll never forget the wallop it packed after we ground it up in the food processor. One whiff almost sent us reeling. According to Nikki Duffy in River Cottage Handbook No. 10, Herbs, these fumes "(thiocyanites, if you want to know) are highly volatile, however, and soon lost. That's why freshly grated horseradish, mixed into an acidic stabilising medium, always tastes better than any that's been grated and stored." Her basic method "is to peel a small section of root, grate it ([she uses] a fine Microplane grater) and immediately combine it with enough lemon juice to make a damp (but not wet) mixture." Which is what I'll be doing later today.

A girl's gotta have a guide

I have a rather interesting memoir/collection of notions of recipes that is quite enigmatic. Mary Ann Caws's Provençal Cooking is her account of her time in France and her friendship with the poet René Char, some of whose poems she translated from the French (published by Princeton U Press). In fact, she says that Provençal Cooking was "deeply influenced by the poetry of Provence itself, as well as the poetry of René Char." What does this have to do with The Busy Girls' Cookbook? Ms. Caws mentions it: "my preference for speed, informality, and spending time with the mountains [of Provence] or my guests may be a direct product of too heavy a reliance on one of my first loves in the kitchen, and which I still recommend wholeheartedly: The Busy Girl [sic] Cookbook." So of course I had to track it down. And I thought you'd like to see some of the suggestions/recipes/artwork/typeface used.

dun, mousy, slaty, etc.

General damp, overarching gray Sunday afternoon. Visited the garden w/D; leeks soldiering along. Rabbits/deer must be enjoying all the lovely chard. Still, it lives.

Need to get over to the other blog and work on it, get it going. I really think it has potential, but right now that reads as inertia.

Because of the wonders of the Internet, we can talk to L on the phone, calling from Paris. Somehow, it costs nothing. I don't understand a bit of it. I remember many years ago not being able to call home from England because the cost was astronomical. What a lonely feeling that was.

Midway through making Indian lime pickle in this shot:

It's now actually completed, but I haven't had the courage to taste it yet . . .

Timber . . . not with a bang but a whimper

Today is the day. The Christmas tree must come down.

This is the reason I don't like to put the tree up in the first place. Taking the ornaments off is the saddest, dreariest activity. Ever. The holiday is over. It's wet, gray January. And really, what is there in the offing?

Adding up the accounts for the taxes.

Valentine's Day.

That's about it, really.

I look at all the ornaments, and we now put up only those that have been made by someone—mostly Helen's, but lots by Lucy, and others (some by me) and I think of time disappearing. Other Christmases with lots of relatives around, who no longer are here . . . Argh

All right, enough being maudlin.  Time to get down to business.

However, I may have to break my austerity pact (just this once) and buy two skeins of Madeleinetosh Tosh DK (they're on sale, and I can make the Honey Cowl x 2; presents!).

But maybe I can restrain myself.

Up, up, and

away . . . Right now, L is en route to ORD, then to CDG, landing tomorrow. It is v difficult to get up at 0300, although I'd say we all managed rather well, and before the alarm buzzed, too. D drove her to the shuttle which took her to the regional airport.

Will report back later, but man I'm tired, and I'm not going anywhere (except to clean someone's room and do a mountain of laundry . . .)

Betty C and Meredith: I will keep you posted on my plans, though I just heard this a.m. that plane fares are supposed to rise 8 to 12 percent this year.

Bagels and Books

L had to find a guide book and a French/English dictionary to be ready for next week. I had an Earth Fare coupon for a 4 lb bag of Valencias. Conveniently, the bags of oranges were right there at the door to the right as we entered. So that was that.

However, the scent of freshly fried bacon was in the air, and L was directed by it to the breakfast bar, which contained four or five white-paper-wrapped bacon, egg and cheese bagels. How could we resist? Upon unwrapping one, we were treated to thick-cut bacon (and plenty of it), real scrambled eggs and cheddar cheese. On a real (for these parts) bagel. Delicious. So big, we shared one.

Thus fortified, we headed to B&N for the above-mentioned books, and then I dropped L at New Moon so that she could meet a h/s friend.

