Wednesday Witterings . . .

 

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There was a big old AGA in the kitchen at the big house when I worked there. It lay right at the end of the kitchen near my workstation. In the Winter months it was the only thing which kept the kitchen warm. I did use it to cook on from time to time. It worked very well. I can tell you that there were no socks hanging from it. (lol) It gave much needed extra cooking space when I was cooking for a dinner party, as I had two extra burners to cook on, several extra ovens and a place to warm the plates for service, etc.  It was never on in the summer months (it would have been far too hot) and I did miss it during those times.

But that was when it got serviced. The man would come and check it all out, and then I would have to clean it thoroughly. You couldn't do that when it was switched on, and it was switched on for about 9 months of the year. It just stayed on all the time. It was not something you turned on and off at a whim. 

 

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The evening might have been ordered with the fireworks; it was cold, still, and starry, with a commendable absence of moon. And when the first rocket went up Mrs. Miniver felt the customary pricking in her throat and knew that once again the enchantment was going to work. Some things --conjurers, ventriloquists, pantomimes -- she enjoyed vicariously, by watching the children's enjoyment; but fireworks had for her a direct and magical appeal. Their attraction was more complex than that of any other form of art. They had pattern and sequence, colour and sound, brilliance and mobility; they had suspense, surprise, and a faint hint of danger; above all, they had the supreme quality of transience, which puts the keenest edge on beauty and makes it touch some spring in the heart which more enduring excellences cannot reach.
~Jan Struther, Mrs Miniver (1939)

Tonight is Bonfire Night in the U.K. The night that they commemorate the failed Gunpowder Plot of 1605 when Guy Fawkes and his co-conspirators tried to blow up the houses of parliament.

All over the U.K. people in communities will have been gathering rubbish, etc. to create a huge bonfire on which they burn an effigy of Guy Fawkes. There are firework displays, and special foods. Cinder Toffee, and potatoes baked in the fire.  Hot drinks, toasty sausages in buns and Parkin cake. The night is usually capped off with a grand firework's display. It's all very exciting.  Unless you have a dog. Dogs and fireworks don't mix well. It upsets them.

 

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I am actually reading the book Mrs. Miniver at the moment. I had no idea until just recently that it was anything more than a film which I have always enjoyed.

"Shortly before the Second World War, a column by 'Mrs. Miniver' appeared in THE TIMES, the first of many recounting the everyday events of a middle-class Chelsea family: Mrs. Miniver's thrill at the sight of October chrysanthemums; her sense of doom when the faithful but rackety car is replaced; the escapades of Vin, Toby and Judy, her unpredictable young children; visits to the Kent cottage and, as war becomes a reality, the strange experience of acquiring gas masks and the camaraderie of those unsettling early days. 

 Mrs. Miniver enchanted the public with her sympathy and affectionate humor, capturing ordinary lives and values now darkened by war. First published in book form in 1939 and later an enormously successful film, MRS MINIVER became a bestseller on both sides of the Atlantic -- with Churchill exclaiming that it had done more for the Allied cause than a flotilla of battleships."

Once I discovered that there was a book, I just had to read it.  You might want to read it as well, which is why I am sharing this with you. Its right up my alley and I felt it might also be right up yours.

This was Nutmeg laying next to me on the sofa last night. He was dead to the world.  So contented to just be laying there.  He spent a good part of the day under my bed.  The cleaners were here, and he always disappears when they come. He is such a scaredy-cat.  Cinnamon is much braver. She comes out and sniffs all of their equipment, and then just sits and watches.  Until they break out their vacuum cleaner. Then she disappears as well.

I must give her equal time. Fairness in all things. This was her laying next to me on the sofa on another occasion.

I love the way they tuck their heads in. Sometimes their paws come up and cover their faces.

This is a comparison I did of my father and I at the same age. 17. Dad had not long been in the Military.  His parents had to sign for him to join. He was so tiny that his uniforms had to be made up specially for him. They did not have any that fit. He had managed to get up to Grade 10 education wise, but if you want to go further you had to pay and of course the money was not there, so he decided to join the military, and the rest is history.

