I laughed

 When I want to wash my face, I shut the bathroom door to keep Daisy out; she will come in when the faucet turns on and get in the way. Sometimes, I don't shut it, and then have to put her out of the room. Last night, rather late, I went in and didn't bother. Of course she came in. I didn't put her out, either, thinking what the heck. So I ran the water to let it heat up, and she was all over the sink. I soaped up my face, while she, below my hands, roamed around the edges, peering into the water. And I started laughing. It was entirely ridiculous, me, trying to get at the running water, and Daisy, oblivious to my purposes, trying to study the thing that fascinates her above all else. It was a good laugh.

sic transit gloria mundi

 Last week an old gentleman came into the library; he was looking for another book by a favorite author. I told him where to find it, but when he didn't come right back, I went over. It was in the wrong place, but not far off (thankfully), but he lamented his inability to locate it, telling me he was eighty nine years old.

This often happens to patrons: they can't find their book, and we go over and there it is. It has nothing to do with their age. But on his way out, I heard him say something aloud, but to himself, in Latin, and I wrote down what I heard, knowing that Google would most likely fill in the blanks for me. What he had said was, "Sic transit gloria mundi"; "Thus passes the glory of the world." 

What he was really talking about was his own "glory," his youth and supposed ability to find library books! 

Today, a frequent patron was called by one of our staff about an overdue, and she insisted she'd returned it. I went over to where it should have been, and didn't see it. Two more of us looked, but we didn't find it. After puzzling over it, a fourth staff member went over and there it was - where it was supposed to be.

This last employee is the youngest of us, at - well, I think he's nineteen. I told him his brain is young and fresh. Meanwhile, like this old fellow, I can also say, "Sic transit gloria mundi." 

work

 It's Labor Day over here in the U.S. It doesn't have a lot of meaning for the residents as far as I can tell, but it's a holiday, which is always nice. 

 I was finishing up my reading of Esther de Waal's, Seeking God: the Way of St. Benedict:

"...Christ is to be found in the circumstances, the people, the things of daily life. St. Benedict hopes that if we are continually aware of this we shall life our hearts to him and in this way our whole life will become a prayer in action. 

The work of God has two senses: our offering to God and his work in us. ... that we live open to grace. 

Daisy oversees my washing of the table

The beauty in the world, making things fit, and life with Daisy

 "The old way of thinking about the world helped heal the 'tragic dilemma' of being human."

                                                 -  Jason M. Baxter

The cherry has begun to bloom.

I don't think any other tree blossoms are more beautiful.

Several years ago I did a repair on my bathrobe, replacing the bodice part which was worn. I traced the robe's upper part and made a pattern; I was so afraid of making it too small, that it ended up too roomy. I put up with it until now. 

It's got a dolman sleeve, with the seam going from the side neck edge, over the shoulder and down the arm. It needed taking in about an inch up there, so I just re-did the seam from the neck and then tapered it down to nothing by the time I went over the shoulder. It's just right now! 

I received the tracing paper a day late and was working, so I haven't gotten back to the dress. But I am beginning to think it would be much nicer looking if I lined it. I'm not sure I'll like the way it hangs if I don't do it. Bother. But before I put the green thread in the machine I want to make a few cleaning cloths that I like to use in the bathroom. Just seven inch squares of cotton, zigzagged around the edge. They work very well for cleaning in there.

Have you ever seen such a sight as this?

Double jointed is hardly the word to describe her. 

Anyway, before my brother came home for lunch, I heard things falling in his room; I looked, and there was an accordion file folder she had tipped over or something, and then dragged it to the doorway. I left it, so he'd see the full force of her exertions. I think he was suitably impressed. 

My "project" today was to make a special dinner just because it's my brother's name day. I was going to make chicken soup, and I did, but I had pinned a recipe for one of those vegetarian loaves, and I made on with mushrooms, brown rice, sun-dried tomatoes, kale and lots of other tasty stuff, but no cheese. I substituted different mushrooms, and kale for spinach, but recipes are just suggestions anyway. Very nice! And then I made a healthy dessert with ground up dates and assorted nuts, a kind of brownie. I didn't have pistachios, but I had cashews. I used what was around and it is good - I highly recommend it!

