utter madness

If we were sitting across from one another and talking, if you looked at my bare feet for any length of time, I'd start to worry you might tickle them.

You know how it is in the movies when something's going on just out of sight, and the main character is trying hard not to let on, but it's starting to get obvious? And they're making funny sounds in spite of themselves?

You know how the Three Stooges sounded - I think it was Curly, actually - that high-pitched whiny sound he made when the others gave him a hard time?

Have you seen Emma Thompson's "Sense and Sensibility"? I'm thinking of the scene where Edward has just arrived after the girls' father died and Margaret is hiding under the map table in the library. Edward and Fanny are in the room and Fanny talks of her plan to cut down some trees; Margaret makes some kind of noise from under there, and so Edward realizes where she is.

I was trying to have my supper - minding my own business to be sure - and the little Itty Bitty began hugging my ankles, gumming my feet, hanging on even when I raised my legs. It didn't matter what I did. With my mouth full, "mmmm!  ah! ooh! ha!" Afraid I'd choke on my food, I scooped her up and plopped her on the window sill in another room. But within two minutes she returned - refusing to give up her fixation on my feet. I had to put her in the basement and shut the door.

This is not a complaint. I'm just telling the story.

a tiny fragrance

"[The Blessed Mother]...leads us to see in each other all the little virtues which make us dear to her, if we are sincere in our love of our Lord and of herself. No matter how ragged and unlovely a rosebush may be, it still has some bud upon it that has a lovely tint or a breath of fragrance, for which we like it, because the rose is so beautiful that a single petal is charming. So, if we strive to love heavenly things we become part of the family of the saints, and a tiny fragrance at least tells to whom we belong."

                                             -  Sister Rose Hawthorne,  daughter of Nathaniel Hawthorne, 
                                                                                         from Magnificat, August 2019

curtains down and chickens in the yard

Since I love linen and cotton so much, I am ironing two or three times a week. But I'm in trouble now, since a little cat has come into the house; she just has to attack the electrical cord. So the second and third times I made an attempt, I waited till she was asleep. This meant nothing, of course - she didn't mind at all interrupting her rest when there was a cord to be chewed. I finally put her in the bathroom while I finished.

Of course,I heard a loud noise in there, and found the curtain and rod half down, needing the help of some pliers before I could set it to rights. And the toilet paper, some of it unrolled, of course. But I refuse to switch to polyester on her account! Otherwise, she is entirely precious.

The people behind our next-door neighbors have chickens; I love hearing them and have wanted to get a look at them, but I'd have to go way around, as there's a high fence between their properties.

Right after re-hanging the bathroom curtains, I decided to shake out a little rug near the back door. I hung it over the railing and when I turned to come in, I saw them out near the brook, alongside the bridge. They were looking at me. They had escaped their area somehow!

I hurried to google my neighbors' phone number, but I got a message that their voice mailbox was full. I rushed around our side fence into the next-door yard and up to the big fence, hoping I could see someone in their back yard, but it was hard to see through the chain link. I called out, "Patrick! Desiree!" Only the rooster replied, and I didn't want to get him stirred up.

I've read too many blog posts from chicken owners who've lost them to predators. I called my brother to stop at their house on his way home from work. Well, they were sitting outside; apparently they let them out now and then. But I don't think they realized they came through the brook and over to our property. If there is a next time, I will try not to panic about it.

summer soup and a big cat

I'm a little bit thrilled to have found a new soup recipe that's really delicious (even though I had to turn on the AC to make it). It is in this month's Better Homes and Gardens*, and I used our own yellow squash and tomatoes in it! (I did alter it slightly, adding two extra cups of stock and only half the amount of lemon juice) I have found, however, that my point and shoot camera never takes a good soup photo - the look is always so shiny and unnatural; I couldn't get a good one with the DSLR, either. You will have to believe me, that it was great.

We have tomatoes almost pouring in now, but that is okay. A lunch with a couple of them warm from the sun, cut up and sprinkled with bits of feta is perfect.

They've been digging up our street, redoing the storm drains which are about sixty years old, so that's welcome.

It' is a bit inconvenient getting in and out, especially when someone is coming over and they're not sure how to get to your house when the road is blocked off. But it does give the cats something to look at.

*If you look at the link, you'll see the recipe heading says it's made with cherry tomatoes, but when you read the recipe you'll see it's made with full-sized ones. I wouldn't use small tomatoes for this.

