Sunday, 15 April 2012
Asparagus, you just have to eat one piece.
"You just have to eat one piece. You have to give yourself a chance to like it.", my mother said as she plunked down a plump piece of asparagus drizzled with butter on my plate. I knew she was wrong, but there was no sense in arguing, as my mother's pride in the vegetables she grew in the backyard garden was so strong. A kind little girl didn't want to hurt her mummy's feelings.
Surprise, momma was right.
I would give almost anything about now, to wander out to a garden to pick a nice fresh bunch, to gently steam, crown with a dollop of butter and a sprinkle of salt and a grind of pepper. With a slice of flaxseed toast and a hard boiled egg, this supper is fit for the queen.
These days wilting bunches of asparagus still rest languidly, with astronomical prices tags among the other edible winter exotica, in the larger grocery stores. These delights are shipped from far off warmer climes, at great expense. They are merely a sham and delusion of the real thing.
The real thing beats most other local plants to the table in early spring, with perhaps the exception of the hardy Swiss chard, a vegetable that also requires an acquired taste.
When I was pregnant with each of my children I would slink down to the corner store, in the city for a can of slippery, lank asparagus. Once home, the can was opened and eaten immediately, without so much as a quick visit to the microwave. I had to make do.
In time I discovered the tall, slim bottles of white asparagus in the carriage trade stores, but it was hard to justify buying "far from the real thing" for the price of a nice bottle of wine.
I live in a place where tea sandwiches remain an art form. They inevitably appear at receptions after funerals or other events of import. It is so hard for me not to appear to be the glutton, I can be, when the large heavy laden sandwich plates are brought to the tables. It is so hard to move slowly with a small luncheon plate to pick only one or two of the asparagus swirls or of asparagus rolls, the crustless wonders,
made so delicately and small, by the real ladies of the community.
Thank goodness, in the near future, I'll be able to go out to buy fresh local asparagus to have supper after supper to my heart's content, until the freshness of the following emerging vegetables catch my fancy.
Then it is time for a local specialty, hodgepodge, but that is another story.
Monday, 9 April 2012
A Shiny Little Red Ford Truck
Down the road, across the bridge, around the bend, a shiny little red Ford truck sits in a driveway and a community smiles. The quarter tonner is a new again vehicle. The rough, muddy, spring roads have added a distinctive mountain look, but the cherry ripeness continues to shine forth.
The MacIsasles have a truck. The truck couldn't have a better home. It has found itself in the driveway of one of the most welcoming homes in the county. Kitchen delights are always at ready. Sounds of woodworking rise from the basement with the fresh smell of sawdust. The wood stove continuously burns.
The shiny little red Ford truck couldn't have a better home and the MacIsasles couldn't have a better truck.
Pride of ownership is a fine, fine thing in people who don't really care much about acquiring things. The truck has brought a well deserved "Seal of Approval" to a couple who already have a "Seal of Appeal" from friends and neighbours.
This little truck is no mere eye candy. The previous owner was an elderly man who treated it with love, but the poor thing seldom hit the road. Perhaps it was a fulfilment of a long ago sixteen year old's dreams.
Now the beauty has a chance to play with the big boys.
The box has not been empty since its arrival- wood for splitting, a lawn mower for fixing, groceries for feeding, even a load of children, held tightly in parents arms took a slow ride up the driveway re-enacting childhood memories and making new ones.
In a small village a new vehicle is an event, especially if it is a shiny little red Ford truck.
The MacIsasles have a truck. The truck couldn't have a better home. It has found itself in the driveway of one of the most welcoming homes in the county. Kitchen delights are always at ready. Sounds of woodworking rise from the basement with the fresh smell of sawdust. The wood stove continuously burns.
The shiny little red Ford truck couldn't have a better home and the MacIsasles couldn't have a better truck.
Pride of ownership is a fine, fine thing in people who don't really care much about acquiring things. The truck has brought a well deserved "Seal of Approval" to a couple who already have a "Seal of Appeal" from friends and neighbours.
This little truck is no mere eye candy. The previous owner was an elderly man who treated it with love, but the poor thing seldom hit the road. Perhaps it was a fulfilment of a long ago sixteen year old's dreams.
