APRIL IN DECEMBER

How pathetic ...this gloom...this heavy repressive weather! Yesterday was completely without sun, a dense grayness laid over the land, and I felt it internally each time I looked out the window. I sympathized with all of those people that suffer from SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder, and wondered if I have become one myself. I was downright close to depression by the time the end of the day came (thank goodness for Zumba, which never fails to make me feel vital and human.)

Today seems like a repeat, only worse. There is so much mud surrounding my workshop, it is nearly impossible to get to, and virtually impossible to move anything in to the almost complete basement. (How long can this drag on???)

Normally it is a simple straight shot to walk to the workshop, but these days I must walk up the left side of this slight hill, mash my way through the weeds, in order to approach the cabin with as little mud as possible.

Here I tried to approach in the 'normal' way. I am truly disheartened!

It is even worse then it looks, believe me.

This is a photo of the pine needles lying beneath our pines, and on any sunny day they are breathtaking in their golden beauty. How sad that on a day like today, these are the most beautiful things I see. Still, I am supremely grateful for their beauty.

BOUNTY

Over the past several days I have been giving active thought to that for which I am thankful. It is bountiful, so bountiful a tiny sense of shame has accompanied my gratefulness. Searching that 'shame' out, I realized that were I to reduce my bounty by ninety percent I'd still have more to be thankful for then millions around the world. I set out to write a poem about this as I sat drinking chamomile tea at 1:30 in the dark of last night. My struggle was still ongoing when finally I went back to bed, poem still unborn.

As often happens the morning after some inner struggle, a solution came to me and a different poem was born.


This is one of my favorite pictures of my parents, especially of my father holding a kettle as though it were an extension of his arm.

ON MY FATHER'S BIRTHDAY


Were my father still alive
he would be eighty-nine today.
I wonder what
in the long thirty-one years
since he passed,
would have been...
for him...
for us.

I know he'd still be the
Kitchen God of my youth
who could coax exquisite
tastes-smells,
and sheer amount
from the merest ingredients.

White chef's apron tied high
on his portly frame,
his huge brown eyes missing
not a thing
as he surveyed his Kingdom.

A tall, tall man of short stature
who loved long, sleek Lincolns
though once he brought home
a lowly Nash.

A self-trained musician
bending his alto sax
to high jazz
as we kids eagerly sat
on the scratchy, green parlor sofa...
a rapt audience,
sure he was a star...

and he could belt out a song
in his huge baritone
rich with chestnut notes
that at other times
might send us scurrying.

He was a suitcase kind of Dad-
an on-the-road salesman
hawking kettles--
not just any kettles, either
but STAINLESS STEEL
none of that aluminum for food
he'd eat or serve!

He'd be off for a week at a time
sometimes two
demonstrating his wares
in other people's kitchens...
roast beef, braised with very little water
(that was an important component)
to tender perfection in his largest kettle,

in the smallest one, ruby red beets
that he would later demonstrate
left no stain...
potatoes steamed on low heat
little water
certainly not boiled to death.

Sometimes, to my delight,
we might accompany him,
the clean-up-crew of kids.
He had a tiny office front
in Rochester, NY
where we might stay over night
if the 'dinner party' went late-
and in the morning he'd fix us
salami sandwiches,
not just any salami, mind you,
but hard salami sliced so thin
you could see right through it,
on Italian hard rolls
so crusty that flakes broke off
with every bite.
I loved this breakfast
in that tiny space,
relishing the almost naughtiness of it.

Sometimes
cooking in my kitchen,
Iris, earnest and supremely focused,
stirring by my side,
I know he has come through
(he may never have held her nor
felt the aching sweetness of her arms
around his neck)
but he is there in her,
as he has been in me...
cooking on.

AM I BLUE...

To say I am blue is to put it very, very lightly (and literally). Perhaps depressed might more closely describe how I am feeling! This workshop basement project just does not seem to go 'right' at any juncture. First of all, this project began around the first of April...mmmm is that an omen? There have been problems all along the way, this very long way, is it now eight months??? going on nine??? I am really weary of this project, and were I able to backtrack you better believe it would not get done.