"do you remember an inn, Miranda?"

"Do you remember an Inn, Miranda?"  - Hilaire Belloc, "Tarantella"

Yes, do you remember an Inn,

Miranda,

Where chairs rocked, creaking,

On the long veranda,

Where beds were elderly

To match the plumbing

But the manager smiled at our coming?

Far from the highway where the traffic muttered,

It was clapboarded white,

It was greenly shuttered.

There peace descended

When night began

And we paid by American Plan.

Remember the lobster redder than the wine,

The breakfast dining-room

That closed at nine,

The wavy mirrors

In the first-floor Women's,

The waitresses all from Smith or Simmons

And the crickets loud

But the busboys louder

And the reek of the leek

In the weekly chowder

And the carefree luggage

That porters brought in

And the baths you could launch a yacht in?

Nevermore, Miranda, nevermore.

Only the faceless,

Duplicated door

Of a thousand Motels

From Taos to Truro

With Television built in the built-in bureau.

Only the wallpaper, self-assertive,

And the dusty coming

And the going, furtive,

And the Howard Johnson's

For a meal, en masse,

And the clink of the drink

In the toothbrush glass.

Only the guests, neither gentlemen nor ladies,

But Messieur the Buick

Or Madame, Mercedes

And the fee in advance

And the sleeping pill

For the traffic roaring at the sill.

Let me fly to an Inn like a sword to its scabbard

Where the crickets cry

And the walls are clapboard.

Till I find a rocker

On a long veranda

I'll motor no more, Miranda.

                                     -   Lament for Lost Lodgings, by Phyllis McGinley

planning ahead

How lively a household can be with a little one running around! But I've started a pinterest board for soft Christmas ornament ideas.

may He scatter and brighten

May the God of infinite goodness scatter the darkness of sin and brighten our hearts with holiness. Amen.

                                                          - from Magnificat, August 2019

twice the sound

I didn't always know that I could plug my tablet into the boombox or stereo to get better and louder sound. For under ten bucks, the cost of the six-foot long cord.

simple green soup

Gretchen mentioned in a comment that she used a soup recipe from Laurel's Kitchen to use up the summer squash when it starts piling up. I had to do an inter-library loan because our copy was long gone.

There is a recipe here, but she also gives a version which is really just a vague guideline; so I cubed up as much zucchini as would fit in the pot and cooked it slowly in butter, with some basil, white pepper and salt. Then I added a quart of water and chicken base. Warmed it up, and put some of it in the blender with maybe a third cup of cottage cheese. Salt to taste. I will keep this recipe,

Thanks, Gretchen!

little orphan Annie

Can you guess? It seems we're keeping her. Annie, the orphan. Unless, of course, someone appears who has a claim to her.

How do these things happen? We certainly had no notion of it when we got up in the morning. And one week after Mr. Kibble passed away.

high and deep and wide

God, be in our thinking, always as a guide,

God, be in our yearning, high and deep and wide;

God, be in our caring, with us intertwined,

As we grow to love you, heart and soul and mind.

                                                                       - from Magnificat, August 2019

I can't believe it

I was just thinking that it took Mr. Kibble for us to get to know Diane and Bill a little, and now we would probably slip back into our routine of keeping to ourselves.

Bill called this noontime - the boy next door found a little kitten outside and called them, so they took her (?) while they are trying to find out where it belongs. It's a friendly kitty, it must have a home and maybe just slipped out the door and wandered.

How do I know it's friendly? 

She is here, for the time being, because the poor little thing is afraid of their two dogs. That's why he called; could we take it for a while?

The poor little orphan.

no more struggles

Diane called not long after we got home from Mass - Mr. Kibble wasn't doing well; she thought we might want him for a while to say our good-byes. Yes!

He was here about four hours; we prayed for him and sprinkled holy water on his little self when he seemed to struggle for breath. He was here with us on the kitchen table in his little bed the whole time, and we kept our vigil talking and stroking him; he gave up the ghost around four twenty.

With much gratitude to St. Joseph, for taking such good care of him all this time.

Kibble, in your orisons be all our sins remembered.

too much self

I've been reading a lot lately, I guess - and too preoccupied to post here....


