‘T was very, very long ago, in days no longer snug When giant stood about so high and pixies all were young The Queen of Fairies said one day, ‘I’m tired of honey-dew, So hasten now, and mix for me a cup of something new’.
‘It must lift the drooping spirit, it must heal the wounded heart; It must bring the smile of happiness, and bid the tear depart; It must make the young grow younger, and the old no longer old; It must make the poor contented, and the rich forget their gold’. …
… When it boiled, they cooled and poured it, so the ancient story goes; And to the Queen they brought it in the chalice of a rose. She sipped, delighted; then she cried: ‘I issue this decree; The cup you have so deftly brewed, I christen “Fairy Tea”!’.
So when you see the fairy folk “at home” in Dingle Dell, All sipping something dainty from their cups of heather-bell, You will notice they are happy, as good as fairies ought to be, And that’s because they always use their famous Fairy Tea.
Fairy Tea by D.K.S., Old Wives Tales, St. Nicholas: an illustrated Magazine for Young Folks, Volume 40, 1914
If I wanted weed, I’d just steal it from the guy next door. He probably wouldn’t notice on account of how often he’s out smoking on the back porch.
It’s not always pot. I can smell the difference.
But he does seem to make an appearance every time I step out my back door for more than 30 seconds. Every.Time.
Reminds me of Pavlov’s dog.
My basil is on steroids again this year, or so it seems. Maybe because, like all my plants, it’s learned to survive unattended. This is the third harvest. Half of this one and all of the second (having been dried in the oven) went to Hubby’s co-workers. I bagged in clear plastic baggies and sent Hubby to work with them.
I guess that kind of makes him my mule.
He said the office smelled good.
I personally like the pervasive smell of my herbs. My nose, however, does not. Both Youngest Son and I turn into Sneezy (he also becomes grumpy), and when we take allergy medication, we turn into Dopey.
But it’s not dope. It’s basil!
Dear Diary – I will never EVER purchase prepaid VISA cards! I paid a friend’s bill with my credit card (because she doesn’t have one and needed one on record) and she repaid me with these gift cards.
I had NO idea that you have to use the exact or less than amount on it, or it will be declined.
I managed to sweet talk the clerk at Home Depot to put the exact amount left on the first card on the debit machine and I got rid of it. One card to go!
Only…I didn’t get quite the right thing at Home Depot and when I returned it, the money went back on the card. Fortunately I hadn’t tossed it yet! So now I’m stuck with a gift card with $11.76 on it. Tim’s anyone??
Dea Diary – I have a great Dad. He made sure I’m prepared for the first week of September! Youngest Son is starting Grade 12! I don’t think he’s been out of bed before 3 p.m. yet this month.
Daddy dear also voluntarily took on a “design and build” project for me: a rack to display my Nanas’ rolling pins (plus my new textured one. I have yet to successfully bake cookies with it), for a small space.
He left the finishing touches for me (which could have been a huge mistake) but I managed to varnish it without drips. It only took 12 hours to do it “right”.
I think it looks fantastic. Love you Dad, more than you’ll ever know!
(And not just because you can build cool stuff for me)!
Dear Diary – This weekend, we recorded and watched some old movies. We also caught a short video from the “hosts” of The Classic Movie channel, who addressed the challenges of showing old movies. Many movies show abusive relationships, sexism, racism, and other attitudes that just aren’t acceptable any more. Nor should they be! But I did agree with their statement that history cannot, nor should it be, simply erased. We need to be reminded of the past and the actions and attitudes of people to help us fight against the actions and attitudes of people today. We need to mourn the wrongs and celebrate those who stood up in the face of opposition to work toward righting those wrongs. To erase the past minimizes the victims and heroes of a by-gone age.
Agreed, some should never see the light of day again. But some of these movies are classics, not because of the acting or the sets, but because they tackled things head-on. For example, 12 Angry Men addressed biases that interfered with justice. A Street Car Named Desire addressed domestic violence and mental illness. Look Who’s Coming to Dinner discussed racial attitudes toward mixed marriages and challenged those states for which such unions were illegal.
Modern movies and actors are also addressing and challenging past and present beliefs, but honestly I often find the political agendas a bit heavy-handed, and the motivation for popularity, stifling.
I still love old black and white movies.
