It's been so long . . .

I haven't posted here in many months, for a number of reasons. First, I hadn't the energy. I thought I was just tired, but turns out I'm anemic. Then there was the fact that I hadn't anything good to say, and as Mama advised in such circumstances, I chose to say nothing at all. To be frank, this has not been a good year. More of a if-anything-can-go-wrong-it-will, what-fresh-hell-is-this kind of year. Health problems, financial worries, family crises--you've all got your own; you don't need to read about mine. But I've been too obsessed with those things to write about books, gardens, cats, or anything else that makes life worthwhile.

The rains returned today, and the weather got cooler. I still have hopes of getting a few more tomatoes to ripen, but I fear the figs will stay green. And I know of no good recipes for unripe-fig anything--no relishes, chutneys, or fried green figs. The fact that the birds haven't bothered them really says it all. It's been a very cool summer here--only a handful of days over 90--so everything is at least three weeks behind. I picked a pound of raspberries yesterday ($1.50 at the u-pick farm near my house). Raspberries! At the end of September! Blackberries are still producing as well, and there may be enough on the brambles near my office to make a blackberry cobbler for St. Michael's day. [When St. Michael battled the devil, he threw the demon into a blackberry bramble, thus the traditional holy day dessert.]

My husband made a terrific harvest dinner last night to share with friends. To accompany two fine French burgundies, he made a vegetarian feast: mushroom and goat cheese pâté on toasted baguette, cauliflower soup, and zucchini pierogues stuffed with a savory bread pudding and finished with a simple tomato sauce. Dessert, served with an excellent Oregon dessert wine from Sokol Blosser, was dark chocolate mousse and fresh raspberries. A lovely evening with friends, and a great start to the harvest season.

Fall is always and forever "back to school" time for me, and usually a beginning for a big reading project. I've spent the summer with the complete Barsetshire series by Angela Thirkell, and I now may return to the original Trollope Barsethire novels, which I haven't read in a decade. The book I read for my book group this month, Susan Hill's Howard's End is on the Landing, has made me think about my favorite books, and about those I want to read. She ends the work with her list of 40 books that would last her the rest of her life, if she could read nothing else. It's fun to work on my own list, and to decide which things I've read, and which things I want to read, should be on it. The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius and the Art of Living by Epictetus are the Stoic stand-bys I couldn't do without, the books always on my bedside table. Jane Austen would have to be there, probably represented by Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice. The former is my favorite Austen. I've always felt a kinship with Elinor Dashwood.

A big decision is what "aspirational" reading to include. Do I use up six volumes of 40 on Proust's Remembrance of Things Past? I can't decide. Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (three volumes from Penguin) does make the cut. I've decided to give up the idea of ever reading Ulysses. I finally sent the copy I'd been dragging around through six moves to Goodwill, and frankly, I feel free.

I know there will be non-fiction from Joan Didion and Janet Flanner, and a book on gardening (but which one?). I will have to decide which works by Evelyn Waugh, Anthony Trollope, Virginia Woolf, and Edith Wharton will make the cut. Nancy Mitford's Pursuit of Love is a given, as is Milan Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being (why does this man not have a Nobel prize yet?) and Garcia-Marquez's Chronicle of a Death Foretold. Biography/memoir/letters/diaries are another difficult question, as is poetry (though I'm leaning toward John Donne). What an amusing way to spend some chilly, rainy autumn evenings.

PS: Sorry there are no pictures. This summer's disasters included the failure of three--count them, three--hard dives, and I haven't loaded photos onto this one yet.

Who would have believed?

Off to market

Had you told me even a year ago that I would be selling produce at a farmers' market, I would have called you insane, but that's exactly what I did this weekend. I have an abundance of invasive perennial herbs in my garden--mint, chives, pineapple mint, oregano, mint--as well as non-invasive but overgrown (as in can't see to get out of the driveway) rosemary and thyme. It's far more than two people can use, and I hate to see anything go to waste, so I asked the farmer with whom I have my CSA share for ideas. He suggested I bring a basket to his booth at the weekly famers' market and split the profits with him. Ever on the lookout for additional sources of revenue, I agreed.

 

The farmers' market this time of year is on Saturdays from 10 to 3. So after work on Friday, I went out into the garden with basket, scissors, and scale to gather my herbs. The mint and rosemary were easy to harvest, but the more delicate chives and oregano were rather a mess. In all, it took nearly two hours to cut, weight, and tie up the bundles (hope I get better/faster with practice). I put my lovely little bunches of herbs into bowls with a little water and popped them into the refrigerator overnight.

On Saturday morning, I met the farmer at the market at 9:30 to drop off my wares. It was fun being there as the vendors were setting up, and chatting to real farmers. I have the advantage of coming from a farming family and can relate anecdotes of weather-related crop disasters with the best of them. When I got my cut of the takings at the end of the day, I had earned just enough to pay for this week's eggs and two tomato plants I got from other vendors.  If I look at it in terms of hourly rates, I made less than minimum wage, but it was fun and cost me only two hours on a Friday night that I otherwise would have wasted online. Not a bad trade, in my opinion.

Spring marches on, and one of the rhododendrons finally burst into bloom, thought the others are nowhere close. I saw a hummingbird one evening at dusk, testing out the dogwood blossoms.