After that, I headed to the library, where I found that  The Middlesteins was still on the shelves, probably because it was shelved in the stacks and not with the New Books.

I didn't particularly care for The Kept Man, but this got such a good review, that I'm looking forward to it.

A perusal down the New Books shelves brought this to my attention: Care of Wooden Floors. I'm hoping I like it enough to finish

The newest Ina was also on display. And Mrs. Pringle of Fairacre, by Miss Read was also a New Book, surprisingly enough. Always, as Kirkus Reviews says, "a soothing oasis of tidy living for the frazzled reader weary of an untidy world."

So far, a calm, productive, satisfying day

Telling the Bees

Noodling around on YouTube, I discovered this mesmerizing pairing of images and the haunting music of Telling the Bees. and this, a companion:

Paris to the Moon . . . or Something

Yes, L is off to Paris for the semester. So many unknowns still, though. Where will she end up living? There is the problem of the cell phone. What service? How much to pack? What? There is the tricky problem of what kind of shoes (how many pairs?).

She's not taking Air France, but this photo will have to do. She has gotten around quite efficiently the past few years, so she's a seasoned traveller.

I'm wondering how much it will cost to get around. Will she live near enough to her classes so that she can walk?

More to come!

New Year's Cactus

I hope that 2013 brings an end to much bickering and divisiveness, on many levels. 

 Happy New Year to all.

I noticed the blooms and bud and took the photo on January 1, 2013.

Not ANOTHER New Year's Eve post. Certainly not

I do resolve to change certain habits, for instance, sitting hours on end in front of the computer, without getting out for a walk. This is my priority: move. Editing on the desktop isn't even as active as the old paper-pencil variety, although I can still heft the Webster's 11th one handed. Spending the better part of a morning or afternoon getting to/participating in/returning from Pilates or yoga is something else I really need to consider. Is all that time really worth it? And the money? Especially when I can practice yoga here with a bit of discipline. I'm also trying my mightiest to stick with my resolve not to buy any superfluities that I brought up on an earlier post. There is so much stuff here: books, CDs, clothes, shoes etc. etc. that should go off to the second-hand bookstore/Goodwill/wherever else to be gotten rid of. All in all, I want to lighten my load, physically around me as well as on my person.

Blogs

I've got to say, I'm really enjoying getting back to reading blogs. Writing? Well, maybe, but reading a bit of what someone is really thinking about is quite a treat.

Christmas Eve

The way in Heath . . . Commonside. Merry Christmas

What fresh Hell is this?

Why, it's putting up the Christmas tree! yes, tree from Ace Hardware, soaking up water for a week, upon entering the house shed practically every needle it had. Also, the stand we've had forever failed to hold the tree, because its trunk is too narrow. Of course, if we had put the tree up last week, we would have known this. But D, well, you can guess that he prefers to wait until the last minute. So at the 11th hour, out goes D to Whole Foods for a natural regional tree. Good! Then, we wrestled the tree into stand. Stand does not hold because it is bent all out of shape and giant screws screw toward space between stand and tree rather than tree itself. So it was not slender trunk, but stand itself that was to blame. D, out again, gets NEW stand. Upon returning, he says he'd rather wait until "later" to put tree up. Tree is up.

Countdown . . .

haircut today, a razor cut that G learned in NYC. My body may be in the mid-South, but my hair is Downtown. Off to Cincinnati on Saturday. Poor old Remus is consigned to the kennel for 3 nights (no snoring under the sheets for her!), but L wouldn't hear of D driving alone through the wilds of Kentucky. Not that I'm much use; I tend to panic on the highway, and end up driving at an appalling 45 mph. D knows someone who had a sales territory out West and refused to drive on a highway for similar reasons. It took days and days for her to reach her clients because she would take only secondary roads. Such is the life of a neurotic. Tomorrow the tree is going up and the lights are going on it. Then L can decorate to her heart's content when we get back.