Sometimes I find movies patronizing, which is the ultimate crime. Dito Montiel
We also watched Clockwork Orange this weekend, which is supposed to be a classic. I’m not sure I’d call it that, unless I were a horny, teenager. The storyline was ok, but I was not a fan of the erotic art or granny in her red pleather hooker boots and mini skirt. If I ever dress like that…lock me up! 😉
Dear Diary – I hate patronizing men!
Yesterday I went to the gas station in anticipation of an upcoming holiday at my folks with both of my boys! But as I inserted my card and pushed the buttons, a big red STOP sign appeared on the screen, telling me I had to speak to an attendant. Then it would revert to the start menu again. After a few attempts, grumbling, I backed my car to the pump behind me.
But it happened again.
Each time, I’d get to a different point, but I didn’t get gas.
Really grumbling, I drove around the island to yet another pump. And received the same treatment.
So I grabbed my wallet and thundered into the store.
I calmly (too calmly) explained what was happening to the gentleman inside and demanded an explanation.
“oh, Ma’am”, he says smiling, “you’re doing it wrong. There’s nothing wrong with the pumps”. He nodded with a smirk at the guys standing behind me. “Tell me again what you did, step by step”.
So I did. Even though I’ve been pumping gas for over 30 years!
“I don’t know,” he said, “you’ve done it wrong. Let me finish with these gentlemen”, nodding and smirking at them again. “I’ll go with you and show you how,” he said patronizingly, lips curled knowingly.
I let him have it!
Then I went to the gas station down the road.
It took me longer to drive there than it did to get gas.
It took me longer to drive there than it did to get gas.
If I didn’t have to make a U-turn and go out of my way, I would have let him have it again! In person.
I SO let him have it while I drove to my next stop.
Well-behaved somen seldom make history.
Laura Thatcher Ulrich
Dear Diary –
I wanna fly away on a unicorn / To a land of freedom and light.
Gloryhammer, Fly Away
Instead, I’ll visit my parents. And the last time I visited my parents, this creative bomb happened.
Hold your hat folks, I’m coming again! Lord willing, tomorrow!
Parenthood is a life-long journey, except it’s just travelling from room to room putting away the same toys all day long.
The single greatest lesson the garden teaches is that our relationship to the planet need not be zero-sum, and that as long as the sun still shines and people still can plan and plant, think and do, we can, if we bother to try, find ways to provide for ourselves without diminishing the world.
Michael Pollan, The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals
It’s one of my favourite smells in the world: vanilla.
It is one of the most widely used (and most easily recognizable) spice in the world, but it is only grown in 5 countries: Mexico, Madagascar, Tahiti, Indonesia and Uganda. Flowers on the vines of vanilla orchids, which originated in Mexico, are pollinated by hummingbirds or melipona bees. These flowers become pods, which when harvested and cured, become “vanilla beans”. It takes 3 years for the vine to grow, and flowers are only open for 1 day and must be pollinated within this time frame. Flowers can be hand-pollinated. Pods take up to 9 months to mature. They are about 10 cm long, and can contain thousands of black vanilla seeds.
The curing process may vary from region to region, but typically there are 3 steps:
1. Blanching in hot water to stop the maturing process and activate fragrant compounds.
2. Sweating, a months long process of wrapping and storing them in a warm, dark place and drying them in the sun.
3. Conditioning them by packaging them in wax paper and dark boxes for up to 4 weeks.
Just like tea leaves, the different climates, soils, curing methods and species of vanilla affects its flavor profile and characteristics.
Vanilla first made a recorded appearance in cookbooks in the early 1800’s. And thank goodness it did. It’s richly aromatic spice adds so much to desserts…and this morning in my cup in David’s Tea Vanilla Bean Black!
This tea combines the warmth and comfort of vanilla with the robustness of black tea. Other ingredients include coconut rasps, apple, bean peel, white hibiscus blossoms, and stevia extract. It reminds me a lot of Tetley’s Red Vanilla Rooibos, which is caffeine-free and also a very satifying vanilla treat! But unlike Rooibos, it is a rich, dark colour.
Like spending time in a garden, vanilla tea can help reduce stress and anxiety. In fact, Stanford researchers have said the chemical compounds in vanilla tea boost the brain’s production of a relaxant. Just inhaling the scent can relieve stress and anxiety in 90% of people…in less than 3 minutes.
It’s Monday! I’m inhaling…and tasting…and savouring my vanilla tea this morning…with caffeine…in the garden.
