I feel very fortunate. I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a good place in life in terms of clarity of head and heart, being in the bosom of friends, and productivity. It’s a precarious balance, like all of life is, improbable but apparently possible.
If saying so could ruin it, then I must be omnipotent and if that’s the case I’ll have a few choice words for a number of political players… 😉
Tonight there’s a Tree Seed Workshop on getting a poem in shape, led by Glenn Kletke. That’s 6:45 at Arts Court.
Glad Game: Looking forward and looking back, times with friends.
Delayed gift: a blanket from my godmother, given in 1991, but not passed to me until now, 10 years after she passed.
What overflows: if beer is too bitter, adding a packet of sugar makes a vesuvius of foam, and laughter.
A visit with mom went well, considering. When we dropped her home, happened into my two favorite cousins and got a chat in. One’s getting grey in his beard this year and the other is getting salt thru his hair too. Ah, that impossible that keeps becoming true.
Reading a gardening book, One Magic Square, we learned about a straw oven. It’s like slow-cooker without the electricity. p. 154-155 the author describes Oma’s haybox, a wooden lidded box about 20 x 20 x 15 inches. Used by Lolo’s grandmother to save gas:
Fill six pillowcases with hay, padding bottom and sides, keeping one to place on the cooking pot. Spread newspapper on the table or floor. Bring beans, rice or stew to a boil on the stove. With rice wait unilt there is only water in the dimples of the rice. Whip the boiling pot onto the newspaper, wrap tightly, put in the haybox and cover with hay pillow. Close the lid and don’t look at it for 3 hurs. It keeps hot or longer, even all day.
It makes sense that that should work. (Adding that to the try-one-day pile.)
We didn’t make enough garbage to put anything out for collection. Last week, such a tiny bag seemed a waste of a bag. Composter took another bucket.
After a season of trying to remember, I’ve finally waterproofed my boots.
All the big things are done for the house: Our new kitchen lights arrived and are up. The color works. Upper cabinet are in. And the closet doors. We have lovely backsplash tiles put in by Jeff who himself is a glad game sort of fellow. It’s coming together.
Glad we work well together, hub and I. We can divide work and delegate or straight out work together instead of parallel play.
More to do, but then house is a synonym for hobby, right? And they are “the hours of your life in solid form” (as Bruce Taylor put it in “Rebuilding the Guitar”).
Tree this week is Marilyn Bowering (who I’m sure I must have heard before, haven’t I? Or have I had rum luck?) I did hear from Leslie Vryenhoek’s recent book Gulf which made me sure I want to see her again. And get the book this time. You may forget what a poet says but not the way the ideas, words, skill and music make you feel.
Discovered (well, tipped off by a friend) Giddy Yoyo chocolate bars. 75% cocoa but not harsh. No clamour of gummy or caramelized or burnt floaters. It’s raw cocoa. Criollo. And it claims all sorts of things including no crash because it is “Free of Dairy, Gluten, Soy, Nuts, Refined Sugar, and other Nasty Funk!” No lecithin for instance, which is generally a sign of shortcuts in processing the cocoa carefully. And lecithin is generally made with a crude oil by-product, hexane. Which really I could do without in chocolate.
Quote: “Happiness has many roots, but none more important than security.” ~
E.R. Stettinius, at Quotations Book