Category Archives: Uncategorized

There’s A Bathroom On the Right

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Lyric Confusion.

Have you ever been singing your heart out and had someone squint, frown and stare at you?  What did you just sing?  That is a way of life with me. Sometimes I even embarrass myself, hot faced, when I catch myself in lyric confusion.

One afternoon early in our relationship, my boyfriend and I were driving, listening to the radio. Paul Harvey came on.  Curt had never heard Paul Harvey, a staple of my home life.  Far from home, excited to hear someone familiar, I gushed. 

He has this signature sign off, I explained. He ends each broadcast by saying The Deck!

Curt looked confused and asked *why* he said The Deck!  

I didn’t know, but I’d been listening to Paul Harvey for decades and that’s what he said every time. It’s just his thing.

Curt listened carefully and never heard him say The Deck!  But he was twitterpated, so he kept silent.

A few weeks later Paul Harvey came on and Curt thought it was time to tell it to me straight.  Babe, he said, He isn’t saying The Deck!  He’s saying Good Day!  That was the first of many corrections.

Here are a few more zingers followed by the true lyrics.

Precious and few are the moments Sweet Sue can share.

Precious and few are the moments we two care share.

I am the living magazine (??? I wondered what that meant!) of the leader of the band.

I am the living legacy of the leader of the band.

My youngest was caught singing this hymn.

He breaks the can the pretzel’s in.

He breaks the power of canceled sin.

My favorite from Creedence Clearwater Revival:

Don’t go round tonight.
It’s bound to take your life
There’s a bathroom on the right.

Come on, now….it’s your turn to tell a tale!

Frosting, Still Life, Chariots

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photo by Donna Boucher, used by permission
~  When I’m in a car, I muse on metaphors.  I see pleats in geography, accordions in foothills, belts in highways, down comforters in clouds.  On Sunday, the fields were white with frost, a typical late November morning.  My mind was groping for the right trope: sheets of chocolate cake with buttercream frosting. 

It was an aha! moment.  Frost → frosting.  Ice → Icing   Sweet!
~  Schindler’s List (*now* we may watch the movie) is a haunting read.  People dodged death one afternoon even though it was likely they wouldn’t escape the next morning.  “An hour of life is still life.”  To hold hope so tight… 
A Commandant’s morning routine was to go outside, stretch, pick up a rifle and pick off a prisoner.  The choice of victim was so random, mindless, unpredictable.  The recent Tacoma police shooting is yet another random, rattling, needless killing.   
~  Here is a hymn snippet: On the first Sunday of Advent while singing Lift Up Your Heads, Ye Mighty Gates we came to these lines.

A Helper just he comes to thee,
His chariot is humility.

We all have heard of Chariots of Fire.  You may know Psalm 20, “Some trust in chariots, some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.”  Chariots are often dazzling, splashy, flashy ways to arrive and leave.  But a chariot of humility?  What does that look like?  And why would a King of Glory ride in a chariot of humility?

This picture is challenging me. 

I naturally want my arrival to be noticed, a few more ta-DA moments, please!  Even in thinking about how I could choose the transportation of humility, I tend to romanticize the idea.  Any thoughts about chariots of humility?     

    

Hospitality Practicum

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It’s a still, quiet morning, and I have to admit that November is growing on me.  It’s a hard act to follow September and October.  But most of the hustle and bustle of getting wood in, cleaning the garden, canning, and trading tees for turtlenecks has been accomplished. 

The great work of November is preparing to give thanks.  We’re excited to have extended family and family-by-extension join us in two weeks. And I have a new cookbook this year: Thanksgiving 101 by Rick Rodgers.  Yay!

Our recent trip to San Francisco has got me thinking.  We were the recipients of gracious hospitality at every stop along the way.  Hospitality is an art; I find myself needing refresher courses at various waypoints in my life. 

The best way to learn to be a host is to be a guest.

The best way to learn to be a guest is to host others.