Feeders for hummingbirds and other birds have been cleaned and filled by my darling husband, and the fountain is back in service, provided a birdbath and a drinking fountain for birds and kitties. Now the challenge is keeping Baxter the Mighty Hunter from using these amenities to ensnare victims.

One of the things I love is seeing the daily changes in the garden. This year they have come more slowly than usual, but the pace is beginning to quicken. I realized today that one of the most difficult things about winter in the sameness day to day. In our valley, winter means grey skies and rain, with temperatures generally hovering within about 10 degrees of 40° F. Let me be the first to admit that this is in no way a bad winter by any stretch of the imagination. It's just boring--nothing changes for what seems an age. Spring, summer, and fall, there is near-constant change in the garden: seeds sprout and grow, flowers bloom and fade, fruit ripens and is harvested. I love that.

The garden path, with bluebells

Sundays are special days to me, a day to pause and take a deep breath before the cycle of the week begins anew. When economy made it necessary for me to give up my daily pot of espresso for tea, the "sacrifice" had an unexpected benefit. My Sunday morning coffee became a special treat, something to look forward to and to savor--usually with a croissant from the local bakery.  Since present circumstances require frugality, I find myself more mindful of what I have, what I do, and what I buy. Wasteful and unnecessary expenses have been cut out, and far from miss the way things were before, I find I get more satisfaction from daily life, small pleasures, and simplicity.

A Provincial Life

Anemones

Finally, finally it feels like spring is really here. The daffodils and tulips are finishing up, the bluebells are blooming, and the iris have buds. The garden is waking up after a long, wet sleep. We have entire days of sunshine occasionally (last week on a weekend--unheard of), and it's slowly warming into the 60s during the day. My darling husband is home after two looooong months in Australia, so the heavy yard work is finally getting done. Also, we no longer have the most disgraceful lawn on the street--it's neatly mowed, even if it is mostly dandelions (excellent crop this year) and moss.

I, too did some traveling for work, to New York for the Antiquarian Book Fair. I'm just too old for that. Even with non-stop flights, getting there and back was exhausting, and except for seeing friends and some lovely books, it was pretty miserable. I am no longer an urban person. Too many people make me nervous and claustrophobic. I dislike being surrounded by huge buildings and miss the lovely greens of Oregon. It was good to get home to the provinces and resume my provincial life.

Baxter straddling the fence like a politician

With all the stress in daily life and world events, I have been taking refuge in the Provincial Lady books and other works by E. M. Delafield, and the Barsetshire novels of Angela Thirkell, both full of sly wit and social satire. The comedy of manners is one of my favorite types of novels, and both of these writers continue in the tradition of Jane Austen, only in 20th century England. I know many "serious" readers look down on books like these, but I find more of value there than in most so-called literary fiction. À chacun son goût. I could no more face wading through Thomas Pynchon at the end of a stressful day or week than I could rise and fly. So I'll stick to my provincial, middle-brow reading and let better folk than I deal with James Joyce or the latest David Foster Wallace. 

Gwydion

This weekend has been the kind of slow-paced, simple time that I love. Yesterday was marketing, picking up CSA veggies, and arranging with my farmer to sell some of the herbs that are taking over my garden in his booth at the market. Desultory cleaning and gardening next, followed by a nap. Today has been all about the kitchen: baking bread and cookies, making chicken stock to freeze, preparing rhubarb compote to have with my yogurt and granola for breakfast this week, using leftover rice and assorted CSA veggies to make fried rice for lunch today and to take for lunch during the week, and finally, making beans & greens for dinner. Nothing complicated or intensive to prepare, just a steady day of puttering about the kitchen. 

Cocktail corner is ready and waiting for warmer weather

It has rained--sometimes torrentially--off and on today, so it was a good time to be indoors, cooking, reading, and puttering. Tomorrow it's back to work and deadlines, but it's lovely to have a peaceful day of rest in order to recharge for the challenges in the week ahead. 

A Little Sunshine Makes All the Difference

Is there anything more contented than a cat sleeping in the sun?

Yesterday, it was sunny!! On a Saturday!!! I can't remember the last time this happened, but it's been weeks. The cats and I spent some quality time sitting on the swing in the backyard, soaking up sun like lizards. I did a bit of long-postponed garden clean-up and found quite a bit of new growth coming up. The only bulb actually blooming is the small snowdrop below. I planted 50 of these, and so far this is the only one to make an appearance. The drifts of snowdrops in my neighbor's yard are mocking me.

50 bulbs, one flower. I blame the squirrels.

I saw dozens of snowdrops, along with purple and yellow crocus and a yellow primrose on my walk to the library. The daphne and camellias have buds about to pop open. Spring really is on its way. I need to get my peas (both sweet for flowers and shelling for eating) planted soon.

There was baking, too. The regular weekly loaf of bread and a loaf on banana bread on Saturday (half off over-ripe banana at the grocery is a great excuse for banana bread), and today, these sinfully delicious  whole lemon bars, so called because you puree a whole lemon for the filling. Extra lemony goodness!

Tomorrow I turn 50, which quite frankly I never thought would happen. I struggled with the black dog of depression for many years, and when I was in my 20s I was sure it would defeat me. Thanks to my friends, my siblings, my shrink, and Celexa, I've made it to the half century mark. I'm living in a beautiful place, have a dream job working with antiquarian books and medieval manuscripts, and most miraculously of all, I'm married to a beautiful man who loves me and accepts me as I am, warts, depression, and all. I will not be one of those women who won't admit her age--I want to shout it from the rooftops, because I'm so grateful for making it this far.