I had initially thought I might paint the floor, but after going to Home Depot and consulting with their expert who said: I'd need to scrub it with a $20 gallon of special scrub; etch it with a $20 gallon of etcher; prime it with a $30 gallon of primer; paint it with a $30 gallon of paint; and repaint it with yet another $30 of that paint. This was looking rather ridiculous and expensive in money and time, so I decided not to paint.

When the floor was first laid, I thought it quite nice, close to lovely even. But as time has passed and I have worked more closely to it, I have come to see cracks, discolored places, and uneven rough spots. This in itself has been downright depressing.


However, the latest folly is my doing. When I painted the rafters, I did so on a step ladder which stood upon a very large piece of heavy duty plastic. I was either very, very sloppy, or the plastic did not do its job, because there are paint spots all over the cement floor.

Just a closer look at the colors, the 'cracks' and the paint spots.

I went to Nuzum's seeking help in removing these spots. It was suggested that I try stripper. Oh, I thought, what a great idea. I even had earth friendly stripper at home. I applied a thin coating on several spots in one corner, just to get an idea if it would work. What did it do, it smeared the paint and absorbed the stripper into yet another stain upon the floor. I'm sinking deeper now.

Here is a smeared, absorbed stain that, I think, looks worse then the 'simple' paint stain did.

So I revisited the idea of painting the floor...basically thinking I had little choice at this time.

I had purchased and installed what I think is a beautiful little L.P. gas stove to heat the basement. Although I'm not particularly fond of blue, this blue enamel was striking and I fell in love with it. I even chose a complimentary blue to paint the window sills, and I think they look very nice.

So I looked over floor paint colors again, this time more locally and with far less steps necessary. Admittedly tiny square paint samples are deceptive, I am aghast at how deceptive they really are. I went to Nelson's yesterday morning, chose a pale gray-blue from the chart and had two gallons mixed.

Pale it is not!!!

Now I will be surrounded by blue...I guess it fits my mood.

Celebrating

I am grateful beyond measure, on this my birthday, that the sun is shinning!! I am thankful for so many things in my life and abundantly thankful to awaken to yet another birthday.

As it seemed impossible to get a photo of the sun itself, I got a shot of this Christmas cactus which is blooming on a sunny shelf in the house.

The past dark days have been a bit depressing...gloomy and damp. As if the time change along with its early morning, early evening darkness, was not enough, it has been dim and cloudy during the daytime hours as well.

How welcome is today!!

RAG 'RUGS' OFF THE FLOOR

I recently purchased at an auction a rather lovely brass (admittedly quite tarnished) floor lamp. It already had an 'in good condition' somewhat attractive lampshade when a thought occurred to me that if I were to use it in my 'new' not-quite-completed basement, it would be nice to hand make a shade. Then my rapidly diminishing rag ball collection jumped out at me.

...and I thought, perhaps weaving a 'rag lamp' might prove interesting.

I also have a rapidly diminishing collection of old lamp shades that I have removed or will remove the 'shade' from, and selected the largest so that I could use it on this floor lamp...

...and the weaving began. I liked what was happening and once again was deeply struck by the work some grandmother, mother, aunt, sister had done when cutting, sewing and rolling these rag balls. Some of the fabric was so beautiful, I wanted to be able to actually show it's design

and so, I used strips of my favorite around the top and the bottom, and down the 'ribs'. It is an interesting shade, and although it does not seem to emit enough light to read by, it is plenty for accent, plus.

It has a celebratory feeling to it, somewhat like Christmas.
Excited about this project, I started another. This time I wanted to highlight the fabrics even more, and at the same time, emit more light. So on this shade, I left spaces.

Again, this was so nostalgic in that I thought I even recognized some of the fabric from my youth, which of course was far-fetched.

The completed shade...

...and lit.

This project was fueling me and I seemed to be running on high...so immediately I went on to the next lampshade. This time a much smaller one (at this point I am down to one shade frame).

I had a ball of white chenille that I thought might make a nice lampshade, so I started with that as my warp. I wanted, on this shade, to use only a couple of colors so I searched my dwindling stash and found a solid lavender and a printed lavender.

This is the completed shade.

I think this will make a sweet lampshade for a girl's bedroom. Iris and Jonel concurred, and it got promised to Iris who thought she could surely find a place for it.


