Thursday, December 10, 2009
Winter Recipe For Warmth
Half package of graham crackers
Lemon or orange frosting
Separate each graham cracker into four quarters
Spread the frosting on two of the quarters
Place remaining two quarters on top of iced quarters
Repeat until all quarters are accounted for.
Place in refrigerator for 30 minutes to an hour before serving.
(Other icings can be used according to preference. The flavour of citrus when it's below freezing outside gives my taste buds the will to go on living.)
Earlier today a very dear friend of the family called to ask if we might like a bit of company. We were very pleased to say yes. She is a very busy lady--a CEO, wife, and mother so this was a rare occasion indeed. She indicated she'd come by a couple of hours from the time she called. There was the usual flurry of putting things where they belonged and a gingerly sprucing up. My mother made the remark she wished we had some nibbles to offer her when she arrived. My mind went into immediate 'host' mode.
As much as I would have loved turning on the oven if for no other reason than heat, I just wasn't in the mood to conjure up a figgy pudding or flaky pastry. I looked in the pantry and saw the graham crackers and the frosting. Voila!! Instant 'poor man's lady fingers'. I made a pot of tea the old fashioned way--loose leaf in a 'Brown Betty'. While waiting for the kettle to boil I brought out the pretty, delicate hand painted English bone china cups and saucers I brought home from Texas. Bright happy flowers inside the cup and out. The Austrian porcelain cookie plate, equally resplendent in florals, came out of exile. I poured the water from the kettle into the Brown Betty and added the leaves to let them steep. I prepared the 'lady fingers' and arranged them on the cookie plate. A mis-matched German lustreware cream pitcher and sugar bowl joined the botanical United Nations on the table. There are distinct benefits to having been an antiques dealer!!
The tea I chose to serve is my own blend of Earl Grey (for body) and Summer Berry (for crispness). After it had steeped adequately I poured the tea into a pre-warmed English pot--yes, decorated with cabbage roses--through a strainer. A quick wipe and the sterling tea spoons and sugar tongs were gleaming. Our friend arrived a few moments after the final flourish and we all sat down and lost ourselves in conversation and reminiscences.
Just a little aside for anyone hosting a tea or get-together over coffee: Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, and small minds discuss people. Make of that what you will.
When the time for her departure came she thanked us for going to so much trouble to recreate Springtime and for taking the chill out of a bitterly cold day. For the time she was here I'd forgotten it was Winter and 20 degrees outside. It was no trouble I assured her. It was a pleasure. A warm and welcome pleasure. All gold-rimmed and cheery. No, no trouble at all. It was the least we could do for giving us pause to appreciate her warmth, too.
Lemon or orange frosting
Separate each graham cracker into four quarters
Spread the frosting on two of the quarters
Place remaining two quarters on top of iced quarters
Repeat until all quarters are accounted for.
Place in refrigerator for 30 minutes to an hour before serving.
(Other icings can be used according to preference. The flavour of citrus when it's below freezing outside gives my taste buds the will to go on living.)
Earlier today a very dear friend of the family called to ask if we might like a bit of company. We were very pleased to say yes. She is a very busy lady--a CEO, wife, and mother so this was a rare occasion indeed. She indicated she'd come by a couple of hours from the time she called. There was the usual flurry of putting things where they belonged and a gingerly sprucing up. My mother made the remark she wished we had some nibbles to offer her when she arrived. My mind went into immediate 'host' mode.
As much as I would have loved turning on the oven if for no other reason than heat, I just wasn't in the mood to conjure up a figgy pudding or flaky pastry. I looked in the pantry and saw the graham crackers and the frosting. Voila!! Instant 'poor man's lady fingers'. I made a pot of tea the old fashioned way--loose leaf in a 'Brown Betty'. While waiting for the kettle to boil I brought out the pretty, delicate hand painted English bone china cups and saucers I brought home from Texas. Bright happy flowers inside the cup and out. The Austrian porcelain cookie plate, equally resplendent in florals, came out of exile. I poured the water from the kettle into the Brown Betty and added the leaves to let them steep. I prepared the 'lady fingers' and arranged them on the cookie plate. A mis-matched German lustreware cream pitcher and sugar bowl joined the botanical United Nations on the table. There are distinct benefits to having been an antiques dealer!!