A Spot of Bother

So far, 2011 has not been a good year. Family emergencies and illnesses, unexpected travel, large unplanned expenses--it's been a recipe for major stress and depression. At the end of this month, my husband leaves for two months abroad (for work). And in just over a week, I turn fifty. All I can say is, "Bartender! Another round!"

Daffodils by the front steps

Fortunately, little bulbs are beginning to poke their heads up in the garden, promising spring just around the corner. Meanwhile, the rain continues to keep me indoors (November through April showers bring May flowers!) so I've been sorting through closets, chests, and cabinets looking for garage sale material, should we ever have a sunny Saturday.

Books have been treasured companions and welcome respite from life's trouble these past weeks. I've particularly enjoyed Debo Mitford Devonshire's Wait for me!, which I won in a drawing at Stuck in a Book---thanks, Simon! I love the cover shot of the 90-year-old duchess holding two of her beloved hens. As always, I find enormous comfort in mysteries, preferably psychological thrillers. Andrew Taylor's Roth Trilogy was a fascinating series tracing the making of a psychopath.

There has also been baking--brownies, scones, banana bread. I continue to bake a loaf of no-knead bread every weekend. The budget will be a bit tight with just one income for the next couple of months, so I've been adding to my repertoire of inexpensive vegetarian recipes. I've been trying to be a more mindful consumer, so this will be a very good exercise.

A New Year in the Valley

We got SUNSHINE for New Year's. You have to live with two solid months of rains and grayness to really appreciate that. I was able to walk to the library without getting soaked, to tend to a few outside chores, and to join the cats in basking in the rays shining through the windows.

New Year's Eve was quiet for us. I had the day off, so I finished cleaning the house for the new year. My husband was a waiter for 15 years, and not having to work in a restaurant on "amateur night" is something we celebrate every year by staying in. He cooked some wild-caught steelhead trout (similar to salmon) and we had a lovely bottle of prosecco. After dinner, he watched the Flaming Lips show streaming live from Oklahoma City, and I retired upstairs with a book and a large glass of wine. We toasted the New Year at midnight, to the accompaniment of the neighbors banging pans, drums, and blowing car horns--a traditional way of scaring off evil spirits. That part was rather charming. Their drunken arguments out in the street every half hour until after 3 AM was not.

As a consequence of being awakened repeatedly in the night, I started 2011 tired and grumpy. Apart from baking a loaf of bread and making hoppin' john (black-eyed peas with rice) and greens for New Year's dinner like a good Southern girl, I did nothing. I spent the day curled up by the fire reading the marvelously eerie The Little Stranger, or watching old Miss Marple mysteries on Netflix.

After a peaceful night, I woke to sunshine and experienced a burst of energy. I made coffee (OK, some of the energy was caffeine-related), scrambled eggs, and toasted homemade bread with homemade strawberry jam (my smugness over the "homemade" part makes it taste so much better). After cleaning the kitchen, I peeled and roasted assorted root vegetables for soup. I love making soup and bread for Sunday night dinner, thereby having leftovers for weekday lunches. While the vegetable were roasting, I conducted another wardrobe weeding, pulling out things I haven't worn in forever to donate, and organizing the remaining items.

After lunch, I mixed up a batch of cookie dough and put it in the fridge to chill while I walked to the library. I had forgotten that I usually cut this recipe for "Cowboy Cookies" (chocolate chip with pecans, oatmeal, and coconut) in half--I got it from a friend who makes batches for after-church coffee hour--so I ended up with five dozen cookie. Hope none of my co-workers have started diets for the new year, because I'll be bringing treats to the office.

No pictures today, partly because there was nothing new and interesting to photograph, and partly because it takes too much time. I'm far less likely to write something if I need photos for it. So I'm sorry it's just plain ol' text, but that's all I can handle right now.

Comfort & Joy

Last weekend, I made my very first loaf of real bread. Oh, sure, I'd made quick breads--banana, zucchini, etc.--but never anything requiring yeast.  I decided to try the no-knead bread from the New York Times, which is perfect for the lazy. It requires only flour, salt, yeast, water, and about 20 hours rising time, in a room that was at least 70 degrees F. This presented the only obstacle: our 1927 farmhouse does not have central heat, is not well-insulated, and is rather drafty. We use the woodstve in the fireplace and lots of down comforters to stay warm. There are small space-heater-like units in the wall of each room, but none of these is capable of getting and keeping the room at a balmy 70--except for the one in the bathroom.

Cat and dough enjoying the warmth

Yes, I know: food in the bathroom. Ewwww. But, I reasoned, it's in a bowl covered with plastic wrap, and I'll put it up on top of the hideous, laminate cabinet (bathroom was sadly "renovated" in the late 70s/early 80s--all 20s charm is gone, gone, gone). With the door firmly closed, it was possible to keep the windowless bathroom warm enough for the yeast to do its thing. My bread got a little more than 18 hours rising time, because I got confused calculating times and started the bread at 9 AM, which gave me a choice of getting up at 3 AM, or letting the bread rise for a few extra hours--you can guess which I chose. The extra time didn't hurt it at all, and it baked up beautifully in my cast iron Dutch oven. I was so proud and excited you'd think I'd discovered penicillin. The bread was enjoyed with soup, and the remnant used to make the "Pumpkin Stuffed with Everything Good" on Christmas Eve.