What’s in your cup today?
If you look the right way, you can see the whole world is a garden.
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop From low hung branches; little space they stop; But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek; Then off at once, as in a wanton freak: Or perhaps, to show their black and golden wings, Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
Dear Diary – I just want you to know I’ve entered the snapdragon stage of the year…part of me has snapped and part of me is draggin’! It’s gardening season!
Yesterday I armoured up and headed into my backyard to tackle the “jungle”, a long rectangular flowerbed aligning the fence next to our neighbour. Our neighbour just spent a lot of money paying a guy to landscape her oasis, and in order to be a good neighbour, I need to do my part.
I say flower bed rather loosely. It’s more like a strip of land ruled by an overlord called Elderwart. It’s a noxious tyranant who chokes out all living things in its path, and reproduces at an alarming rate. At the moment, the leaves are knee-high, and the delicate flowers that resemble queen anne’s lace, is nearing my shoulders. I realize I am not a giant among men (or women), but it’s beyond ridiculous.
I have battled this demon for over 20 years. Nothing kills it! I have dug pits 2 feet deep to remove it’s roots and offspring. I have severed and slashed ruthlessly and without mercy. Every year I vow that this will be the year I am victorious, and by mid-May, I hang my head my defeat.
I almost conquered it once, and it nearly killed me. Three Saturdays in a row from the time I rose until the evening dinner hour, I travailed, wreaking destruction and burying it under a thick, black cloth. But the overlord creeped under the cover of darkness to pop up along the edges and cracks, and seams in the cloth. I lost.
Yesterday, I laboured for an hour and a half (with a minecraft break in the middle), but only succeeded in clearing a 4’x2′ patch. I freed the sweet peas and I’m nearing the border on a lily. My knees were covered in dirt; I had pieces of tree in my hair. And today, my shoulder and butt muscles are screaming, “what have you done”?
I vow….this year is THE year I will conquer. Or burn it to the ground
Well it’s over, it’s over, it’s over, I won’t be pushed around Move over, move over, move over, Get back or just get out Set this plane up in flames It’s over, it’s over, it’s over…It’s time to burn it down!
Skillet, Burn It Down
Dear Diary – I had a TMI moment (aka Too Much Information). A TMI is the suddenly manifestation of a mental picture painted “with broad, sweeping strokes” when your brain (whether it dwells in the gutter or not) spontaneously fills in the blanks after someone says something that may be completely innocent.
The Scene
Youngest Son asked me if I wanted to play Halo. It’s been kind of our chillig out thing lately. I was rushing up the stairs at the moment.
What I said
“Sure, but first I gotta pee and grab my stool”.
The stepstool was so could finally wash the windows outside overlooking the porch. The muddy raccoon prints were painful reminders of a beautiful dream…a squirrel proof birdfeeder!
Dear Diary – It took us several hours, but Hubby and I finally scraped the mud off our boots and headed to the Mall Saturday afternoon. Hubby’s phone battery has been in the “vestibule of heaven” for quite some time, requiring charging daily so it can limp through the working hours. There are days I relate!
I got up at 9, as promised, so I would be ready to go and we could be there for the 10 a.m. opening. But Hubby was updating his laptop, so I drank tea and watched The Great British Sewing Bee instead. Then we realized my cellphone, which he was going to assume, was almost dead.
A couple hours later, we made the long trek to the Mall, very narrowly escaping collision with several drivers who drove like they were alone in parking lot! Safely parked, we headed to the nearest exit, when Hubby realized. He left his cell phone at home.
An hour later (which included a detour to the post office and a potty break at home for me after the extra breakfast tea), we arrived at our destination. Only the storefront was now part of the food court. We travelled along with the unmasked masses until we could find the “you are here” sign and find the new location.
It was a half hour wait at the store as an older gentleman argued with the sales clerk, who patiently explained over and over again until he stormed off in a huff. Our own transaction was remarkably painless, and would have been shorter had their only 2 tablets been in working condition. After a dozen attempts to write my e-initials on the screen, she went “old school” and printed out the contract.
Most of my settings, contacts, etc. transferred to the new phone, which is very similar to the one I had. The only big difference is that my cell phone hoots at me when I get a text. I’ll have to change that. For Hubby, this is the new adventure of finding all the important buttons. Most of my photos, texts and contacts are still on his phone too, hopefully not providing him with light entertainment. My ring tone and text tone are there too, so whenever the phone rings, we have to ask “is it yours or mine”? He’ll have to change that too.