"I now think the rampant individualism of our current culture is a catastrophe. The emphasis on self - individual success, self-fulfillment, individual freedom, self-actualization - is a catastrophe. I now think that living a good life requires a much vaster transformation."

"For six decades the worship of the self has been the central preoccupation of our culture - molding the self, investing in the self, expressing the self. ...When a whole society is built around self-preoccupation, its members become separated from one another, divided and alienated. And that is what has happened to us. We are down in the valley. The rot we see in our politics is caused by a rot in our moral and cultural foundations - in the way we relate to one another, in the way we see ourselves as separable from one another, in the individualistic values that have become the water in which we swim."


                                                        - David Brooks, The Second Mountain


Not that I didn't already know this, but he puts it very well, and I think has enough popularity and maybe influence to really get the point across.

too true

We strive with all our strength and soul

To do what life requires,

And somehow while we're on the way

Fulfill our hearts' desires.

And often as the days speed on

Too hard our small hearts beat.

Be still, my soul, the Spirit sighs,

Go sit at Jesus' feet.

There is a road we see too well,

Its features fill our eyes;

A quieter path not far away

We barely recognize.

And we must find our way on both,

Or life is incomplete.

Be still, my soul, the Spirit sighs,

Go sit at Jesus' feet.

The many things we hope to do,

The wholeness God bestows,

The center that unites the two

Are closer than one knows.

There is in us a holy ground

Where prayer and labor meet.

Be still, my soul, the Spirit sighs,

Go sit at Jesus' feet.

-  Michael Hudson,   from Magnificat, July 2019

dog days

A few days of excessive heat with air conditioner running morning and night; fit for eating light meals, quiet indoor activities and plenty of ice cream, iced tea and watermelon.

a cheerful courage

Awake, our souls! away, our fears!

Let every trembling thought be gone!

Awake, and run the heavenly race,

And put a cheerful courage on.

True, 'til a straight and thorny road,

And mortal spirits tire and faint;

But they forget the mighty God,

That feeds the strength of every saint.

                                                                          - Isaac Watts, from Magnificat, July, 2019

cotton nightgowns

Another one of the pleasures of summer.

the zucchini is coming

Yesterday the produce from the garden starting to roll in. We were going to have Reuben sandwiches, so I decided to also make some of the Neapolitan Zucchini soup we always enjoy to go with it.

It was a warm day, but we let it cool off before we ate it.

I'll have to grate some to freeze. I may try this.

being pilgrims together

"Being on a pilgrimage also means to recognize our need for each other. When we walk together we need one another's help. When one person gets tired, the other sustains him; when one runs too fast, he needs someone to stop him. This is what it means to be pilgrims in the name of the Lord; to discover that our brothers and sisters  are gifts to us, a richness in our lives..."

                                                            -   Mother Elvira Petrozzi

good summer for hydrangeas

The hydrangea is stunning this summer.

I had left it alone, which seems to be what it likes. Last year I made the mistake of cutting those dry sticks and it didn't bloom until almost September. They always look like dead things which should be pruned, but I guess not!

It even looks good blurry

that shade of blue!

or faded.

I just like taking pictures of it.

the pilgrimage

"To go on a pilgrimage means to embrace our spiritual poverty because a pilgrim is one who accepts God's call to be poor in spirit. Think about when people traveled on foot with a piece of bread in a sack and when it was gone it was necessary for them to extend their hand and beg. To have a spirit of poverty means to recognize that we are poor people in need of everything, above all the grace of the Lord that fills our heart."

                                                               -  Mother Elvira Petrozzi, (emphasis mine)

never at my best in the morning

Notice the above dress - notice how wrinkled. There's a story, probably as dumb as this one.

This dress is pretty new; I wore it to work the other day. Before long (thank goodness!) we were talking in the back room and I chanced to put my hand to my neckline. I felt the tag - Lord have mercy, I had it on backwards! Well, I'm sure I hooted and hollered and then went in the bathroom to switch it around.

It's linen.

My good co-workers protested that it really didn't matter if I left it on that way, as they thought it could be worn either way. This is the back - very nice tucks there.

But this is the front -

I suppose any dress designer who wanted to could put this smocked-look on the back of a dress. But it isn't likely. I sure wasn't going to. I mean, not deliberately.

