"when you rest, you tell the truth about the world"

 I'm reading Joy Clarkson's new book, Aggressively Happy.

"The metaphors we use to describe ourselves matter. I've noticed that we often talk about ourselves like we're machines. We "adjust." We "process" life events. We "recharge our batteries" when we're worn out. On their own, these metaphors might be harmless enough, but when they become ingrained in our self-imagination, they can become destructive. We act like we should be able to expect the same things from ourselves every day. We demand consistency; we are hard on ourselves when we don't perform, function, work. Machines work and so should we. When machines break, we throw the useless things away, or melt them down for parts. 

You are not a machine. You are more like a garden. You need different things on different days, a little more sun today, a little less water tomorrow. You have fallow and fruitful seasons. This is not a design flaw; it is wiser than perpetual sameness. 

...What does your garden need today? This morning mine needed solitude and enough sleep....People call this self-care, but I think there's something more. "Self-care" implies that I, my "self", am capable of caring for myself. ...But there's also something else. When I pause to take care of myself, I acknowledge implicitly that the world will go on without me. That my "self" cannot do everything. That I am not God. ...When you rest, you tell the truth about the world.

Forgetting you have a body is not heroism; it is hubris."

a weight

Remembering Ukraine. That situation hangs like a weight over everything we all do, all day, every moment, doesn't it? The other night I wasn't sleepy for some reason; but I wondered if anyone in Kyiv was able to sleep at all anymore.

A co-worker of mine worked her last day today at the library - she was with us for twenty three years. There was a nice party yesterday, but someone thought we should show up at eight o'clock tonight  to give her a final send-off, if possible, since only three people work till closing. So, a few of us came with cupcakes and a balloon. She was touched, but she's not a sentimental person, and glad to be retiring. It's strange when they go, and another one will be leaving too, moving to Florida soon. There's a lot of that going on, it seems.

Annie purring on the bed

O great Physician of the soul
To whom the helpless pray,
We come to you to make us whole;
Oh, cast us not away.

 The first reading at Mass today:

When a sieve is shaken, the husks appear; so do one's faults when one speaks. As the test of what the potter molds is in the furnace, so in tribulation is the test of the just. The fruit of a tree shows the care it has had; so too does one's speech disclose the bent of one's mind. Praise no one before he speaks, for it is then that people are tested.

-  Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 27: 4-7

the breakdown

 All right, it took a while but we got Dolly's DNA results back. She has a less exciting, shall we say, bloodline than Annie, but they both have a common ancestor which I find a wonder.

I originally sent for Annie's because she has an exotic quality and we thought she might be part Burmese, and then there are always some folks who see a gray cat and think "Russian Blue". 

So, this was Annie's result:

• 41% American Domestic
• 13% Maine Coon
• 12% Norwegian Forest Cat
• 11% European Domestic
• 10% Scottish Fold
• 10% Sphynx
• 2% Highlander
• 1% British Shorthair

At first, my brother found it hard to understand why I had bothered. But after getting the results, and talking about how she looks like none of these breeds, realizing that appearances don't seem to mean anything, we both thought we might as well do Dolly. So, we did. 

Dolly's result:

• 60% American Domestic
• 13% Maine Coon
• 13% Norwegian Forest Cat
• 9% British Shorthair
• 5% Scottish Fold

Our cats are both one quarter a large, very furry cat - Dolly one percent more than Annie - and I'm referring to the Maine Coon and the Norwegian Forest. So why don't either of them look like it? A mystery. Although I will say this: if you've been around here a while, you may remember Yogi, Dianne's beautiful (or I thought so) cat who was killed by a car a few years ago. You can see him in this post. Dianne (I think I've been spelling her name wrong all this time) has three or four cats, very thick fur with neck ruffs and long noses, like Yogi here. They are normal size, but otherwise always make me think of the Norwegians, who often have this long nose, which gives them a beautiful appearance. We know Dolly's mother (Candace) looked quite like Dolly, but who was the father? Maybe one of these, or their ancestor. As for the Orphan, though, since she just appeared out of nowhere, her origins are unknown to us. But it's all very intriguing, isn't it?

sleeping in and catching up

 It was sixty-five degrees on Wednesday; today we have snow, and it was intense enough and icy enough this morning to close Town offices, and that includes the library. February this year has seemed an awful lot like March, with so many spring-like days. I definitely have spring fever. Meanwhile, I am making use of this extra day to catch up on undone things. 

paczki before Lent

 My brother came home for lunch, and I heard him say, You'll never guess what I brought home. 