Most phones come with a charger. This one did too. Only instead of having a “boy” end (USB to charge) and a “girl” end (to plug into the phone), this charger is both “girls”. Cute, but useless.
We’ll have to learn to share our one charger.
Dear Diary – Summer’s heat is coming an with it, Hubby’s complaints when I use the oven and heat the house even more, so I made a few things to tuck away. I made beet pickles, blueberry scones, chai scones…and bunny buns.
Or what was supposed to be bunny buns. They were adorable on Pinterest.
Mine looked more like an obese mixture of the dragon, Toothless, in the How to Train Your Dragon movies and a gerbil-like Pokemon.
It didn’t help that as they baked, they grew more obese, and their noses ended up stuck to the bottoms of the ones in front of them. Mmmm-wa!
Hubby complained that they were too “bready”. Ah…hello! They’re buns. Bunny buns!
I wanted to tell him to kiss my fluffy white keester, but instead, I just smiled sweetly…it makes him nervous because he has no idea what I am thinking
The next time your wife gets angry, drape a dish towel over her shoulders like a cape and explain, ‘now you are … Super Angry‘.
Dear Diary – Not only is my child faster in video games, he’s faster in come-backs. I’m not sure it’s a good thing.
On Sunday evening, phone in hand, Hubby headed up the stairs. “I’m going to call my Dad”, he said, “but I have to go to the bathroom first”.
“That’s a pity”, I said (referring to the bathroom break, not the call).
“No,” Youngest Son retorted, “it’s a duty”.
Dear Diary – Summer is fast approaching, bringing with it hot and humid days. Which means my window for baking is coming to a close. So in an effort to find joy in the current “ho-hum” of life, I decided to tackle a couple of new recipes.
The first was onion jam. It was a tearful experience…but only because I had to chop 4 cups of onions. It was also a long experience as it required constant attention, and disappointingly, yielded only 2 cups. I’m not sure I would call it “jam” as the word infers something sticky and, well….”jammy”. It was the texture of very soft and caramelized onion. But! It was delicious on a hamburger, and if there’d been bacon and goat cheese too, I would have been in heaven.
My second recipe was not really a recipe at all. I literally cobbled together an apple-rhubard crumble pie using my apple crisp recipe x2, and instinct.
Two years ago, my aunt blessed me with some of her rhubarb plants and I have been carefully watching my tiny patch. This year, it produced enough rhubarb for a taste, while leaving plenty to go to seed so my patch will grow. Rhubarb is hard to find in the city and it’s priced like gold!
She gardens…she sews…she bakes…she paints…she refinishes furniture… there’s nothing she can’t do. Except maybe skydive.
To make things easier, I used a frozen pie shell for the base, because eating was a higher priority than fussing with pastry. I’m happy to report that, for once, I didn’t have a mental bakedown. My instinct paid off, and we polished that pie off in 2 days. It would have been one but I managed to keep the wolves at bay with a wooden spoon.
This is my invariable advice to people: Learn how to cook, try new recipes, learn from your mistakes, be fearless, and above all have fun.
Julia Child
Dear Diary – I was playing Halo with Youngest Son yesterday, and in a panic, I furiously pushed the button and yelled, “why can’t I change guns?. Slightly annoyed, Youngest Son tells me, “that’s because you’re pushing the “capture screenshot” button…like 20 times”.
So…. apparently my new controller has an extra button to capture screenshots.
Dear Diary – Today I went to Home Depot to buy herbs and flowers. I couldn’t invest much in my garden during covid. We couldn’t “shop” and the selection was limited or quickly picked over. I ordered seeds onlinelast year, but most of them never grew. Only the basil, and it was “basil on steroids”. I still have plenty left from my harvest last summer – dried, frozen, and minced and made into ice cubes.
To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.
Audrey Hepburn
I have always felt there is something special about gardening. The size, the space, the colour, the texture of the garden matters not because it’s about more than growing flowers or producing vegetables. It’s about nurturing the soul. Hands not idle, yet a quiet time for the mind to reflect or meditate. A safe space for tears to flow, and a restless heart to find peace.
Peace is something for which we are all searching. Whether it’s a break from the hurriedness of life, or calmness in a storm. I believe our Creator speaks to us in a garden. Like every person, each petal and blade of grass is a different and beautiful. We just need to look more closely.