I am still so taken with and stunned by the work these women have done in making these rag balls. Some of the 'strips' were quite long, but some of them were a mere 4-5 inches. These rag balls represent so much time and work, and I can imagine these women sitting around the old wood stove in a dimly lit kitchen/living room chatting and cutting and sewing. I sometimes feel their presence and thank them profusely. I wonder where I am going to get more of these rag balls? Do I have the inclination, patience and time to make them myself???????

A CREATIVE ADVENTURE

I feel as though I've been away for a few weeks, and in some sense I have. The 'nightmare' of paint cans and brushes has subsided, but did in fact consume my hours. However, at the same time that I was desperately trying to complete the painting, I was preparing to cook for the Friends of the Kickapoo Reserve's Appreciation Dinner, which was held last Saturday night. I have done this for several years, and it is a task I truly enjoy doing. It does, however, take weeks of planning and preparation.



I love scouring Italian cookbooks to come up with ideas for the meal, I love the planning of the meal, and I especially love the cooking. I have spent many weeks doing just that.

So here, in brief, is what I prepared and served:

Appitizers
Sicilian Olive Salad
Roasted Red Pepper/Onions Bruschetta
Mushrooms in oil/lemon
Sicilian roasted potato wedges

Entrees
Spinach/ricotta manicotti/meat or meatless sauce
Butternut squash lasagna
Braciola (stuffed/rolled steak) over rigitoni


Accompaniments
Mixed green salad
Crusty Homemade Bread


Desserts
Honey Pumpkin Pie
Pumpkin Cheesecake
Apple Napoleon
Chocolate Pizelles
(All desserts were 'dressed' in their finest.)

(The night of the event I did have a printed menu with all listed in both Italian and English.)


I had solid intentions of photographing all of the food items while preparing them. I failed at this, and only remembered to capture a few.

I packed my camera the night of the dinner to photograph the foods ready to serve, I failed miserably at this, and did not ever remember to take the camera out.

Of course, we served 74 people, and I was kept pretty busy the entire time.
(I had so much help in serving and plating the foods from the very volunteers we were honoring, and am so grateful! Surely I could not have pulled this off without them.)

Potatoes before roasting

Bechamel sauce simmering

Butternut squash lasagna in bechamel sauce.

...just before baking...

...along side of a salad, ready to eat...

Pumpkin Pie

...chocolate pizelles...

A brief aside:

(When I was teaching at the Waldorf School, one of the many Steiner/Waldorf 'ways of life' was to occasionally invite loved ones who had 'passed on' to accompany you throughout the day, (and I have done this frequently through the years). As my father was/is the inspiration and seat of my love of food and cooking, I wanted him along, and as the 30th of October would have been my mother's 91st birthday (and she was no slacker at cooking herself) I invited her along as well. I'm positive they had a good time, and I know they guided me in so many ways.)



Saturday night was, honestly so very much fun. I'm told the food was delicious though I never did have anything other then a few bites of apple napoleon...rather on the fly at that.

My first thought on awakening Sunday morning was to wonder, now that the dinner was over, 'what am I going to do today?' My next thought was perhaps I could do a Christmas Dinner...........???????

Truly it was so exciting and rewarding for me. I felt exactly the same way I feel when I am involved in any other art project...it was a wonderful creative adventure.

NIGHTMARES AND BLESSINGS

Here's a calm rendition of the repeated...repeated...repeated nightmare I am having night after night and day after day!

If I could shroud this in veils of black with wisps of bloody gauze it might approximate the monster that has eaten my time, my creativity, my entire days!!

It is a minor miracle that my right hand and arm can do anything other then sweep a paint brush and wipe of slops and drops of misdirected Aged Pearl paint.

Still, when I see that there are only about 6 more 'panels' and rafters to do, and see that the primer has really drawn together an otherwise disparate rather ugly ceiling, I am soothed...some.

I still see the completion distantly, but growing closer. I hope I have creative energy left to actually work in my workshop!



I am renewed, however by the pampas grass' colors and the 'flags' waving in the breeze, and by the nearby asparagus ferns that are caught between the vivid green of summer and the golden yellow of fall. They are stunning.

The gift of these colors and textures set me straight, and remind me how lucky I am and truly without problems. I can't help but think I indulge myself with the nightmare theme, when all around the world millions would give anything for my life.

Thanks to walking outdoors and seeing all there is to see and by 'shaking' me, without sternness, back into my proper self.