The tea I chose to serve is my own blend of Earl Grey (for body) and Summer Berry (for crispness). After it had steeped adequately I poured the tea into a pre-warmed English pot--yes, decorated with cabbage roses--through a strainer. A quick wipe and the sterling tea spoons and sugar tongs were gleaming. Our friend arrived a few moments after the final flourish and we all sat down and lost ourselves in conversation and reminiscences.
Just a little aside for anyone hosting a tea or get-together over coffee: Great minds discuss ideas, average minds discuss events, and small minds discuss people. Make of that what you will.
When the time for her departure came she thanked us for going to so much trouble to recreate Springtime and for taking the chill out of a bitterly cold day. For the time she was here I'd forgotten it was Winter and 20 degrees outside. It was no trouble I assured her. It was a pleasure. A warm and welcome pleasure. All gold-rimmed and cheery. No, no trouble at all. It was the least we could do for giving us pause to appreciate her warmth, too.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
The Things We Do For Snow
Last night, the meteorologist said that snow was imminent. I went to bed repeating the mantra 'tomorrow I will be industrious' the subtext being: 'I will get off my lazy butt and do what I've been putting off'. Apparently I am my own best subliminal motivation technique because I woke up uncharacteristically rarin' to go. I gathered all the trash and recycling, bagged and canned it, and had it on the curb by 8 am.-- a good twenty minutes before my industrious neighbour. That was a very satisfying feat.
I finished my morning coffee and moved on to turning last night's scrumptious pot roast extravaganza into a delectable soup perfectly suited to the observation of this evenings snowflake ballet. Then it was off to the litter box to play archeologist sifting through the sands of ancient civilizations. This was followed by a thorough spa experience for each of my four felines--combing, brushing, new flea collars and pedicures. Divinity is hard to maintain without proper grooming.
Then I moved on to the vacuuming which included doing over the doorways (thanks, Mom) and the stairway down to my studio. Swept the porch, the garage, and the walkways. While out of doors I gathered up branches that had fallen, mulched flower beds, replaced fallen rocks from the stone wall and stacked a few more bits of firewood.
Came back in and did the dishes, the laundry, and some needlework. I stirred the pot o' soup and answered emails and finally got around to voting for the next happy California cow. It has been a full day and the soup was worthy of the appetite I developed.
I wish to thank the Gentle Readers who have sent me very gratifying emails regarding my syntactic virtuosity. I owe it all to my education in England, my years on the stage, and all the authors who've invited me into their books.
Now I must ascend the stairs to the card table where I will ignore my mother's skill at stacking the deck and allow her to kick my butt at a few games of Spite and Malice. It's an old family tradition. My grandmother's daily routine revolved around cleaning everything in sight and devotions to her bible and rosary. At night she cheated at cards like a pagan. I adored that woman!!
I believe that certain traditions should be maintained for the preservation of contentment. Besides, if Mom wins big at cards tonight, she's less likely to insist on replacing the shelf liners tomorrow. A home should be clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy. I'm shooting for bliss.
I finished my morning coffee and moved on to turning last night's scrumptious pot roast extravaganza into a delectable soup perfectly suited to the observation of this evenings snowflake ballet. Then it was off to the litter box to play archeologist sifting through the sands of ancient civilizations. This was followed by a thorough spa experience for each of my four felines--combing, brushing, new flea collars and pedicures. Divinity is hard to maintain without proper grooming.
Then I moved on to the vacuuming which included doing over the doorways (thanks, Mom) and the stairway down to my studio. Swept the porch, the garage, and the walkways. While out of doors I gathered up branches that had fallen, mulched flower beds, replaced fallen rocks from the stone wall and stacked a few more bits of firewood.
Came back in and did the dishes, the laundry, and some needlework. I stirred the pot o' soup and answered emails and finally got around to voting for the next happy California cow. It has been a full day and the soup was worthy of the appetite I developed.
I wish to thank the Gentle Readers who have sent me very gratifying emails regarding my syntactic virtuosity. I owe it all to my education in England, my years on the stage, and all the authors who've invited me into their books.