We really do look alike. There is no denying that he is my father. I think my eyes are more shaped like my mothers, but that could be wishful thinking on my part. Mom was always so beautiful. My sister looks more like our mother than either my brother or I.

Every time people see Cindy and I together, they think I am her mother for some reason. I guess I must just be starting to look really old.

I can't think of anyone I would rather have as a daughter. lol She is good people.

 

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There have been a lot of bear sightings lately.  Right here in town as well as a few other places that they are not normally seen. I can only think that because of the fires they have been displaced from their normal habitat. It is a bit scary to think of bears wandering around close by.  I have always been terrified of bears. I used to have nightmares about bears.  For years and years and years. Very scary dreams.  Sometimes they would even be polar bears. I do not think there is anything that can quite strike as much fear in me as the thought of a bear.

I think it goes back to when I was a child. I might have been six or seven years old. We were visiting one of mom's friends with her in rural Manitoba while dad and her friend's husband were out camping or fishing overnight. The bedroom I was sleeping in had a box of Muffets cereal on the dresser. It was in the hot months of the year, so the bedroom window was open.  A bear tried to get in the window.  I am thinking to get at the cereal. That is what I remember. I remember being extremely traumatized. I would not sleep in that bedroom again. 

I do have some happy memories of that visit as well. I remember mom's friend Irene making Perfection Salad. I fell in love with it. I think Cindy remembers the Perfection Salad also.

Of course it would be a food memory, right? The happy one.

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Cindy and I are taking the day off tomorrow. I have my flu and covid jabs around 10:30 and we are going to that together. (She had hers last week.) After I am done there, we are going up to a few farm markets, possibly the Cambridge Convenience store. I want to get some nuts (Pecans and Walnuts) before I start doing my holiday baking. I would like to pick up a few Winter squashes. 

When I was waiting for my car to be done the other day there was this farmer in the waiting room talking to a lady and he was saying that none of his squash was edible this year.  Small, but full of seeds. No doubt due to the lack of rain. His garlic crop also failed. I would imagine it was similar all up and down the valley.

I hope I can find some squash. Cindy had cooked some buttercup squash for dinner on Sunday, and it was so delicious that I find myself craving it. It will be an enjoyable jaunt regardless.

 

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One vivid memory of mine from childhood is the smell of burning leaves. Most people had an incinerator in their garden and come this time of year would spend hours on Saturdays burning the leaves. I don't think people really do that any longer. It might even be against the bylaws. I don't know for sure. I used to love the smell of burning leaves. 

As I look across the way at the bare branches behind those homes, I cannot help but imagine that the season is drawing to a close.  There is a feeling at dusk, a foreknowledge of short and shorter days, especially now with the time change, and pale pure dawns. I hope that the squirrels and chipmunks have all of their nuts safely tucked in.  And the tiny fawn-colored field mice are settled down to housekeeping in some burrow or thicket and not already making houses out of the things I have stored in my garage.

I have not talked myself into a mood for winter just yet. Summer's lease seems to have shorter and shorter a date, and Autumn is nothing more than a comma in the sentence of the year. It would be so nice to be able to pack away a day or two and then bring them out in January to enjoy.

 

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Even a pocketful of moments would be pleasant. Out of November I would save a moment when the haze is deepening and the shadows slant and the sliver of the unborn moon floats behind the bare branches of the maple in the back yard. The full-moon is always wonderful to behold, but there is a greater loveliness in the delicate sickle of the baby moon.

Simple things make up my treasures most of the time, and of these I have gathered in plenty.

And with that I best leave you with a thought for the day  . . . 

A thought to carry with you . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*“When the world is so complicated,
the simple gift of friendship 

is within all of our hands.
~Maria Shriver• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 

In The English Kitchen today, something to warm you up.  Hearty Green Chili Potato Soup.  Hearty, delicious and economical.

I hope you have a brilliant Wednesday no matter what you are. Whatever you get up to, don't forget!

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And I do too!