Here’s a short practicum on what I’ve learned over the years up through last week:

~ As a host

    The most important thing is to be welcoming.  If you can see your guests arrive, go to them to meet and greet.  Thank them for coming.  If you are in the midst of a cleaning frenzy, stop.  People are more important.

    As a host, give your guests the best you can offer.  Bestow honor.

    Give instructions in advance if your shower has a peculiar operations system.

    If you have a guest room, a pleasant basket of goodies can include bottled water, lotion, a mint, magazine, pad of paper and pen. 

    Find ways to bless your guests as they go.  A sandwich to go, a bottle of water, a bag of scones.  On this trip, one of our hosts washed the windshield and windows of our car while we were packing up.  He learned it from a motel (*some* motel!) and has done it ever since.  It was a lovely grace.

~ As a guest

    The most important thing is to be thankful and appreciative.  Express thanks for the efforts made on your behalf.

    It is good to bring a small gift: a bottle of wine, a bunch of flowers, a bottle of lotion, a book (of course), a hunk of cheese, or a loaf of banana bread. 

    Be accommodating.  That means helpful and obliging.  Help set or clear the table.  If there are young children in the house, read them a book. 

    Let your host know in advance if you have dietary restrictions.  I will gladly make vegan dishes for vegan friends; but meat is the default at our house!

    Keep your things together and out of the way.  This applies even when your host has a relaxed housekeeping style. 

    If your host doesn’t mind, strip the bed linens before you leave.

    Write thank you notes.  Really organized people leave them on the pillow.  The rest of us mortals send them within, ahem, a month’s time!  

The wonderful thing is that hosting and guesting begin and end with thanksgiving.  Gratitude is the lubricant that smooths relationships. 

Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down

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My sister-in-law first introduced me to PG Tips, which for me is synonymous with British Tea.  PG Tips is first choice among some choice local friends.   So when Angie reviewed this book, it was a given that I’d read it. 

The cover of the book shows oodles of biscuits [cookies in America] and no tea!  Well then.  The bits about tea bookend the book about biscuits.  Because biscuit appraisal is in Nicey’s blood.  Unfortunately, I have no interest in biscuits.  But I read the book because Nicey is quite funny and the whole book was a lovely taste of England. 

In short, this was a pleasant read.  If you want to get a taste of Nicey and Wifey, check out their website. Or take a nibble of these quotes.

Anyway, a nice cuppa while sitting down is the cornerstone of British society,
possibly even more important to us than television or queuing up for things.

Indeed, tea without biscuits is a missed opportunity.

The first thing you notice about an All Butter biscuit is that it is not all butter.
If it were, it would indeed be butter, and therefore suitable for spreading on toast.

Oats have long been a valuable source of sustenance
for both mankind and the Scottish.

The wafer is one of the many varied techniques whereby the food industry
persuades us to buy and consume air.

Oh dear, oh dear.
It’s the biggest-selling biscuit on the planet
and it doesn’t even know it is a biscuit.
The Oreo is baked across the world by Nabisco,
the name being a contraction of
‘The National Biscuit Company’ of the USA.

A Night at the Opera

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My brother Dan sings in the chorus of the San Francisco Opera.  Although he has sung in operas for 25 years, Curt and I have only been able to see him play a lead role in Madame Butterfly with a touring company.  One item on my “bucket list” has been to see Dan sing on stage in San Francisco. 

Thursday night it happened.  It was the dress rehearsal for Otello by Giuseppe Verdi, based on the play by Shakespeare.  We had prime seats in the “orchestra” section (main floor); hordes of vibrantly enthusiastic high school students watched from the balconies. 

I’m just going to say it: opera is an acquired taste.  I enjoy it, but I understand it is foreign territory for many.

But there is no better way to introduce, develop and nurture an operatic appetite than to see a live performance.  The Opera House provides a grand and splendid setting.  The three-story sets and lighting were superb.  The acoustics exquisite. The storyline, sung in Italian, was easy to follow with English super titles.  In short order, I was spell bound.  Moved.  Shaken. 