Tuesday, date of the Winter Solstice and lunar eclipse, was our first wedding anniversary. The rainy weather on the west coast made it impossible to see the eclipse, which was huge disappointment, and a family illness put a bit of a damper on anniversary festivities. We decided to wait and celebrate on the 22nd, when the loved one was out of danger. My dear husband bought me books because, as he noted (to my amazement), the traditional gift for a first anniversary is paper.  I, jumping inadvertently ahead to the traditional fifth anniversary wood gift, got him a wooden cutting board made by the farmer from whom we buy our vegetable out of wood from a white oak on his farm. We had dinner at the wonderful Bistro Maison, a marvelous French restaurant. The rain stopped long enough for us to walk there and back--a great way to justify the calories consumed in the baked Alaska we had for dessert.

As I've noted previously, Christmas is not my favorite time of year and I try to ignore it as much as possible. My grinchy-ness was alleviated somewhat this year by a number of examples, some local, some far away, of generous and unselfish giving that offset the annoying orgy of consumerism I associate with the holiday. I made it through five hours(!) of Christmas music on Christmas Eve before I snapped and started throwing things. And on Xmas day, though I lost my ambition to make the full turkey/dressing/cranberry sauce dinner I'd planned, I did manage to roast a turkey breast and make a ginger-pear upside-down cake while recruiting my ever-indulgent husband to make the sauce, mashed potatoes and green beans with almonds.

We even had a minor Christmas miracle: two members of the household managed to catch fire Xmas day, and neither of them was the accident-prone moi! My husband was sitting on the hearth in front of the fire, watching a basketball game online, and I was in the kitchen peeling pears. Suddenly, I heard him shout "Fuck!" and I ran to see what was wrong. A couple of sparks from the crackling fire had landed on his fleece pullover which, being basically plastic, promptly began to melt onto his skin. I helpfully observed, "Oh, you're on fire," as he wrangled his way out of the smoldering, smelly mess.

Later, we were sitting at the table, candles lit, when our long-haired cat Baxter (pictured above) decided to saunter across the table to see if any stray turkey might come his way. Sadly, his magnificent fluffy tail brushed against a candle, causing a shower of sparks and the ever-so-appetizing smell of burnt hair. Kitty was luckily unharmed, although he kept looking at his tail and trying to figure out if it was the source of the extremely unpleasant odor.  As my husband said, it's not a successful party until someone catches fire. And so another Christmas is survived--this time with the comfort and joy of a partner who is understanding of my neuroses about the season and who will turn off the music when I just can't bear another note.

Bah, humbug

Just enough room for kitty to rest his head. Apple is so thoughtful.

Today I bought my very first pair of long underwear. I've had thermal long-sleeved tees before, but never a real set of long johns, for very good reason: I've never needed them. If it was that cold outside, them obviously the right thing for me to do was to stay indoors where it's cozy and warm.

So why now? Because I need to walk every day, and I won't be able to force myself to get up and do it if I'm going to be cold and miserable. Yes, it's true, I'll admit it: exercise makes me feel better--not just physically, but mentally. Happy, every know-it-all doctor I've ever had? You were right. God, I hate saying those words.

Since the rainy season started a month ago, my walks have been few and far between, and I definitely feel the worse for it. Here's hoping the thermal undies can help me overcome my reluctance to leave a warm bed to walk on a cold, dark morning.

So, only three weeks until the horror known as Christmas is behind us for another year. I don't know about you, but I can't wait. I despise the Christmas music everywhere, the orgy of consumerism, the waste, the forced cheer. Now, I'll admit that I don't have warm, fuzzy memories of wonderful childhood Christmases--the one that stands out most is the time my grandfather, drunk by noon on Xmas day, ran over a dog on the way to the big family dinner and didn't even slow down--and perhaps that colors my feelings for the season.

To the extent I can, I ignore it. I don't decorate at all, and I only buy gifts for the children in my life. It helps enormously that we don't have a TV and I only listen to public radio, so I'm not overwhelmed with commercials. I stay away from stores as much as possible, and give thanks that I live in a town without a shopping mall.

I made slice-and-bake cookies for the first time in years this weekend. I grew up on Pillsbury slice-n-bake cookies, the only kind my grandmother ever made. The ones shown above did not come from one of the dough boy's neat round tubes, however. They are maple-pecan sandies, and they're an odd shape because I couldn't get the log of dough very round. The recipe calls for them to be dipped in melted bittersweet chocolate, but I can't decide whether to do this or not. They're really good plain. Probably should test a few more before I make up my mind.

In Memoriam

Boys' Night Out at Ayers Rock with Jenny by N. J. Irza

Thanksgiving was long my favorite holiday. This probably has something to do with the fact that I stopped spending it with my family when I was in college, always electing thereafter to be with friends on that day.  More importantly, it lacked the pressure, consumerism, and expectations that haunted Christmas and turned me into a grinch at an early age. Thanksgiving was about gratitude and good food and friends, all things I could support wholeheartedly. 