Now the beauty has a chance to play with the big boys.
The box has not been empty since its arrival- wood for splitting, a lawn mower for fixing, groceries for feeding, even a load of children, held tightly in parents arms took a slow ride up the driveway re-enacting childhood memories and making new ones.
In a small village a new vehicle is an event, especially if it is a shiny little red Ford truck.
Friday, 2 March 2012
Good Things
Good Things
1. fresh snow
2. chickadees
3.sweetgrass
4. the scent of newly cut hay
5. Apple computers
6. respect of family and friends
7. organic brown rice
8. homemade ice cream
9. the endless tide
10. front porch
11. side porch
12. willow trees
13. nests
14. dogs of all sorts
15. chipmunks
16. asparagus
17. well cooked fish
18. bright colours
19. sun streaming in a window
20. books
21. poetry
22. red flannelette sheets
23. Canadian landscapes
24. first daffodils
25. holly bushes
26. poutine
27. fine offspring
28. fine family
29. fine friends
30. pebbly beaches
31. mud flats
32. array of apples
33. home
34. barbeques
35. shore suppers
36. local choir
37. lucky stones
38. a letter in the mailbox
39. the smell of spring
40. spring peepers
41. old houses
42. candlelight
43. thanksgiving
44. fluffy pillows
45. local food.
46. pure water
47. tea made with pure water.
48. rain washing windows
49. safe car
50. new glasses
51. clean hair
52. comfortable clothes
53. bright socks
54. favourite shoes.
55. prime ribs of beef
56. real hamburgers.
57. homemade baked beans
58. peaches ripened on the tree.
59. the sound of a brook
60. laughter
61. the smell of cedars
62. canoes
63. 4 leafed clover
65. success of a friend
66. hummingbirds
67. crows
68. flying squirrels
69. soft breezes
70. fog at the shore
71. icicles
72. well worn nighties
73. washed dishes
74. clothesline.
75. woodpiles.
76. asparagus
77. freshly cut grass
78. night skies
79. northern lights
80. bagpipes.
81. clean windows
82. clean clothes from the clothesline.
83. children's drawings
84. healthy septic system
85. endless white beaches
86. wild roses
87. huge snow drifts
88. moss
89. cows in a field
90. lupin covered hills
91. fall maples.
92. full tank of gas
93. ironed white cotton sheets
94. camp songs
95. nursery rhymes
96. warm bath.
97. silence.
98. Niagara Falls
99. unusual lists
100. cbc radio
101. health
etc.
1. fresh snow
2. chickadees
3.sweetgrass
4. the scent of newly cut hay
5. Apple computers
6. respect of family and friends
7. organic brown rice
8. homemade ice cream
9. the endless tide
10. front porch
11. side porch
12. willow trees
13. nests
14. dogs of all sorts
15. chipmunks
16. asparagus
17. well cooked fish
18. bright colours
19. sun streaming in a window
20. books
21. poetry
22. red flannelette sheets
23. Canadian landscapes
24. first daffodils
25. holly bushes
26. poutine
27. fine offspring
28. fine family
29. fine friends
30. pebbly beaches
31. mud flats
32. array of apples
33. home
34. barbeques
35. shore suppers
36. local choir
37. lucky stones
38. a letter in the mailbox
39. the smell of spring
40. spring peepers
41. old houses
42. candlelight
43. thanksgiving
44. fluffy pillows
45. local food.
46. pure water
47. tea made with pure water.
48. rain washing windows
49. safe car
50. new glasses
51. clean hair
52. comfortable clothes
53. bright socks
54. favourite shoes.
55. prime ribs of beef
56. real hamburgers.
57. homemade baked beans
58. peaches ripened on the tree.
59. the sound of a brook
60. laughter
61. the smell of cedars
62. canoes
63. 4 leafed clover
65. success of a friend
66. hummingbirds
67. crows
68. flying squirrels
69. soft breezes
70. fog at the shore
71. icicles
72. well worn nighties
73. washed dishes
74. clothesline.