I’m reminded that when Jesus sought the Father, asking that He been spared the cross, it was in a garden. It was also a garden where He met Mary after He rose again. C. Austin Miles was inspired by this story when he wrote the hymn, In the Garden, in April, 1912. It was my great-grandmother’s favourite hymn. He writes in the first person of walking in the garden with Jesus, and the peace and joy experienced in that place.
I am aware that my new fragrant herbs and purple petunias cannot chase away the grey clouds in my life, (nor rooting out the tangle of weeds that reach my knees), but I expect I will meet with Someone who can. Already, my heart overflows.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me, And He tells me I am His own; And the joy we share as we tarry there, None other has ever known.
C. Austin Miles
Dear Diary – I’ve been putting it off for some time now, but in order to get my Etsy business off the ground, I needed photos of my cute bags with a model. Since I can count the number of friends I have on one hand, my best option was not to harass ask them. but to do it myself. But in order to do that, there were a few obstacles to overcome.
First, I needed a plain background, and my house offers neither a plain blank wall or a brick facade. We have a wooden fence but standing knee-deep in weeds, climbing over a pile of assorted boards, or figuring out how to use a power tool to remove paintings (that no longer have a picture) was too overwhelming. I finally decided to amuse my neighbours and use the straggly, hole-y hedge in the front yard.
Setting established, the next challenge was to figure out how to use the tripod. I vaguely recalled Youngest Son using it once for a school project and it being waist-high, but after several minutes of unlocking and locking toggles, and tugging on poles, I was beginning to think it had all been a dream. I could barely get the camera higher than my knees. And I’m short! I would have asked Youngest Son but he was writing a physics test and I didn’t want to interrupt him. Fortunately, before I threw it across the room, I had a rare “ah-ha!” moment, and the problem was solved.
I attached my camera and turned it on.
The battery was dead.
An hour later, having put my hair up and changed into a black knit dress and jean jacket, I headed out with a basket full of bags, my tripod, my camera, and a looming sense of dread.
It was too hot for a jean jacket!
It took several attempts to figure out how to use the timer. After several snaps of my knees, face and butt (thankfully blurry), I figured out how to make it autofocus. Sort of. But despite the gray skies and looming black clouds, the photos were washed out.
I hefted everything closer to the road and tried again. But it was the same issue. So I moved everything again, within feet of the road but under the shade of the tree.
By now, the guy across the street was watching me from his front door, several passers-by had quizzed me non-verbally, and George down the street, was pretending to work in his garden.
I didn’t appreciate an audience.
By the end, I was becoming quite a pro at guessing where to stand with 5 seconds remaining, and how to turn to hide my chubby elbows and “water wings”. Or so I thought.
I have photos.
They’re not great.
But at least I finished my project before it started to rain.
I always thought it would be fun to be a model, but quite frankly, it’s hard work taking accessories off and on, holding odd positions, and pretending it was “fun”. I’d say “I’ll keep my day job” but I’m still figuring out just what that should be.
You know why adults ask kids what they want to be when they grow up? It’s because they’re looking for ideas!
Here are the tulips, budded and full-blown, their swoops and dips, their gloss and poses, the satin of their darks
Margaret Atwood, Dearly
A tulip doesn’t strive to impress anyone. It doesn’t struggle to be different than a rose. It doesn’t have to. It is different. And there’s room in the garden for every flower.
When the road I walk seems all up hill and the colors in my rainbow turn blue You kiss the tears away, You smile at me and say ‘Funny face, funny face, I love you!’
October is the opal month of the year. It is the month of glory, the month of ripeness. It is the picture-month.
Henry Ward Beecher
Auntie M shared these pretty ornamental plants from her garden. These fast-growing perennials are called Japanese lanterns, Chinese lanterns, winter cherries, bladder cherries, or strawberry groundcherries.
The large, bright orange pods contain the fruits or seeds. They have a white flowers in July, which turn into green pods in August. By September, the pods transform into orange, which can become very deep over the winter. By Spring, the papery pods will break down, releasing their seeds for the new crop.
Oops…we’ve got company!
They can be invasive because they are very hardy and spread quickly, so while they provide excellent ground cover in a garden and colour in the Fall, they will need a firm hand.
These pods can be dried indoors and will provide colour and texture in arrangements for many months.
jennsmidlifecrisis 