"The saints in heaven, as they are variously described in Paradiso, shine brighter than stars, move more swiftly than lightning, produce a more lovely harmony than the planets, glow like an unending sunrise, smile more radiantly than the sun, rush swifter than cold, mountain winds. Each saint outdoes, as it were, the entirety of the old celestial order. A saintly soul is a new creation, and the re-creation of a human being is as dramatic an event as God's creation of the first cosmos."

                      - Jason Baxter, talking about C.S. Lewis' admiration for Dante's Divine Comedy

            from The Medieval Mind of C.S. Lewis

what next?

 Okay. While getting ready for work, I heard my brother, Come 'ere, come here, hurry!
I thought it must be a bear in the backyard or something. I came out of my room.

He was in the bathroom, and there was Daisy, sitting on the toilet tank, the Kleenex box on her head. Vertically. I mean her head was in the box. She sat quietly so I ran to get the camera. Took a (lousy) photo and removed the box from her head. 

She didn't cry, or struggle. I suppose if we'd been at work, she would have figured it out herself.*

Oh, you should have been there.

*now I'm starting to wonder what really goes on all day with those two

the earth is full of the goodness of the Lord

I am already finished with the reading challenge I was following! I didn't expect it. It's the third year they've issued one, and I didn't finish the first. The second, I barely made it, but it felt like work. And then when they offered this year's, Angelina said that the books she wanted to read just seemed to fit into the reading challenge. This seemed incredible to me, but I thought I'd try it. And that's just how it was! So, it's October and I'm done. Not done reading, though. 

 

I heard a loud thud coming from the living room, and was almost afraid to look. But Daisy had knocked over the scratching post, and was wrestling with it. She's done this more than once - I guess she wants to teach it a thing or two. So cute. 

I feel inclined to re-read Matthew Crawford's Shop Class as Soulcraft. He is a motorcycle mechanic, among other things and he sees a problem in our distance from understanding how things work, things which are among us as everyday objects. He says: "A decline in tool use would seem to betoken a shift in our relationship to our own stuff: more passive and more dependent." I think of sewing; I need to make time for my projects, rather than hope I can fit them in. It's been a real problem lately. 

My brother just called to me - Daisy ate a piece of tomato. I tried to tell him she'd done this before - hadn't she? But no, it was Annie. (Having a blog can be very useful at times.) So, it seems we have tomato-eating cats. Not sure it's a good thing.

We have marigolds still thriving outside, and I know calendula is in lots of homemade salves, good for soothing the skin. But I think ours are tagetes, not calendula, so I will not be making anything with them. 

behind the scenes

 It's been rather gloomy lately, and dark in the afternoon kitchen, so I got out - I think it's the last - one of those battery candles to brighten things up. And it does! It goes on just before six, and is lit for six hours, which is pretty when the other lights are out.

Later, a conversation: 

My brother: Don't you think you should move that light in the corner cabinet? The cats could get at it.

Me: Really??  (it is on the top shelf......)

Bro: They have all day to plot and plan.

Me: (speechless)

Well, I probably shouldn't call that a conversation. 

birds singing, threads breaking

 It's wonderful to hear the birds singing so much. The cardinals are whistling, robins are laughing. Everyone is busy doing spring things. Dolly is feeling cold lately it seems, because she's been wanting to burrow.

I made the cake; it came out of the pans beautifully. Always a relief. I found a broken thread on my linen dress with the tucks - the one I put on backward once - maybe you remember. 

I went into my embroidery floss, looking for an exact match - and actually found one! It will be easy to repair.

reflecting Christmas

 "Surely happiness is reflective, like the light of heaven; and every countenance bright with smiles, and glowing with innocent enjoyment, is a mirror transmitting to others the rays of a supreme and ever shining benevolence. He who can turn churlishly away from contemplating the felicity of his fellow beings, and can sit down darkling and repining in his loneliness when all around is joyful ... wants the genial and social sympathies which constitute the charm of a merry Christmas."

                                                                          -  Washington Irving, from The Sketch Book

a short conversation

 The phone rang. I picked it up.

me: Hello?

OP (the other person): Who's this?

me: Hello?!

OP: Who is this?

me: Did you call me?

OP: This is a call-back. I'm calling you back!

me: I didn't call you!

OP: I got a call from this number; I'm calling you back!!

me: I did not call you!

OP: Then, why is this number showing up on my phone?

me: Because certain people have software that does this to be funny  - I assure you, I did not call you. So, anyway, whoever you are, have a nice evening!

OP: And you, as well!

me: Good-bye!