75. woodpiles.
76. asparagus
77. freshly cut grass
78. night skies
79. northern lights
80. bagpipes.
81. clean windows
82. clean clothes from the clothesline.
83. children's drawings
84. healthy septic system
85. endless white beaches
86. wild roses
87. huge snow drifts
88. moss
89. cows in a field
90. lupin covered hills
91. fall maples.
92. full tank of gas
93. ironed white cotton sheets
94. camp songs
95. nursery rhymes
96. warm bath.
97. silence.
98. Niagara Falls
99. unusual lists
100. cbc radio
101. health
etc.
Saturday, 25 February 2012
All Times are not Good Times
All times are not good times. Right now is one of those times. That does not mean there can't be good times in bad times. Nevertheless, some times are bad times. Sickness sucks.
Cancer is a nasty word. Maybe the word is not nasty, but what it stands for is. Cancer was discovered growing in someone important to me.
The good news is that the cancer was effectively removed and will not likely return.
The bad news is the removal of the cancer has harmed a body and taken one person a little too close to death's door.
The good news is the crowd of fine people who came to stand by a hospital bed, who sent messages, who baked goodies, who searched out radios, who called frequently and who didn't call when rest was needed for gathering strength.
We all hope it won't be long before the patient is freed from the confines of the hospital soon and will once again have the opportunity to see the flock of robins that arrives this time of year, the ravens and crows cavorting in the air and the grass getting ever greener.
Cancer is a nasty word. Maybe the word is not nasty, but what it stands for is. Cancer was discovered growing in someone important to me.
The good news is that the cancer was effectively removed and will not likely return.
The bad news is the removal of the cancer has harmed a body and taken one person a little too close to death's door.
The good news is the crowd of fine people who came to stand by a hospital bed, who sent messages, who baked goodies, who searched out radios, who called frequently and who didn't call when rest was needed for gathering strength.
We all hope it won't be long before the patient is freed from the confines of the hospital soon and will once again have the opportunity to see the flock of robins that arrives this time of year, the ravens and crows cavorting in the air and the grass getting ever greener.
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
Pink Day
Valentine's Day is not right up there with the holidays I enjoy. Sure it is a friend's birthday, no doubt it is many people's happy anniversary or not, but to be truthful it is a day I detest. The day is one day up from Friday the 13th. I don't like the days of love enforcement.
So I will concentrate on thinking of Pink Day today.
I spent the Christmas holidays at my daughter's house with my two sweet, spunky, young grand daughters. My grand daughters spent Christmas Day and the days surrounding it with their daddy and their other grandparents out of town. They had a wonderful time.
When they returned, we had places to go, people to see, things to do, but we needed a Celebration, a low key, one of a kind, stressless celebration. My daughter is a star creator of celebrations, but was fully involved with handy person jobs.
Hmmm. Two little girls three and six.
I am not a big fan of Barbie. They have wonderful times "playing Barbie", but for this celebration Barbie was not a guest. I think for the girls, Princesses have almost reached a saturation point. However there was always the colour Pink.
Before I left Nova Scotia, I began to search out small, things pink that would be of interest to the two little girls. Pink felt markers, Pink computer paper with Pink roses, Pink food colouring for Pink cupcakes with Pink icing, Pink sprinkles, Pink serviettes. Their auntie found delicate pastel fairies to go atop the cupcakes. My biggest investment was in matching cozy, Pink plaid pyjamas for the two little girls and their mummy and me.
On Pre-Pink day, as their mum painted Pink baseboards, in the bathroom she was transforming, we made the cupcakes. When interest waned, they went out to play in the snow as I carried on. They were definitely there for the icing part.
That night we all went to bed in our Pink pj's. Pink morning was much like any morning. There may have been a Pink cupcake or two at breakfast. As the day went on, we set a Pink table, and successfully and unsuccessfully put up some Pink decorations
Then it was time for the games. We made creatures out of Pink pipe cleaners. We drew Pink pictures on the Pink paper then guessed at what each person had drawn. There were gales of laughter, when we finally guessed the inspiration of my daughter's Pink drawing. Let us just say it was an anatomical Pink part of their black cat Betty Consuela.