I think these are paczki; they always sell them at the store right before Lent. Like a jelly doughnut. The Polish lady brought them - she made them! He said she was upset - her home town is very near the Ukrainian border. It's horrifying. May God have mercy on the Ukrainian people.

a day set apart

 I'm halfway through The Joy of the Snow, but no mention of her favorite author, yet. 

"...nearly everyone did go to church and Sunday was a day set apart, entirely different from other days, with a different flavour to it.

In town and city alike one awoke to a sense of serenity and quietness, unbroken until the bell-ringers got going in every tower and steeple in the land. But it was not noise they made, it was music. In the country the wind carried the sound of the bells over the fields from one village to the other, and in the towns there seemed to be bell-song at every street's end.

To what extent God himself mattered to each one only that one could have told you. But for the many I do believe that faith in God was deep and strong, and so his law as they conceived it was important, and sin mattered, and the discipline of their moral code was as binding as their faith and gave strength to the nation....I believe they had paradoxically a basic happiness that we have largely lost today because we no longer have their discipline."

                                          -  Elizabeth Goudge

making a plan and not sticking to it

 I've been planning the menus for the entire month, and even though it takes a while, I find it very freeing. It came during a podcast, and when it was mentioned, I had one of those "aha" or click moments, when I felt this was something I should try. Like I said, it takes time to view the whole month together, planning a balanced array of meals, but knowing at all times what I'm going to cook makes me feel a lot more organized. I love it! The time it takes to plan it is worth it to me, and I rather enjoy looking at the recipes in my monthly magazines and that I've collected, anyway.

And I only need to make three meals per week, since leftovers are what we rely on the rest of the days; I try to think seasonally and take into consideration any holidays, guests or any other things out of the ordinary. And I can change my mind, even at the last minute, and have done so several times, like yesterday. 

Yesterday I was planning to make a chicken puttanesca, although I have previously avoided anything called "puttanesca". A story: years ago, as a teenager, I was a nurses' aide. There was an old Sicilian lady named Maria who had dementia and was bedridden. We had to wash her at bedtime, and she would fight us off, calling us "putana!" Actually, I thought she was saying "butana", but I asked my father what the word meant. He looked at me sharply and said, "Who called you that?" I told him, and he said, "a prostitute". Poor woman! She didn't understand what we were doing to her.

Anyway, yesterday. I cut out more recipes from an old magazine and there was a mac and cheese with smoked salmon. It caught my fancy, but I had only canned salmon  -  and smoked paprika! Smoked something is still smoked something. I put dijon mustard in it, and a bit of leftover spaghetti sauce with half the can of salmon, because it is quite salty. It came out very well! A nice diversion from the plan. And the plan is still there, with all the ingredients in the pantry.

thirty degrees colder

 We had two days of blissful fifty-something, and now it's going back to cold. It could have been late March. The weatherman was predicting a Sunday morning light snowfall - a dusting to an inch, as they were warning us of all week.

They were entirely wrong; we awoke to a steady snow, and Accuweather had changed their tune. It's now going to be three to six inches worth, and last until 6 a.m. tomorrow. How could they be so wrong?

We are wired to respond to atmosphere, heard from a podcast episode. Even though yesterday I was dreaming of spring, I will always love a snowy atmosphere.

One of the things on the reading challenge is a book by your favorite author's favorite author. Well, I hadn't thought about it, but Elizabeth Goudge would be a good candidate for mine. So I'm reading her autobiography to find out who was her own favorite - I hope she mentions someone! 

Annie was in a chair the other day, hanging upside down as is her wont - she has no qualms about falling on her head - and I actually saw her washing her face in that position. As if it were entirely normal. Well, she obviously doesn't have sinus problems - I could never do that.