OP: Good-bye!

This has happened before. Maybe with caller ID it's not an issue, but this phone I used doesn't have it. 

grace

 I just read this:

Nothing is more repugnant to capable, reasonable people than grace.

-   John Wesley

from sublime to ridiculous

Someone gave this lovely basket to my brother filled with juicy tomatoes and even a dish towel. Very thoughtful. 

Tonight I combined all the cherry tomatoes with a can of cannellini beans, olive oil, salt, pepper and some chili powder, into the oven at 375 for somewhere around 40 to 50 minutes. Added some fresh Italian parsley and dried basil. I'd just seen an Elliott Homestead video where she made it and it caught my eye. Of course, I know my brother views small baked tomatoes as shrunken heads* - yes, I did remember it - but they were going to go and this looked awfully good. And it was! And he just came to me to see if he could eat the rest of it - yes!

*I had previously thought he called it bog people but now I realize it's shunken heads.

Before Henri the storm was due, I cut a clutch of red roses from the bush and brought them in.

They're still looking pretty good. 

The binding was disintegrating on my brother's summer blanket. I wanted to make a cotton binding to replace it, but I don't have any fabric which strikes me as really looking nice with it. Then I found a packet of blanket binding somewhere in a drawer. The blanket is tan, the binding light blue, but I like it.

It's a well-loved blanket with a patch, but we don't bother about such things - he likes it. And I realized after removing the old binding that it's there just for show, nothing is going to fray. There was only enough for one end and I'm going to leave the other end without.

In an etsy shop, there was a key fob with a saying on it:

"The problem with quotes on the internet is that you cannot confirm their validity."

-  Abraham Lincoln

now you see it, now you don't

 I think this is how I'm going to do the lace "collar"

I first pinned the sections further back at the shoulder seam, with a gap in the middle of the neckline; that looked all right, but then I thought I could maybe gather a length of it and stitch it along the whole front of the dress, but it didn't take long for me to change my mind about that - it might be clownish. So, I tried it like this. I don't mind that the sections don't reach to the shoulder seam, as I am aiming for a funky collar look, anyway. I'm not trying to make it look real. So, the upper edge of the lace pieces is just folded over the neckline and I guess I'm just going to hand-stitch it in place. I didn't know any other way to do it - I felt I had to bind the neckline first as I usually do and then figure out the lace. I've sewn several versions of this pattern (over-the-head, a-line dress), and I like finding ways of making each one distinct.

Okay, now this will be one of the strangest things you've seen this year.

This is a skirt. It's a heavyish cotton knit, in a "natural" background color, with blue and white flowers. I'd noticed a slight stain, visible only to me probably, but I put it in the Oxi Clean to soak and got lazy and left it there more than two weeks. But along the way, I thought it had turned this light purplish color. Now, I'm always soaking something or other in Oxi Clean and the only thing it does is get the stain out, eventually. This skirt is entirely made of cotton. I saw it in there, and thought, well, I suppose I won't mind having a skirt in that pretty shade, but I was in a lazy spell and I still left it in the Oxi Clean. I even threw in some other items, and stirred things up. This didn't affect anything else in this way, but some of the purple skirt stuck up into the air, and when I finally took it out, the part in the water was purply, but not the rest. As you see, above. 

Well. I rinsed it out, and decided to just pin it up on the clothesline and figure out what to do with it when it dried. Well! It's fine now! If this isn't the weirdest episode in my history of doing laundry, nothing else could be. I did notice that when I hung it outside, it was getting dark and it seemed almost phosphorescent. I suppose there's an explanation for it, and I'd like to hear it. But anyway, the stain is gone - ha! I should hope so, considering how long it soaked. And the skirt is put away for now. And I refuse to be afraid of Oxi Clean.

good intentions

 I often have the intention to come here and post, and then something gets in the way. It could be tiredness, computer troubles, interruptions - whatever it is, I wonder if I need a new schedule. 

this person is not responsible for my lack of posts

We have had the most un June-like weather this month - many days over ninety. And more to come, through the month's end. Meanwhile, I made ice cream, naturally.

French Vanilla, with cacao nibs. I'm not a vanilla girl, but French - there's something about it. I just realized that my 1975 Betty Crocker cookbook has ice cream recipes in it; I've tended to use it as a reference, not always looking for particular recipes. It had three yolks and a tablespoon of vanilla. You could smell it all over; there are worse things.

