Reciprocal Daisies

It all started three months ago with a social media wish hurled in to the aether, a UK foodie and author who lusted after a sixties scarf. Pink and yellow daisies burst from the square confines of the silk, and are shakily bordered by spindly blue train tracks. 

My, it was pretty. I was intrigued. And I wondered. Could I make one? 

I’m fairly confident with my brush strokes but I had never worked on this medium before. It would need silk, real silk. And dye. Many colours of dye. I’d have to be careful not to let it meld in to a blurry mess. 

I offered the foodie and author a deal. I would make the scarf and send it to her for the cost of shipping. 

She replied that I was too kind and she would think about it. She’s still thinking about it. I may have overwhelmed her with the offer. It’s no big deal on my end. It’s a project so consuming it kept my mind humming, and it was fun. So I charged ahead for my own satisfaction. 

I sourced a silk georgette from Our Social Fabric in Vancouver. A remnant end from the garment industry, rescued from the landfill. Delivery was stalled by the postal strike, which gave me weeks to construct the scarf in my mind. 

I painted a test piece in acrylic on board to work out the order of the dyes, and where I might need wax resist. 

I finally had all the pieces on hand and I set the dyes to heat, laying two foam core boards on the floor of my kitchen. Cut the georgette to size (three pieces really. So I could test on the littles before committing to the big), pinned it to the foam core. And set to paint, talking myself through it all the way. 

Next came hemming and ironing the scarves. Noticed something interesting on the foam core. My, the daisies left behind from the process were darned pretty, bursting with zest from the canvas. 

Stalked my favourite UK foodie writer. Found out she was on vacation. Found an e-mail address. Restrained myself to a couple e-mails. After all, the poor woman is on vacation!

I am just a prairie grandma fussing and brushing and having a good old time. 

She replied! I shared the details and costs for shipping, which isn’t much as the silk is so fine and light. 

And I had my leftovers. A silk kerchief. Another square suitable for a dolly. And now a framed painting of that marvellous daisy pattern left from painting through a silk scarf. 

Great Eating Challenge

 

For the next month I am going to offer five menu plans a week using a list of basic ingredients and using the offerings of Mixed Bag. 

I will bargain shop here in Central Alberta for the main course. 

This should work well for new cooks and busy families who want to eat well but don’t have time to put it all together. 

I was impressed from the first box from Mixed Bag; a rainbow of nutritional goodness. Veggies are so much better when they are this fresh!

Ingredients to have on hand:

Bouillon; vegetable, chicken or beef

Soy Sauce

Tomato Sauce

Mrs. Dash (you can also make your own)

Salt and Pepper

Onion (dehydrated or fresh)

Cooking Oil (olive, canola, or corn) and/or butter

Optional sides:

Potatoes 

Sweet Potatoes

Spaghetti, Spaghettini, or Fettuccine 

Rice

Christmas Greetings 2021

It’s a good pandemic year if nothing dramatic happened. I have loved my garden and it’s creatures (chickadees, a chipmunk and one mouthy Siamese.)

Zucchini and scarlet runner beans flourished. I found out I inherited Irises, Tulips and Peonies. The garden charms and calms. 

Art eats my pancakes with panache. 

Dad is frailer and more forgetful but his spunk is the same.  My weekly visits have become a gift, each one.

Donald and I are building an Arduino Air Hockey game.

I get a virtual reading night with my new grandson, Jude. 

Naomi still thinks I am very cool. Ditto, honey!

Stay safe and healthy, family and friends. 

You are on my mind and heart more than you may know.  

Gratefulness #29 Storytelling

I picked this sixty year old picture of my grandfather resting with his first grandchild, Susan. Grandpa modelled the art of the storyteller. His seemingly rambling tales included details that wrapped up in a stunning punchline, and usually included a gentle lesson. 

He talked about spending the summer in a lumber camp, and the great barrels of salt pork the cook brought with him. In the weeks that followed under the heat of the day, those barrels became more fragrant. 

At this point grandpa paused. 

“We all got really good at fishing.”

Gratefulness #27 Running Intervals

I had to be over fifty to discover the magic of intervals. If I can run for one minute, I can train for any distance. 

Cardio responds to encouragement better than any fat cell, which seems bound to add to its community no matter how firmly I deprive myself. 

I head out in to the school yard. I walk for a minute, then run for a minute. The landscape governs my course as I run the diamond, score a goal, and weave between the trees. Resident rabbit is spooked. Gulls stare. Every new direction opens up new vistas and new goals. My fifteen minutes are up in a flash. 

The magic of intervals is that I get recovery time every minute. Do this for a week and then I can up my game to two minute intervals, then three. 

My body responds to the new demands as if it were born to run. The improved cardio fitness puts a blush in my cheek and a sparkle in my eye. 

I am grateful for the discovery of intervals and the folks at the Running Room for introducing me. 

Gratefulness #26 Toast

On preparing this post I have a revelation or two. First, I like things a little rough. Not too rough, mind you, just a few nibbles and nicks to fill the corners of my senses. I like the crust, obviously. Followed by a soft, chewy centre. But not so soft it falls apart in my hands. 

There’s the hint of salt of course, and the buttery cream (fully melted, please) that promises satiation. 

Even now, in post-coital bliss, there is a hint of salt on my lips. It’s enough to transport me to my countless toast memories. 

This bread is my own creation; slow fermented overnight, brushed with egg for a wonderfully crisp, golden crust in a hot oven. 

That is a heritage butter knife, an Art Nouveau pattern, “Silhouette”.

Silver patterns. Why pick that rabbit hole now? I must be distracting myself from toast.

If anything, this sensory experience demonstrates the power of mindfulness, in discreet doses.

Have a gloriously sensory day, friends.

Gratefulness #25 Unbridled Living Things

I have the deepest admiration for those people who live their values and thereby leave a lasting impact on our world. High on my admiration list are Florence Nightingale and Albert Schweitzer. 

Dr. Schweitzer walked away from a popular and successful career as an organist - he was very good at it - to live out his highest values of service. He retrained as an (adequate) doctor and opened a hospital in the Congo. 

This is what he had to say about his philosophical and ethical journey. 

“Late on the third day, at the very moment when, at sunset, we were making our way through a herd of hippopotamuses, there flashed upon my mind, unforeseen and unsought, the phrase: “Reverence for Life”. The iron door had yielded. The path in the thicket had become visible. Now I had found my way to the principle in which affirmation of the world and ethics are joined together!”

Out of My Life and Thought : An Autobiography. [Aus meinem Leben und Denken.] Albert Schweitzer, author. Antje Bultmann Lemke , translator. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press; 60th Anniversary Edition (June 11, 2009). pp154-55. Emphasis added. 

That phrase, “Reverence for Life” has stuck with me since I found it, and has caused me to re-think my values and their implications over and over again. 

I also permanently associate an unbridled herd of hippopotami, with life and reverence. 

No hippopotamuses around here, so I videotaped the closest unbridled creature. Mrs. Sparrow and her mate, making short work of my bird feeder in the quiet of the dawn.