There is no electronic amplification.  The South African tenor and Bulgarian soprano had pipes.  But the Italian baritone who played evil Iago amazed me.  And when the entire cast was singing and all the instruments were playing, the sound went gloriously through my bones. 

The conductor turned to the audience before the fourth and final act.  The kids were not settled and the rustling noises continued.  “This act begins very quietly with a very beautiful French horn solo,” the maestro explained. “This very beautiful music needs very beautiful silence.  Thank you.”

It was a night to remember. 

You can see a three minute segment here, a video filmed during the performance we saw.    

Wendell

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— Do you call yourself an agrarian?

— Not when I’m home by myself.


  
Two salmon-colored wing chairs on an oriental rug. 
Two very tall, lanky men:  Michael Pollan  the host, Wendell Berry the guest.

Wendell Berry. 
A charming, lovely, humble man. 
In truth, so was Michael Pollan.

Pollan got to pick the questions. 
Are you hopeful? 
Have you bought a computer yet? 
What do you think of this administration’s farming policy?
Is there such a thing as an urban agrarian? 

Wendell Berry’s words were familiar.
The importance of local economies.
Pay attention to the land.
Land economy vs. Paper economy.
Community.
The value of work.

 
The undisputed highpoint was listening to
Wendell Berry read a poem he had written.
No title.
The only phrase I can recall is
“the validation of beauty.”

Warm, dulcet tones,
pleasant relaxed cadences.
A treat for the ears.

The evening ended too soon, with many topics untouched.
It still seems unreal to me.
I heard Wendell Berry speak.


It was great to share the evening with friends, old and new.
Dear Rachel, who in Berrian terminology is “part of the membership”
made this possible. When asked if we were related, my answer
was “Of course, just not by blood.”
Thank you my friend for a night I will remember.

And it was a special grace to share another evening of my life
with Diane of A Circle of Quiet.  Like I knew, my family loved you.

Why I love Wendell Berry’s fiction.

Everything I’ve written about Wendell
 

Flora Grubb

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Flora Grubb  is an urban nursery,
a pocket of delight in the midst of an industrial neighborhood.
Dan and Val were eager to show us
their favorite Saturday morning hangout.

Cactus Art? 
A small section of the wall of cactus.

 

These canvas planting bags are an essential component of vertical gardening.

When one orders a latte, one gets Latte Art.

The Anatomy of a Lovely Week

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~  Every morning begins with a cuppa, made by my brother.

~  A great solution for a small bathroom, isn’t it?

~  A new friend of ours–we met him Sunday–
has opened up a thriving cafe in Oakland called Remedy Coffee.
It has wifi, but if you are on a laptop,
you must sit at the communal table.
Small tables are reserved for
traditional cafe activities, e.g. talking and drinking coffee.
He installed an old phone.
If you want to talk on your cell phone,
you must go into the phone booth.

~  How could I have made it through a lifespan
without Bach’s B Minor Mass?
Katie asked Dan to explain the fugue.
After a short music lesson, he put it on.
Beauty beyond words.
Beyond words.

~ I recently decided that I want to devote a wall
in my kitchen to my brother’s photography.
I swear I had the idea before I saw his living room!

 

~  An absolutely delicious outing to Penzey’s Spices. 
What a fun store!
*This* much fun!


 
~  One of Curt’s college roommates came over. 
We ate.  We talked.  We listened to this.
In the old days the discussion afterwards would’ve
gone on past midnight.
But, alas, we have aged.

~  Here is the best side dish in the world:

Coyote Corn
2 T butter
2-3 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels
3-4 sun-dried tomatoes, soaked, drained, chopped
3 T finely chopped fresh basil
1/3 cup chopped green onions, including tops
salt and freshly ground black pepper

Heat butter in skillet, add corn and tomatoes until warmed through.
Place in serving bowl; add basil and onions.
Salt and pepper to taste.

Today more visits.
Tomorrow: Wendell Berry.