Speaking of food, I've been buying different pasta shapes lately - let's say, in a spirit of adventure. I got some radiatore. I never thought about the name.

Radiators, of course! And they look like it. We think Italian is so romantic, don't we? But they are calling their pasta "little worms". (vermicelli), "little tongues" (linguini). Totally practical. According to Frances Mayes, there's one called "choked (or strangled) priests". I don't know the name, and can't imagine the shape. 

I'm in the middle of making a list of things I might want to make for July 4th. 

"Somehow the main function of a list is to make me feel well organized. Practically speaking, they aren't much use, as I invariably mislay them. I make careful grocery lists and leave them behind when I go to the village. But it is nice to know that when I get home I'll know what I forgot because the list is under the coffeemaker right where I left it when I unplugged the pot."

                                                     -  Gladys Taber
"

the sublime and the ridiculous

 I would love to have a Christmas tree in every room, but can't figure out how yet - too much clutter, I guess. Still, in the kitchen I put a small, rustic tree on a catch-all shelving unit. The little tree has lights, and is really cheery there, so I always make room for it. 

Next to the cat dishes.

more butter

 A few days ago I was somewhere online, not sure where but it may have been Instagram, and somebody had made scones. She said she used more butter than called for - maybe double? - and she always does that. My thought was how unnecessary. 

Meanwhile, yesterday I baked some scones from my little scone recipe book. Gingerbread scones - sounds delightful! I baked them for the minimum amount of time called for; they came out dry. I mean, baking them for less time wouldn't have improved them much, the recipe really needs  -   more butter. 

I've made scones many times, and have noticed some are softer than others - fat content, I guess - but never made any which seemed too dry. It's funny that it happened right after I made that judgment. I guess her scones really needed more butter, and she knew it. And I have to work on not being so critical. :)

stuff and bother

 I thought it would be nice to exercise my brain and do some memory work. This hymn was sung at Mass Sunday, it was the first Sunday of Advent, it's an Advent hymn, so. 

The words are in a book I've had for a number of years; I focus on a couple of lines every day, and at this point I've (almost) learned the first section. 

Wake, awake, for night is flying,
The watchmen on the heights are crying,
Awake, Jerusalem, at last!

Midnight hears the welcome voices
And at the thrilling cry rejoices:
Come forth, ye virgins, night is past!

The Bridegroom comes, awake,
Your lamps with gladness take, alleluja!
And for his marriage feast prepare
For ye must go to meet him there.

Okay. Today I thought of it, didn't have the book with me and couldn't remember something, so I googled the lyrics. I happened on a Catholic site, and - guess what?  Well, this song was written in another language. So, there are translations. So, I landed on a different translation. Oh, brother!

 A fine kettle of fish. Here I am, trying to do something worthwhile, and - this. I'm Catholic, I suppose I should know the Catholic version, the one which is sung in church. Except, I'm not sure which it was because last Sunday was before I started memorizing it. And the hymn books are gone, along with every else that's put away because of COVID. So. 

Then there's the fact that I have become attached to these words I've learned. Oh, for Pete's sake. 

Sweetie and other things

My brother went outside to water the garden after work, and thought he heard a rustling or something underfoot. He looked down to a depression which we suppose was made by rabbits and he saw some movement, under the surface. I want to know this: if they're living in the garden, why aren't they eating it?

The little Orphan dragged the lap-sized afghan off the living room chair and into the kitchen, leaving it there on the floor. Sorry I missed that.

The vet called us last week - Sweetie has cancer. It is an aggressive type, and she said she's got three to six months to live. 

three pretty things, and one ridiculous

Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous?

She was actually dozing in that position.

I looked out and saw a contrail lit up near the morning sun - it was prettier than this -

I've had a problem with my British Country Living subscription lately; I decided to cancel getting it through Amazon, and re-subscribed directly from the magazine. So I was excited to receive one today - it was the May issue. This is leftover from the Amazon problem; here's hoping July's will arrive in better time. I gave up on June and am re-reading the one from last year.

The orphan, sleeping in her cutely normal way.

diversion while mending

Had to mend another hole in my colorful wool scarf this evening. Meanwhile, the little Orphan had spied the switchplate on my wall, and was jumping up to try and get it. Even while I heard myself screech, "What ARE you doing??" it was a strange sort of entertainment.

Thankfully she can't jump high enough.