My brother had to go to the pet store last night to get cans of cat food, since our local supermarkets don't seem to ever have it. He thought to ask them why this might be an issue, and the cashier said she heard it was the cans - they're hard to get. That doesn't seem likely to us - canned vegetables and soup aren't scarce. 

such a jocund company

I almost had spring fever today. Outside, it looked like March - mud here and there, the grass that blah not-green color, everything ugly. I opened up the Wordsworth at the bookmark, and looked for something to speak to me.  I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high o'er vales and hills, when all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils. 

I am liking his poems, for the most part, even though they're rather flowery. But I guess that was the way it was in his day? I picked up my British Country Living, to the bookmark.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance. An article on daffodil growers. Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

I looked outside again. It was a beautiful day. Spring is coming.

room in the Inn

 "The inn is the Church, which receives travelers who are tired with their journey through the world and oppressed with the load of their sins, where the wearied traveler discarding the burden of his sins is relieved, and after being refreshed is restored with wholesome food. And this is what is said here. For outside the Inn is everything that is conflicting, hurtful, and evil, while within the Inn is contained all rest and health."

                                      -  St John Chrysostom, from Homilies on Luke (10:34-35)*

*from Magnificat, February, 2022

ice, but not ice cream

 

There is ice on the clothesline, and the thermometer outside my window is stuck on 34 degrees because ice got inside it. It would be nice to have temps in the 30s, but it's colder; we left work early yesterday because it was getting icy.

Inside, today was Ice Cream for Breakfast Day, but I didn't plan ahead, and there wasn't any in the house. No cream, either, so I couldn't make any. I usually have it with pancakes, so I made them anyway, and pretended. 

I stacked them up with butter and then scooped some of my plain yogurt on top. With maple syrup. It looks enough like ice cream, and it was good. 

The supermarket shelves are showing empty spaces and there was no cornstarch, and no baking powder I wanted to buy, just the one with aluminum. I will have to try the substitutions I've seen online. Apparently baking powder is just a construct, a convenience, and not a "real thing". It would be good to know how to do without it.

the brightest light that ever did shine

 Today we remembered the Lord's presentation in the temple. 

The bright lights of Christmas are shining with joy
From the heart of the city to the lonely confines
A lone Christmas candle in the window does shine
Welcoming Mary to come to our home.

O come to us Mary and bless our lives
There's a welcome and lodgings for you and your child
Banish all hatred and scorn from our minds
And fill with your love our hearts that are blind.

The moon and the stars illumine the skies
And the serene peace of Christmas is felt on all sides
The rich and the poor are all of one mind
Welcoming Jesus into their lives.

May the lights shining brightly clear the path that we roam
And let you, O Jesus, be our guide at all times
For the brightest light that ever did shine
Was your coming, O Jesus, into our lives.

translation of the Irish carol, Soillse Na Nollag

And thus ends the season of Epiphany, and the greater Christmas season.

snow storm coming

 When I left work this afternoon, I heard a wren trilling. I wonder how the little birds will fare tomorrow, in the big snowstorm that's on the way. From around midnight to around midnight, it's going to snow, and quite a lot - blizzard conditions in part of the state. We'll try to make it enjoyable.

making perfect yogurt

 I like to make my yogurt in the evenings, and I intended to last night but at the end of the day I didn't want to do one more thing, so I didn't. But while I was at work today I thought about it, and really the Instant Pot does it all - it's just a matter of keeping on top of when the milk is heated up sufficiently and when it's cooled enough. And I thought I might give it a go when I got home, even though it would be in between dinner stuff and laundry stuff and the rest of it. 

I have made yogurt on and off over the years, never sticking to it for too long, but I've made it on the stove and in the crockpot. And then strained it, as most people these days like it thick. Then I bought an Instant Pot. I had heard they are the best way to make yogurt. It's true. 