But that's why it was so wrinkled in the front. Good grief.

journey to the North Star

"What is a pilgrimage? It is a symbol of our life that is sometimes long and sometimes brief. We do not know how long it will last, but it is a journey toward God. We walk toward the Lord because he is the North Star, the point of attraction on our compass which guides our journey. If we lose our direction, we go to the right or to the left and our journey wavers."

                                                  - Mother Elvira Petrozzi, from Magnificat, July 2019

foolish musings

We've had this set of dishes for Many Years; I believe they are from the supermarket, in the days when you could get dishes in boxes of laundry soap. That's a long time ago.

We don't tire of them. The scenes are so pleasant, like this one. But in recent days I looked at this more closely, and thought it couldn't have been so hot on this dish day, otherwise that lady could never have dressed like that, nor would they have seemed so calm. But I love it.

the necessary grace

"Let us hope! He who teaches us so carefully will give us the necessary grace to benefit from his lessons....  All that he tells us to do, all that he calls us to do, gives us the strength to do it, through the sheer effectiveness of his divine Word. ... By the very fact that his Word is divine, Jesus gave to all of us this grace that will be sufficient for all the moments of our life. Therefore we should never get discouraged.... No matter how laden with ingratitude, sins, and crimes, even at death's door, it is still possible for us to be perfect and saints during the moments that are left to us in this world and in life eternal...

                                                                  -   Charles de Foucauld,  from Magnificat, July 2019

fur and feathers

I wanted to name this post "two lousy photos", and you will soon see why.

An oriole showed up in the forsythia hedge along the side of the house; he wouldn't keep still.

His head is busy eating a black raspberry, I'm sure. They seem to be way inside the foliage this year and too hard to reach - the birds can have them.

A good year for orioles and rabbits, and here is one near our bridge -

I see them here, at work and yesterday we visited our cousins at the shore - there was one hanging out in the bushes there.

I used the digital zoom on the camera, and it's really a last resort.

home again

Diane came by all tanned and rested, picked up Mr. K., and now he's back at home. We really were pleased to be able to have him for a while, after all these years of seeing him outside and trying to help. It was a blessing for us. My brother took down the platform and everything is washed and put back. 

our little guest

Mr. Kibble is here. He is in very reduced circumstances, poor fellow. Meaning, his neurological issue is pretty bad, he can't close his mouth and his little tongue is out much of the time. He eats and drinks well, however, and is so happy to let you rub his tummy.

He is in the spare bedroom, in one of the cat beds Diane brought over and a radio near by, playing jazz. (of course) We keep the door shut to prevent the other two from bothering him - since he can't see, it wouldn't be fair if they were to come up and clip him or whatever and he not being able to see it coming.  He drools, and is incontinent sometimes. He is happy, rubbing against you when you pet his head. I tell him he is beautiful and that we always loved him.

We spent much of Monday clearing out that room; my brother built a platform under a window there with a ramp going down to the bed. This really won't work because he might fall off the bed, or tumble down the ramp. Probably. Except that he doesn't seem to move from his bed all through the night, or today when we were at work. He can get up, but he doesn't seem to. So, this morning before we set out for work, my brother put his bed up on the platform so he could smell the air and feel the breeze and hear the birds. He did enjoy this. We'd check on him frequently.

Diane had, I think, a brilliant idea to get him to drink water. She puts a handful of his dry food (which he won't eat) into the water bowl, and he can smell it and will drink willingly. The food gets wasted, but it flavors the water at least.

tea enough by morning

Last night the jar of iced tea was low and the hour was late. Too late to boil water, steep the tea and let it cool long enough to be put in the fridge. I suddenly remembered Carmella's method: put the tea bags in the water and put it in the fridge overnight. It's tea enough by morning.

And cold enough when needed.

getting ready for a visitor

Right after Sunday dinner I lamented to my brother that it's been almost four weeks since I saw Mr. Kibble at Diane's - I just don't want to be a pest over there. My brother hasn't gotten over there at all, and we do like to see him. Immediately after making this remark my phone rang; it was Diane. She and her husband are going on a family trip for a few days and would we like to take Mr. Kibble?

Well, yes!  From Tuesday night to Saturday afternoon we will have that little fellow here and we can visit with him all we want. I only have to work one day; we'll be home on July 4th, and I also happened to have taken the next day off - how perfect! Another neighbor will feed her other animals, but Mr. K. needs more attention and we are very willing to help him.

I am so psyched!