Bird, by N. J. Irza

One friend I shared Thanksgivings with was Nick Irza. He and his partner, Jim, were my gay godfathers, and Nick in particular became the father I never had, and I was his princess. Nick was an artist--these are his paintings here.  After Jim passed away, we became especially close, and spent most holidays together. He was a wonderful cook, and I had inherited lots of china, silver, and crystal. We made a great entertaining team. On Saturday, November 22, 2006, Nick and I were decorating the Thanksgiving altar at the Episcopal Cathedral. In addition to being a member of the congregation, Nick was an amazing florist. He was feeling unwell and sat down to supervise while I did something simple like put chrysanthemums in brass urns. Suddenly, he said, "I think I'm having a heart attack." 

Spirit Cats, the first painting Nick did after his partner's death

I looked around and he was white as a sheet, he head gleaming with perspiration. I called 911, and foudn the sexton to tell him what was going on. He called the priest and brought in reinforcements from the altar guild to finish the altar. I followed Nick's ambulance to the hospital and let the medical staff think I was his daughter so I could stay with him. Nick was uninsured, and we were not the medical staff's highest priority.  By the time we saw a resident, lividity was setting in. By the time the cardiologist arrived, I knew from the look on her face that he was going to die. They took him to surgery, but were unable to repair his ruptured aorta. He never woke up. 

Persephone Moon

His funeral was held in the Episcopal Cathedral we'd been decorating on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. He and I had planned to spend the holiday at my house with two other friends. Nick was to cook the turkey, while I made the jalapeno cornbread dressing, praline sweet potatoes, and pecan pie. I was too devastated to face the traditional meal. I made pasta and got extremely drunk, then lay in the back seat of the car giving incoherent directions while the friends who'd joined me for dinner drove around my neighborhood to look at the elaborate Xmas lights.

Matthew, a sketch in pencil of one of Nick's 12 cats

Thanksgiving was kind of ruined for me for several years. It wasn't until I moved to Oregon that I made a turkey with all the trimmings again. The holiday is still bittersweet, because it's forever linked to a devastating loss. But I have much to be grateful for, not the least of which is that I had Nick in my life, and that I am still surrounded every day my his beautiful paintings. Artists have the only kind of immortality I can believe in, a legacy of work that lives on and tells the world who they were. Nick left some magnificent creations that will bring joy for generations. I also have a living, breathing reminder of him: one of his cats, a black female named Nikita in his honor. 

Phoenix Pear

I will spend this Thanksgiving with my husband and a friend who is coming to stay with us. This friend also knew and loved Nick, came to the hospital to sit with me while he was in surgery, and went with me to his house afterwards to feed his cats and parrots and to honor Nick's final request that I get rid of his porn before any lawyers, executors, or family arrived. 

May you spend this holiday with people you care about, and may you be thankful for their presence in your life. Happy Thanksgiving.

When you get lemons, make lemon bars

It was a lovely, productive weekend here in the Valley.  I remembered to start my paperwhites, so perhaps they will be blooming in time for the solstice next month. I love their scent, and the bright white blooms in the midst of winter. I was excited to find a tip to keep them from getting too tall and falling over: water them with gin. Not pure gin, but about 7 parts water to 1 part gin (or vodka or other liquor you have on hand). I'll be using gin because, in a foolish, foolish attempt at economy, I tried a less expensive brand and it was ghastly. Never economize on liquor, darlings. It's always a mistake.  

The pumpkin in the background is in the oven right now, after being stuffed with everything good--in this case, rice, bacon, aged white cheddar, some blanched winter greens, a few black trumpet mushrooms, lots of garlic, and scallions. 

When baked in the pumpkin with a bit of cream for an hour and a half, it produces a sort of risotto. When you mix in the pumpkin flesh, it makes a great meal in a bowl.Another benefit? No pots or pans to wash. And plenty of leftovers for lunch tomorrow. My kind of meal.

There were a couple of errands I'd needed to do for a few weeks--dropping off items at a consignment shop and at Goodwill after the lastest round of closet purging. The way I dress has changed dramatically since I moved to Oregon and started working for a small, home-based business instead of for a university library. Unless I'm at a book fair, I only see my four colleagues at work, and we all wear the usual Oregon uniform of jeans with tees, fleece, sweaters, or hoodies. When I was a child, I loved reading biographies, especially those of women. There were few of these to choose from in the 60s, so I read several bios of Dolley Madison, First Lady, famed hostess, and the woman who introduced ice cream to the U.S. I always remembered Dolley's Quaker mother rebuking her for her interest in fashion: "If thou art clean and warm, that is enough." Add "and dry" to that and you have the Oregon dress code.  So off go the skirts, heels, and cashmere overcoat I haven't worn in two years. May someone else find them useful. 

The most exciting event of the weekend was the arrival of the first Meyer lemons of the season at the local market. These are my favorite citrus fruits--tangy and tart, but not sour. They're wonderful for baking and, of course, for one of my favorite cocktails, the Lemon Drop. No sugar needed for the latter, just vodka and lemon juice, as God intended. 

I used this week's lemons to make one of my favorite desserts, lemon bars. It's amazing what one can do with just a half pound of butter, almost a pound of sugar, half a dozen eggs, some flour, and half a dozen lemons.

I got to use one of my most beloved kitchen tools, the Microplane zester. Truly, this thing changed my life. 

I get my eggs from a local farmer. Her chickens are laying fewer as the days get shorter and colder, so a half dozen in one go was quite the extravagance, but oh-so worth it. 

My hands were sore from juicing and zesting, but the final product eased the pain. Kitty cookie jar approves. 