It's a big one - an eight quart, and I keep it in the spare room down the hall. So I brought it to the kitchen, plugged it in, set it to "saute" and poured in a half gallon of pasteurized (not ultra-pasteurized) milk. Then I went off to get changed, feed the cats, etc., etc. I know enough now to watch for the milk to steam, and then to start to become frothy - by then it's getting up to 185 F. I take the liner containing the hot milk and put it somewhere to cool. It has to get down to around 115 F, and that takes somewhere between twenty and twenty-five minutes. I add only one quarter cup of my previous yogurt, stir a bit, put the lid on securely and set it on "yogurt". It will keep it at the perfect temperature until I'm up in the morning, which tomorrow will be about thirteen hours later. I will take out the liner and put it in the basement fridge. And when I get home I can ladle it into jars. 

This will be the fourth time I've made it in the Instant Pot, and I can tell you it is the thickest I've ever made. Not as thick as Greek yogurt, but thick enough for me to feel I don't have to bother straining it. Which is great, because there's no waste. I get a half gallon of yogurt when I'm done! For less than three dollars. I'm not terrific at flavoring it; I have it with my granola. The Instant Pot is big and takes up a lot of room, but it makes perfect yogurt. I just need to remember to learn to use it for other things.

hidden things

 I like to observe holidays; they exist for a reason. It may amount to a cloth on the table, some dessert, a day of less housework. Sunday is also in this category - it's different from the other days of the week. 

From the first reading at Mass: 

   Today is holy to the Lord, your God. Do not be sad, and do not weep.... Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and allot portions to those who had nothing prepared; for today is holy to our Lord. 

                                                              -Nehemiah 8:9

"If we take for ourselves no other model than those who are world-famous, this will hurt us a great deal and result in a lifetime of striving to be somebody. But if we follow the model of a Redeemer who for thirty years lived in obscurity, it should not distress us to be ignored. There are very few people of worldly importance; far in the majority are the multitudes of ordinary people whose path to heaven is unexciting and unromantic. How very kind of God to show us by his long, hidden life that his plan of redemption includes everyone, even those whose lives are so unremarkable that the world does not notice at all!"

                                                                - Sister Mary Jean Dorcy, O.P., from Magnificat, January 2022

warmth in numbers

 When I came up the basement stairs into the kitchen I could see out the window to the bird feeder; there were three dark gray juncos and a brown wren. The juncos prefer eating on the ground, but it was snowing. I've discovered a new podcast called BirdNote - it's very short, two minutes usually, and today they were talking about what some birds do when it's cold. Apparently, Eurasian Wrens, who are common in the UK, have been found 40 in a nest box! And over here, the winter wren was found over thirty together. Bluebirds huddle together, too. 

So now we have a little snow again, and when it gets down in the twenties tomorrow I can think of the little birds warming each other with some companionship.

scones for hermits

 It's the feast of St. Anthony, the hermit. Why didn't I think to make hermits? But it's getting late, the butter is in the freezer and there is bread in the oven. I've got to start on the soup. Oh, blast! But I did make scones earlier, and they are spiced and homey - they'll have to do.

O raise your voices! Wake the world!
And let your songs of praise be heard!
For both in town and desert waste
God's glory finds a dwelling place.

not even one percent

 When Orphan Annie finally had her check-up, she was found to weigh eleven and a half pounds. Ahem. This would be our fault, of course. Dr. P. said it can't continue.

So she hasn't eaten one piece of dry food since, and she does not get food every time she cries, and she cries very pitifully, like all cute cats know how to do.

But we also found out what kind of cat she is. And she's not a Burmese, not even one percent! Here's the lowdown:  

• 41% American domestic and 11% European domestic
• 13% Maine Coon and 12% Norwegian Forest cat (my favorite cat!!) 
• 10% Sphynx (really???)
• 2% Highlander 

That was the Western section. There is a Persian section which says she's 10% Scottish Fold and 1% British Shorthair. So, the British Shorthair is a Persian? And the Scottish Fold, too? Interesting.

Ten percent Sphynx - you know these cats are hairless, right? And she's twenty five percent very hairy cat (the Maine Coon and Forest Cat, which I think are related from way back, along with the Siberian cat: very large, fluffy cats). I had to look up the Highlander, which has ears that seem to curl forward, as opposed to the Scottish Fold, whose ears curve back. What a confusing family line. 