Now I must ascend the stairs to the card table where I will ignore my mother's skill at stacking the deck and allow her to kick my butt at a few games of Spite and Malice. It's an old family tradition. My grandmother's daily routine revolved around cleaning everything in sight and devotions to her bible and rosary. At night she cheated at cards like a pagan. I adored that woman!!
I believe that certain traditions should be maintained for the preservation of contentment. Besides, if Mom wins big at cards tonight, she's less likely to insist on replacing the shelf liners tomorrow. A home should be clean enough to be healthy and dirty enough to be happy. I'm shooting for bliss.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Why I Like Housework
I like housework. I probably don't do it as often as I should and certainly not as often as my mom would like. It's not that I take any particular pride in having an immaculately spotless home or I am hyper-allergic to dust or cat hair. I have always considered dust to be a natural protective covering. No, I do it for purely selfish reasons. Housework is a spiritual journey for me--an exercise in humility and gratitude.
While washing up after company leaves I look at every plate, utensil, and cup as a representation of people who like me and enjoy my company enough to take time out of their hectic schedules.
Whenever I dust I think how fortunate I am to have so many beautiful things to move. Some are heirlooms and some are souvenirs. They remind me of where I come from, where I've been, and who I met along the way.
When I go from room to room with the vacuum cleaner over those beautiful, old hard wood floors and carpets, I think how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head and walls to keep out the cold. There are multitudes who don't. And more will lose what they have.
When I feed the washer and dryer with load after load of winter woolies and flannel, linens and towels, I think about the folks who are chilled to the bone in threadbare clothing. They don't have a bed let alone linens.
When I reorganize the pantry after grocery shopping I think how lucky I am that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. A lot of folks can't remember when they ate last.
When I'm outside in the bracing Maine air picking up branches that have snapped in the latest wind storm I think about the folks who'll be sleeping tonight in far colder air than this and wishing they had these bits of wood to burn.
Housework for me is an inventory of everything I have to be thankful for. I am a chronic pack-rat. I often find it necessary to rein myself in and survey the accumulation with a subjective eye. Then I get out the boxes and start a clean-sweep from one end of the house to the other, upstairs and down. Drawers, closets,--no cubbyhole is exempted. That includes the cream corn and cream-of-whatever soups from the pantry as well. It all goes where it will gain new life and meaning in someone else's inventory of gratitude. I purge the house of all that doesn't need to be here or isn't part of what makes this 'home' for me. In the process I purge my heart of ambivalence. The house gets roomier and my soul becomes fuller. It is an alchemy that is its' own reward.
You don't have to 'give til it hurts'--just til it makes a difference. It doesn't take much.
While washing up after company leaves I look at every plate, utensil, and cup as a representation of people who like me and enjoy my company enough to take time out of their hectic schedules.
Whenever I dust I think how fortunate I am to have so many beautiful things to move. Some are heirlooms and some are souvenirs. They remind me of where I come from, where I've been, and who I met along the way.
When I go from room to room with the vacuum cleaner over those beautiful, old hard wood floors and carpets, I think how fortunate I am to have a roof over my head and walls to keep out the cold. There are multitudes who don't. And more will lose what they have.
When I feed the washer and dryer with load after load of winter woolies and flannel, linens and towels, I think about the folks who are chilled to the bone in threadbare clothing. They don't have a bed let alone linens.
When I reorganize the pantry after grocery shopping I think how lucky I am that I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from. A lot of folks can't remember when they ate last.
When I'm outside in the bracing Maine air picking up branches that have snapped in the latest wind storm I think about the folks who'll be sleeping tonight in far colder air than this and wishing they had these bits of wood to burn.
Housework for me is an inventory of everything I have to be thankful for. I am a chronic pack-rat. I often find it necessary to rein myself in and survey the accumulation with a subjective eye. Then I get out the boxes and start a clean-sweep from one end of the house to the other, upstairs and down. Drawers, closets,--no cubbyhole is exempted. That includes the cream corn and cream-of-whatever soups from the pantry as well. It all goes where it will gain new life and meaning in someone else's inventory of gratitude. I purge the house of all that doesn't need to be here or isn't part of what makes this 'home' for me. In the process I purge my heart of ambivalence. The house gets roomier and my soul becomes fuller. It is an alchemy that is its' own reward.
You don't have to 'give til it hurts'--just til it makes a difference. It doesn't take much.
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