They're not really lemon bars until they're dusted with powdered sugar. Only problem? You have to wait for them to cool. 

But then, suddenly, they're ready. And they're amazing. So rich. Tart and tangy, not too sweet. Perfect.

Sun and Shadow

It was delightful to wake up this morning to sunshine, especially when the forecast called for rain. I hate getting up in the dark, so I was happy to say goodbye to daylight savings time. This morning I went for a walk--the first time in a couple of weeks I've been able to do so in the early morning. I've missed it. Afternoon walks after work can be nice, too--I look forward to getting out after sitting at a computer all day--but the mornings are so quiet and peaceful, and really set a tone for the rest of the day. 

An unexpectedly sunny weekend day also meant an opportunity for gardening. I cut back the dying peony foliage and fertilized the plants, transplanted the hyssop to a better location, pulled weeds, cleaned up dead plants, harvested compost for the bulbs and roses, and mulched the back beds with leaves.  It was a perfect day to be outside.

The afternoon was taken up with baking cookies, doing laundry, and searching the house for my purse, which I can't find anywhere. All I can figure out is that I must have left it in my car when I got home for the farmers' market on Saturday, and that someone took it from the unlocked car. At least it had no cash in it, so it's just the inconvenience of canceling my debit card, three credit cards, and replacing my driver's license (the picture sucked anyway) and library card. No point getting upset about it--it's just stuff. I'm just glad there was no cash in it (I was looking for the purse to put a significant-for-me amount of cash into it when I realized it was gone) and that the car was unlocked so I didn't have a broken car window, too. 

While looking for my purse, I went through closets and found some things to take to the consignment shop and some others to donate to Goodwill. I realized for the first time that another purse I had once loved--and that I had spent far too much money for several years ago--had been in the suitcase that I lost at O'Hare airport last March. If I didn't even realize it was gone, I must not have needed it in the first place. I find myself caring less and less about possessions and wanting to pare down more and more as I get older. I'm horrified to look back and think about how much money I wasted on things I didn't need. 

The Planting of the Bulbs

Misty morning

The autumn rains have arrived, just at the same time as the spring bulbs I'd ordered. Friday was our one sunny, gorgeous day this week--all of which I spent at work. I was thrilled to wake up this morning to find it merely foggy, not raining. I've been missing my morning walks, so I got up and headed off for a tramp through the neighborhood. The leaves were lovely, the jack-o-lanterns were out in force, and the kitties were relishing the lack of rain as much as I was.

Cat on a Subaru. Pretty much sums up my neighborhood.

After a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs with leftover salmon cakes and a croissant, I headed out to the garden to plant bulbs. I go crazy ordering bulbs every year--I can't help myself. There is no such thing as too many daffodils, a strong contender for my favorite flower. When I was growing up in South Carolina, they were sometimes in bloom for my late February birthday. Later, when I was grown up and had moved away, Mama sent me a pot of daffodils for my birthday every year until she died.  I always thought they looked like ballerinas in yellow tutus and green tights.

Pretty overhead . . .

and underfoot.

So anyway, I had ordered a grab bag of 25 daffodil bulbs to be put in the beds out back for cutting flowers, three heirloom Rose of May daffs for the white garden, 50 blue and white anemones to go around the fountain, some winter aconit out front for a mid-winter splash of yellow, 10 dark, dark purple heirloom crocus bulbs, and 25 bluebells and 25 snowdrops for the shade garden. The heirloom red and white flame tulip bulbs are cooling in the fridge for another couple of weeks, since our winters usually don't get quite cold enough for them.

First, there were two blueberry bushes that had to be transplanted to a sunnier spot. Then, the gargantuan cosmos--seriously, these things were taller than I am--had to be chopped out of the bed they had commandeered, and the always opportunistic mint brutally ripped out where it isn't wanted. Then compost had to be worked into the soil, and only then could bulbs be planted.

It took more than four hours, but I got them all in. Then a hot shower and 800 mg. of ibuprofen before putting together a big pot of chili to simmer for dinner. It's a recipe from a friend who grow up in Texas, and the spices and peppers did magical things with simple beef, tomatoes, and onions. Shout-out to SFL for the best chili I've ever had!  With some homemade cornbread (look Ma, no Jiffy mix!), it made the perfect Halloween supper.  Darling husband was in charge of handing out candy to the Trick-or-Treaters, whom he also entertained with his Elmo and Grover had puppets (he has the voices down).

My husband's dream is to own his own vineyard and winery, and he's often asked me what my dream is. I've never had an answer, until today. My dream is to create a beautiful garden. Not a fancy formal garden, but a simple cottage garden filled with old-fashioned flowers, herbs, and some fruits and veggies.  Not a very exciting dream, but my own, and one I can chase after forever.

Happy Halloween!!

Domestic Blitz

I have been in a fit of domesticity this past week or so. Last weekend was a gorgeous, perfect Indian Summer weekend--probably the last sunny weekend we'll see for months. So what better time to spend three hours cleaning my kitchen? What can I say, the urge struck to go through cabinets, pick out items to donate or recycle, and to clean everything thoroughly. No doubt my fabulous new cleaning gloves--a gift from a friend who knows me well--were part of the inspiration:

I rounded up sufficient items in the cabinets, along with a desk, an A/C window unit we've never used, a box of tile, some shutters that had been languishing in my basement, and a few miscellaneous tools, to put together a nice donation for the local Habitat for Humanity ReStore.  It felt great to get rid of things we don't use and to organize the remaining items. I did make some time to spend outside, walking through the neighborhood, reading in the garden, and picking some flowers. The cosmos that ate my garden continue to bloom profusely, and they make lovely, long-lasting cut flowers.