We ate our dinner, toasted Pink Day with a healthy Pink drink in Pink paper cups, that was definitely not a hit and ate our Pink ice-cream and maybe another Pink cupcake. We wiped our mouths with the Pink napkins. So ended the Celebration.
I think I'll sleep in my cozy, Pink plaid pyjamas tonight.
So I will concentrate on thinking of Pink Day today.
I spent the Christmas holidays at my daughter's house with my two sweet, spunky, young grand daughters. My grand daughters spent Christmas Day and the days surrounding it with their daddy and their other grandparents out of town. They had a wonderful time.
When they returned, we had places to go, people to see, things to do, but we needed a Celebration, a low key, one of a kind, stressless celebration. My daughter is a star creator of celebrations, but was fully involved with handy person jobs.
Hmmm. Two little girls three and six.
I am not a big fan of Barbie. They have wonderful times "playing Barbie", but for this celebration Barbie was not a guest. I think for the girls, Princesses have almost reached a saturation point. However there was always the colour Pink.
Before I left Nova Scotia, I began to search out small, things pink that would be of interest to the two little girls. Pink felt markers, Pink computer paper with Pink roses, Pink food colouring for Pink cupcakes with Pink icing, Pink sprinkles, Pink serviettes. Their auntie found delicate pastel fairies to go atop the cupcakes. My biggest investment was in matching cozy, Pink plaid pyjamas for the two little girls and their mummy and me.
On Pre-Pink day, as their mum painted Pink baseboards, in the bathroom she was transforming, we made the cupcakes. When interest waned, they went out to play in the snow as I carried on. They were definitely there for the icing part.
That night we all went to bed in our Pink pj's. Pink morning was much like any morning. There may have been a Pink cupcake or two at breakfast. As the day went on, we set a Pink table, and successfully and unsuccessfully put up some Pink decorations
Then it was time for the games. We made creatures out of Pink pipe cleaners. We drew Pink pictures on the Pink paper then guessed at what each person had drawn. There were gales of laughter, when we finally guessed the inspiration of my daughter's Pink drawing. Let us just say it was an anatomical Pink part of their black cat Betty Consuela.
We ate our dinner, toasted Pink Day with a healthy Pink drink in Pink paper cups, that was definitely not a hit and ate our Pink ice-cream and maybe another Pink cupcake. We wiped our mouths with the Pink napkins. So ended the Celebration.
I think I'll sleep in my cozy, Pink plaid pyjamas tonight.
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
Life's Arrivals and Departures
Beautiful babies, amazing pieces of new humanity, continue to emerge into my life, bringing so much love with them.
These babies are not only my grand children, although to be truthful there is a special spot set aside for them in my heart, but also the extended family's babies, my friends' grandchildren both near and far, the babies of my daughters' friends, the babies of my neighbours and the baby I passed in the grocery store, who gave me a wonderful smile this morning.
The winds of change swirl. What lies ahead for these sweet souls?
As these babies arrive, the grand old dames move off toward new horizons. Just as the babies bring love, hope and innocence into our worlds, these women of force, wisdom and grace move us forward into the adventure of the unknown.
They were once the babies of love, hope and innocence.
Life is a challenging enterprise. These women, living into their nineties, some even passing the hundred year mark, are proof that it is possible to find strength to embrace sometimes with courage, sometimes with joy, sometimes with courage and joy what life offers.
Recently, an elderly summer neighbour died. I valued her friendship. In her nineties she had her small cottage moved back from the cliff. This was no small undertaking. The cliff through time was moving ever closer, as the mighty winter storms crashed the waves against the rock. The act is one of endless metaphors.
The spark of her living that shone out through her eyes will remain at this spot forever. A piece of another's living is left behind and a piece of my living moves forward.
These babies are not only my grand children, although to be truthful there is a special spot set aside for them in my heart, but also the extended family's babies, my friends' grandchildren both near and far, the babies of my daughters' friends, the babies of my neighbours and the baby I passed in the grocery store, who gave me a wonderful smile this morning.
