According to my weather app it is -11*C this morning (12.2*F). Oddly enough I don't feel that cold, or at least I didn't until I noticed the temperature. haha. Funny how that goes. It was a lovely clear night last night. I got up to go to the bathroom about 2 a.m. and looked out my back window. The moon was shining and snow on the ground was glowing in the moonlight, the bare branches of the maple tree casting eerie shadows across the white. It was quite interesting. If I had not been afraid it would totally wake me up, I would have grabbed my camera. Instead I locked the picture into the memory files of my brain. I may not be able to share it with anyone else, but I can take it out and look at it any time I wish to myself.
My brain is loaded with such treasures. Finding lady slippers in the woods and being responsible enough to know not to pick them, appreciating their intrinsically magical beauty. Watching a bull in the fields behind the school with a mix of fear and curiosity, having been warned specifically never to enter the field. Standing beneath the eaves of a garage while a sun shower pours down rain from the heavens, the air lit with the smell of ozone and wet pavement. The warmth of the sun and pavement evaporating the rain almost instantly . . . I hold my cupped hand out to capture the rain, and wonder at the strangeness of it all. Rain and sun at the same time.
Our brains are wonderful marvels . . . and to think we never use more than 10% of their capacity, or so I am told.
My home smells like malt this morning. I picked up some Malt extract at the Health Food Store the other day and yesterday I baked malt bread. It baked up almost like a fruit cake and is loaded with sticky raisins and prunes. I will take photos of it a bit later on when the sun is up and post the recipe on my blog tomorrow.
I love puttering around my kitchen, small as it is. I have always loved to do that. To be in the kitchen creating something to please myself and please others. I have cooked in many different kitchens in my life. Other snapshots in my mind.
Some were very tiny and others quite large. All were home to me, comfortable, welcoming. Places where my creative juices had plenty of room to grow, no matter how small the space. I can not pick a favorite one, I think . . . in one breath, and then in the next I am back in my kitchen in Geary New Brunswick and I know that it is easily my favorite one. The one I designed myself and which was custom built in pine and oak.
The cabinets the color of burnished honey, half with glass doors to showcase my treasures. The floor pink marble, with granite countertops. A double butcher's sink lay in front of the window which was bordered with curio shelves ready to hold small treasures, and a scalloped valance carved from wood over top reaching from one side to the other. I had a pink gingham curtain which also hung from behind the valence, with hidden lighting that softly glowed in the evenings. I loved to stand at that sink and work as I looked out into the forest behind the house. Puttering . . .
I remember early one morning watching a porcupine in a tall birch tree which was not six feet from my window, the coffee machine bubbling quietly with the morning's promise of caffeine. It was very early in the day and the trees all held that golden glow from the rising sun. I stood there in fascination watching this lovely wild creature climb down the tree, using its tail as leverage, behind the protection of my kitchen window.
Oh the cakes and cookies I baked in that kitchen . . . the family meals, so much care poured into every dish. I had everything, the space, the light, the beauty. It was a kitchen that rang with laughter and with love. Yes, I do believe it was my favorite kitchen . . .
My father had asked me to call him at 7 this morning to make sure he was awake. I did, and then he asked me to call again at 7:30. I guess he wasn't quite feeling like waking up at 7. I am his human alarm clock. There is not much that I get to do for him. This is a gift for each of us. This small act of service. He was happy yesterday because the insurance company have come though with a large amount of compensation for his car, actually more than he had paid for it. We are not sure what his plans are yet. Personally, I feel that he should not be driving, but it is his choice until that choice is taken away from him. I do feel that it is too much for him to be driving to Cindy's for supper each night. It is 13 or so miles, and in the Winter months at least, often in the dark. (I just called him for his 7:30 call and now he is saying 8:30)
In any case, we are loathe to take that last bit of independence away from him.
We took his supper over to him yesterday and I had made him a bag of bits and bites. He was pleased about the insurance and also a lady friend had called wondering why she had not seen him. So that made him feel happy that he had been missed. She is going to pick him up on Thursday morning to take him out for coffee, so he was quite chuffed about that. Today he is happy that he is getting out to go for supper with Hazel. He wants to buy both Cindy's and my supper for us. I suppose because we have been running back and forth for him.
We picked him up a couple of books to read yesterday. My sister gets them, used, at the local hardware store or the Sally Ann. He likes trashy romance novels. Novels without much substance. I have gotten him other books in the past but he does not enjoy them. He likes what he likes and that is books that he doesn't have to think about when he is reading. He reads very quickly and most of the time can't even remember what he just read, so he will read them twice.
I like books that make me think. I get bored with novels without substance. I like a good story, one that carries me on a journey. One that keeps me interested, captivated and wondering. Books with some meat on their bones. I have my favorites, books that I will read again and again, revisiting them like long lost friends from time to time.
Oh how I would love to write a book. One that captivated and entranced, which held the interest of the readers. That has long been my dream since I was a child, and the dream of many others as well. Life just gets in the way. That and, I suppose, fear of failure. That is the one thing which keeps many things from being done. Fear of failure. I am reminded however of that saying . . . he who tries has not failed. Time . . . never enough . . . there is never enough time to do all the things I want and would like to do. Never enough energy either . . .
Dangit! When we were at the Sally Ann yesterday I should have looked for a vase. Then I could do my Lego flowers and put them into it. My sister did bring me my pitcher and basin the other day, from out of mom's old bedroom. I had made the set for mom many years ago in ceramics and also crocheted a matching lace doily to set it on. It is on my dresser in the bedroom now. I suppose I could put my Lego flowers in that, at least until I get a proper vase to put them in.
Diane Schiffer on Instagram always buys herself bouquets of lovely flowers every week. I admire her for that. Bringing beauty into her life. It is all a part of loving oneself I suppose. We would buy flowers for others, why not for ourselves. Why not indeed!
And with that I best end this and leave you with a thought for today. I have wittered on long enough, and the natives are getting restless.
A thought to carry with you . . .
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In The English Kitchen today . . . Corn Chowder with Dumplings. Rich and delicious creamy soup, soft fluffy cheesy cornbread dumplings. Quite fabulous and quite comforting.
I hope you have a beautiful day. We are off out to supper tonight. I wonder what we will choose this week. We shall see . . . whatever you get up to today, be safe, be happy, be blessed and don't forget!