It was a tough week at work, so I tried to rally the troops with some no-bake cookies, a combo of butter, sugar, cocoa, vanilla, peanut butter and rolled oats that comes out somewhere between cookie and candy. When in doubt, make cookies, I say. My husband has been putting in insane hours at the winery for the grape harvest, and at last all the fruit is in. There's still plenty of work to be done, but getting the fruit in before the rains started was everyone's #1 concern. Big sighs of relief all round. We actually got to go out for a drink Friday night--first time since early September--and he was off this weekend, and thus available to be put to work around the house. I have a bad back (no, really!) and he does the heavy housework like floors and the garden tasks like mowing (did I mention I'm also allergic to cut grass? It's true!).

Partly because I'm tired of paying the ridiculous prices for cleaning products, and partly because I'm concerned about chemicals in common household cleaners, I've begun to make my own. Laundry detergent, all purpose spray cleaner, and furniture polish were whipped up within minutes at very little cost. Better Basics for the Home and the Care2 website offer much assistance and easy recipes. I used my fabulous formulas to clean the bathroom and polish furniture this weekend, while adding to my "good Oregonian" bona fides by making granola and yogurt for my favorite daily breakfast.

 
I also did some canning. The autumn rains arrived in force this weekend, and it was clear the rest of my tomatoes were not going to ripen. My grandmother used to make this green tomato relish I adored, but I didn't have the recipe. Internet to the rescue--I googled about until I found something that sounded very similar to what Mama used to make. I chopped up the tomatoes (50 or so, mostly very small) along with green peppers from my CSA, red bell peppers, some not-hot Pacific Northwest jalapenos, and some onions in the food processor, producing a mush that looked like this:

Thanks to Cuisinart, it was much faster and easier than in Mama's day. I remember she and our maid, Jay-Ola, would set up an old wooden kitchen table in the yard and attach a metal meat grinder to the edge with a vise grip. Then they would feed in the vegetables, taking turns cranking out a similar mush into an enameled washtub. My way lacked the atmosphere, but was much easier on the arms. The veggies are tossed with pickling salt (yes, it is different--I had to look it up) and left to stand for a few hours, then cooked in boiling vinegar with spices before being put into glass canning jars and sealed in a water bath.

The end product at least looks like Mama's, but I'm sure it will lack that "je ne sais quoi." Is any attempt to recreate the beloved foods of childhood ever entirely successful? Maybe we just remember things in a rosier light (though really, that 's not usually one of my failings) or maybe the difference in ingredients or methods is just enough to make things taste not quite the same. I know Mama would have been horrified at the idea of me canning, sure I would injure myself. Okay, so I splashed a little boiling vinegar on my hands when I was putting in the tomato mix. It's fine. I won't be scarred for life, Mama.

Now, if only I could find  clever use for a tree full of unripe figs . . .

10/10/10

After raining most of the weekend, the weather turned sunny this afternoon, so we headed up to the vineyard my husband works with a friend. Grapes are getting close to ready here in the Willamette Valley, but they probably need a couple more weeks.

It was a beautiful day in the Chehalem Mountains, and the baby vines planted last year are coming right along. We tromped through muddy fields, played with muddy dogs, and were thankful for four-wheel-drive.

My daffodil, snowdrop, and bluebell bulbs have arrived, and I can only hope we will have a sunny weekend soon. Right now we seem to be in the usual fall/spring pattern that gave rise to the joke, "What comes after two days of rain?" "Monday." Last year I was very late planting my bulbs--thanksgiving weekend, I believe. I had to hack through an inch or more of frozen soil to get them in the ground, and they understandably did not perform terribly well this spring. Ah, well. Nature is the boss, and we will deal with what she gives us.

It's amazing how quickly we've gone from Saturday afternoon reading in the garden with a Pimms cup to reading by a fire while drinking Irish whiskey (the winter drink chez moi, as gin or Pimms is the summer drink).  The shortening of the days is what I mind the most. In the dead of winter, it will be dart by 4:30. For those of us who work at desks, there will be precious little time outside. I think that's why Oregonians practically live outside in summer--we need to stockpile vitamin D for the long dark months ahead. 

I am finally and at last buried in tomatoes, which I thought would never come. I dried two batches this weekend for later use, and have been enjoying a tomato sandwich for lunch each day. I found a recipe online for a green tomato relish like my grandmother used to make. Her recipe was sadly lost when my evil grandfather cleared out the house and sold her things after she died. My tomato plants are still setting fruit, but at least some of it probably won't ripen, so I'll have green tomatoes that need to be used. Now if only I could figure out what to do with a tree full of green figs...

A Book Quiz

I saw this recently on Stuck in a Book, a blog I enjoy very much, and simply couldn't resist the opportunity to talk more about moi and especially about the things I like to read.