The winds of change swirl. What lies ahead for these sweet souls?
As these babies arrive, the grand old dames move off toward new horizons. Just as the babies bring love, hope and innocence into our worlds, these women of force, wisdom and grace move us forward into the adventure of the unknown.
They were once the babies of love, hope and innocence.
Life is a challenging enterprise. These women, living into their nineties, some even passing the hundred year mark, are proof that it is possible to find strength to embrace sometimes with courage, sometimes with joy, sometimes with courage and joy what life offers.
Recently, an elderly summer neighbour died. I valued her friendship. In her nineties she had her small cottage moved back from the cliff. This was no small undertaking. The cliff through time was moving ever closer, as the mighty winter storms crashed the waves against the rock. The act is one of endless metaphors.
The spark of her living that shone out through her eyes will remain at this spot forever. A piece of another's living is left behind and a piece of my living moves forward.
Wednesday, 1 February 2012
P.J.s Too Late in the Day ?
Here I sit at the table in the kitchen wearing my turquoise blue wool socks, my plaid pink cozy pj bottoms, a pink oversized top, covered by a traditional red dressing gown.
The snow is steadily and softly coming down. The roads seem ok here by the shore, but I think the schools are closed. The kettle is boiling water for a second cup of tea.
The trouble is the time is 12:45 pm. What are my ancestors thinking? My grand father came from the "five to seven victory, five after seven defeat" school of thought concerning morning rising. Actually, it wasn't just the rising, it was t he "getting dressed and up and at 'em element" that was more challenging.
To be honest, I would be very comfortable if I could set aside the sense of transgression. Let's hear it for the "my house, my rules attitude". There are no cows to milk or in my grandfather's case no souls to save. There are no doubt, many souls to save, but I'm not going there.
Tap. Tap. Tap on the side door. "@#*&" I have company. Helloooooooooo! Whew!
My friend, from up the hill, dropped in for a tea on the way from getting the mail at the road. She doesn't count as a visitor, as we have been friends since our early teens. I am sure there are still secrets to discover, but a case of possible sloth is of little shock and less interest to her.
The clock keeps ticking. The time is now 1:59. The bell, in my centre of well being, is about to ring.
I am about to get sensibly dressed, bring wood in for the fire, put away the clean clothes, make a try at sweeping clear the kitchen floor.
Then it will be time to do some real living. I will once again take some time to watch the new video of my beautiful baby grandson, enjoying sitting in his Bumbo. He is looking every bit as wonderful with his new blue woollen hat with tiny ears, as the little fellow in "Where the Wild Things Are". Not a bad reward, eh?
................................................................... and she's off.
The snow is steadily and softly coming down. The roads seem ok here by the shore, but I think the schools are closed. The kettle is boiling water for a second cup of tea.
The trouble is the time is 12:45 pm. What are my ancestors thinking? My grand father came from the "five to seven victory, five after seven defeat" school of thought concerning morning rising. Actually, it wasn't just the rising, it was t he "getting dressed and up and at 'em element" that was more challenging.
To be honest, I would be very comfortable if I could set aside the sense of transgression. Let's hear it for the "my house, my rules attitude". There are no cows to milk or in my grandfather's case no souls to save. There are no doubt, many souls to save, but I'm not going there.
Tap. Tap. Tap on the side door. "@#*&" I have company. Helloooooooooo! Whew!
My friend, from up the hill, dropped in for a tea on the way from getting the mail at the road. She doesn't count as a visitor, as we have been friends since our early teens. I am sure there are still secrets to discover, but a case of possible sloth is of little shock and less interest to her.
The clock keeps ticking. The time is now 1:59. The bell, in my centre of well being, is about to ring.
I am about to get sensibly dressed, bring wood in for the fire, put away the clean clothes, make a try at sweeping clear the kitchen floor.
Then it will be time to do some real living. I will once again take some time to watch the new video of my beautiful baby grandson, enjoying sitting in his Bumbo. He is looking every bit as wonderful with his new blue woollen hat with tiny ears, as the little fellow in "Where the Wild Things Are". Not a bad reward, eh?
................................................................... and she's off.
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