Just musings

Bay

Pulling the final (maybe) leaves out from underneath and inbetween the prickly leaves of the ugly ivy-ish plants along the garage [how did this last bit get left out?]. Whoever thought foundation plantings were a good thing?
Soul was out front in solidarity, rolling around in the dust in the driveway, acting very spry.

There is some mysterious work being done on the foreclosed house next door, vacant since 2010 . . . Still, I'd rather the weather be less fall-like and more wintery, although D is heading up to Cincinnati to rendezvous with L Saturday/Sunday. Maybe I should go; I'd rather not.

New Year's

Betty C. asked if I was getting the blogging bug again. Yes, I am. FB is nice, but it's too immediate, and especially now I find myself either posting something I wish I hadn't or not posting at all. I think I like this blank page better, and visiting other blogs, though some of my regular reads will have to wake up and do some posting jumping-jacks to get back in the fray. I know it's hard to shake off the creakiness of posting one's real thoughts. I was looking around at my accumulations of, mostly, books since moving here in 1999. Really, there is no excuse for it. Amazon is like opening a vein. Argh. So, whilst vacuuming the stairs this afternoon, I had a chance to think about 2013 (not liking that 13, but ...) and I'm going to play a little game with myself. No purchases that aren't necessities in 2013. None. No books. No magazines. No mysterious lotions/potions from DHC. Nothing. And, since Everyday Food ceased publication, every time a subscription comes due, I'm not renewing. That is my thought for today, on the cusp of Christmas.

yes, this is what I like

Sequentia; group founder is an Oberlin graduate.

Yawn, Stretch . . .

Some Carnival Band for you. Personal to Helen: Thank you for the lovely note, and encouragement!

Scarf

I am determined to finish this thing for L, so she can wear it this winter. However long it is on Sept. 30, is how long it will be. Right now it is as long as I am tall, which is to say 5'2''.

The pattern is one that I discovered on a 2004 Sheep in the City blog post. I'm knitting up Malabrigo worsted weight Velvet Grapes on size 11 needles. I'm into my second skein.

Fall Around Here

 Yes, the melons themselves; finally. Very cantaloup-like in texture, though not as sweet. JGH, we got maybe eight or nine! Next year, I'm planting more. It was the right combination of intense heat and rain that really allowed these to take off. Sometimes, things work out.

Unfortunately, it was a banner year for the Mexican bean beetle, so we got very few beans.

Tomatoes also were a bit disappointing. Lots of peppers. Canned 4 pints of tomatoes, though. But still . . .

Below, you see the small plants we got last Saturday at Crabtree: kohlrabi, leeks, Bright Lights chard, cauliflower, broccoli, lettuces. I think they are still a bit small to be planted, and we're forecast to have a drencher on Monday, so maybe next weekend. I hope they don't become rabbit or deer food.

Its Royal Ripeness

Well, a bit out of focus. JGH sent me a packet of Minnesota Midget seeds. This spring, I planted four. Four burst from the soil of their little cell packs under the kitchen window in the makeshift greenhouse I fixed up. A sheetcake container from the grocery store is excellent for this purpose.

Four were transplanted to the community garden (veg) patch.

Four went into plant shock (would they live?!). Speculation abounded

Four survived, prospered, flowered, were pollinated, and produced many many melons!! (see my FB banner for two beauties that were sacrificed too soon to my utter ignorance of what it means to be a ripe melon.

They are a bit flowery tasting, not exactly the cantaloupe we are used to. How satisfying to have such a thriving plot.

Otherwise, tomatoes were ok, though we had a volunteer from last year take over: a tiny gold tomato that you must eat immediately upon ripeness, or it rots as you look at it. Peas: gone before they produced.

Mexican bean beetle had a field day, but we still got several meals out of them.

Peppers were plentiful (though small) enough to make stuffed peppers for the freezer.

Zucchini were great tho scarce. Very hot, this summer was.

Thank you, Roy and Kurt, for rallying around!

hello

Knock, knock. Who's there? I've been on Facebook but that's not exactly the same as posting what you think in a substantive way. I'm still wondering how I can start to post and whether I should.