1. Favourite childhood book?
The Anne of Green Gables series.

2. What are you reading right now?
The Temptress by Paul Spicer, about Alice de Janze and a scandalous murder among the British colonial set in Kenya. 
Decline & Fall of the Roman Empire, Vol. I by Edward Gibbon

3. What books do you have on request at the library?
Two upcoming Charles Todd mysteries.

4. Bad book habit?
Buying too many.

5. What do you currently have checked out at the library?
The Temptress.

6. Do you have an e-reader?
No.
 
7. Do you prefer to read one book at a time, or several at once?
Mostly one at a time, but when I'm tackling something big like the Gibbon, I have to have fun reading breaks.

8. Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog?
No.

9. Least favourite book you read this year (so far?)
Nothing springing to mind. If I don't like something I just stop reading. I'm getting older and don't have time to waste on books that suck.

10. Favourite book you’ve read this year?
The More I Owe You by Michael Sledge.

11. How often do you read out of your comfort zone?
Occasionally, usually for book group.

12. What is your reading comfort zone?
A comedy of manners (Jame Austen, Nancy Mitford) or a good murder mystery. 

13. Can you read on the bus? Yes.

14. Favourite place to read?
In my armchair, with my feet up on the ottoman and kitties cuddling around me.

15. What is your policy on book lending?
Happy to do it, although I've lost several books I really like this way. I probably wouldn't lend something I couldn't easily replace.

16. Do you ever dog-ear books?
I do dog-ear favorite recipes in cookbooks.

17. Do you ever write in the margins of your books?
Rarely. I do underline (in pencil) from time to time when I passage is especially beautiful.

18. Not even with text books?
I was a terror with a yellow highlighter.

19. What is your favourite language to read in?
English. I can stumble along in French but have to look up every third word.

20. What makes you love a book?
Different things in different books. Sometimes it's the writing style, sometimes the subject matter or characters.

21. What will inspire you to recommend a book?
If I really couldn't put it down.

22. Favourite genre?
Mystery.

23. Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?)
Science non-fiction.

24. Favourite biography?
Life in a Cold Climate, the biography of Nancy Mitford by Laura Thompson

25. Have you ever read a self-help book?
When I was in my 20s. They didn't help. Can one blame the author for this, or does one have only one's self to blame?

26. Favourite cookbook?
The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters and A Homemade Life by Molly Wizenberg.

27. Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)?
The More I Owe You.

28. Favourite reading snack?
Tea and scones. Yes, I am that affected. 
  
29. Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience.
Confederacy of Dunces.  Everyone raved and told me I would love it and I just couldn't stand it. 

30. How often do you agree with critics about a book?
Don't read many reviews. 

31. How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews?
The only time I "review" books is at book group, where I have no problems whatsoever saying exactly what I think. 

32. If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you choose?
Classical Greek. And I wish I read French well enough to tackle Proust in the original.

33. Most intimidating book you’ve ever read?
The Divine Comedy by Dante. 

34. Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin?
I'm not easily intimidated. Mostly I avoid books I find off-putting or pretentious (*cough* Finnegan's Wake *cough*).

35. Favourite Poet?
John Donne before he got religion, and Elizabeth Bishop, whom I discovered thanks to The More I Owe You.

36. How many books do you usually have checked out of the library at any given time?
Three or four.

37. How often have you returned book to the library unread?
Rarely. Usually when it's a new book I can't renew and I just run out of time.

38. Favourite fictional character?
It's a close race between Elizabeth Bennet (Pride and Prejudice) and Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables).

39. Favourite fictional villain?
Baron Charlus in Remembrance of Things Past.

40. Books I’m most likely to bring on holiday?
Mysteries. I prefer murder to romance.

41. The longest I’ve gone without reading.
Two or three months in my 20s when I was clinically depressed and didn't have the attention span to read anything. 

42. Name a book that you could/would not finish.
Water for Elephants.  I knew on the first page "whodunnit", and I refuse to read about animals being mistreated. Brutal serial killings, yes; circuses, No.

43. What distracts you easily when you’re reading?
If the book is riveting enough, nothing.

44. Favourite film adaptation of a novel?

The Merchant and Ivory Room with a View,  although Emma Thompson's treatment of Sense and Sensibility  comes a close second.

45. Most disappointing film adaptation?
The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Even Daniel Day-Lewis couldn't save it for me.


46. The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time?
I shudder to think, although working for a rare book dealer has put some of my past sprees in perspective. 


47. How often do you skim a book before reading it?
I must steal Simon's reply: "Where is it that someone says 'I've done some pretty dreadful things in my time, but I've never skipped to the end of a detective novel'?" I'll read the first few pages to get an idea of the style and voice, though.

48. What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through?
Boredom. Annoyance. I used to force myself to finish books, but now that I'm pushing 50, I figure I don't have the reading life left to waste on something I'm not enjoying. Also, any foreshadowing that something bad is going to happen to an animal--the real reason I never made through Moby Dick.

49. Do you like to keep your books organized?
I'm a librarian. What do you think?

50. Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them?
Depends. If I love something,I have to own it. Otherwise, it can go on its way to another reader.

51. Are there any books you’ve been avoiding?
The Help. 

52. Name a book that made you angry.
The revisionist history and junk science being put into American school textbooks (Thanks, Texas!) makes me insanely angry.

53. A book you didn’t expect to like but did?
Out Stealing Horses by Per Petterson.

54. A book that you expected to like but didn’t?
Comfort of Strangers  by Ian McEwan.

55. Favourite guilt-free, pleasure reading?Agatha Christie and Nancy Mitford.