According to something I read, Burmese cats know how to play fetch, and they have a very silky coat and are heavier than they seem. They are good natured, rather like a dog in some ways. Annie is all those things, but it's not enough to make her Burmese. :D It's very cool to me that she's part Norwegian Forest Cat, but that doesn't make her look like one. And, what is the difference between the American Domestic and the European Domestic? I never heard of either. She is a tiny bit British Shorthair, but not American Shorthair. Aren't all regular cats in this country American shorthairs? 

the little imposter

You know that Dolly is next, right?

to sleep, or not to sleep

 I returned Yeats to the library; now I have Wordsworth. 

This evening I hankered for a hot cocoa, so I had one, but I wonder if the caffeine will disturb my sleep.

TO SLEEP

A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by,
One after one; the sound of rain, and bees
Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas,
Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky;
I have thought of all by turns, and yet do lie
Sleepless! and soon the small birds' melodies
Must hear, first uttered from my orchard trees;
And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry.
Even thus last night, and two nights more, I lay
And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth:
So do not let me wear tonight away:
Without thee what is all the morning's wealth?
Come, blessed barrier between day and day,
Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health!

- William Wordsworth

winter night

 "There is something at once magnificent and terrible about moonlight on the snow during these cold, white January nights. 
 If one is outside, and cold, the landscape has a profoundly lonely look, underlined by shadows. Only in a warm house, surrounded by people and the pattern of busy living, is this loneliness abated. Even then it is awesome and beautiful."

                                                  - Rachel Peden, A Farmwife's Almanac of Country Living

the profound stillness

 I think I happened upon an answer to my question from yesterday:

"Why do people always get so still when they watch the snow, murmured Carol at the kitchen window, as if they could see it better that way?
  It is because the beginning of snow is, itself, a profound stillness in which the listener hears the thoughts of his own secret heart."

                                           -  from A Farmwife's Almanac of Country Living, by Rachel Peden

unexpected

 We knew it would snow overnight, only two to five inches, and over a fifteen-hour period. 

early morning

But it came faster, and heavier, and I got an email first thing that said the Town offices were closing, and that included the library. A snow day!

What is it about a snowfall that compels you to feel quiet inside, even while you are joyfully going about finishing up what you didn't do the day before.

deep, dark afternoon sky

when I have time

 

What I'm reading at present. Jane Eyre is more fantastic than I remembered. Highly Irregular was a Christmas present - it's about many quirks of the English language. The young woman who wrote it is smart as a whip. (now, I wonder what she'd make of that saying?) The reason I've got The Mind of the Middle Ages, well - I read The Year of Our Lord, 1943, and in it, Alan Jacobs mentioned something about the Romanesque period as having a different way of thinking than previously or later - anyway, it caught my curiosity enough that I hope this book may shed some light. It's rather like a textbook but interesting all the same. May it continue that way! I have nothing to say yet about The Apostles and Their Times. 

I also pick up A Literary Christmas now and then - it has a pretty cover

And today, being Epiphany, ended the daily Advent (and later) meditations in Malcolm Guite's Waiting on the Word. I can't say enough about it - if it sounds good to you, buy it.

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress;
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

- The Song of the Old Mother, by W. B. Yeats

the little folk and the embattled flaming multitude

 Well, it's a new year, and there's a new reading challenge I'm embarking on. The very first thing is to read eleven poems by a poet who's been highlighted on the Well-Read Poem podcast - I chose William Butler Yeats. 

I've never been much of a poetry person, but I think the influence of Gretchen, for one thing, has encouraged me; also, the two poetry podcasts I subscribe to - it does seem to grow on you. So I opened the poetry book of Yeats' work, and the very first one grabbed me. 

To Some I Have Talked with by the Fire

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes,
My heart would brim with dreams about the times
When we bent down above the fading coals;
And talked of the dark folk, who live in souls
Of passionate men, like bats in the dead trees;
And of the wayward twilight companies,
Who sigh with mingled sorrow and content,
Because their blossoming dreams have never bent
Under the fruit of evil and of good;
And of the embattled flaming multitude
Who rise, wing above wing, flame above flame,
And, like a storm, cry the Ineffable Name;
And with the clashing of their sword blades make
A rapturous music, till the morning break,
And the white hush end all, but the loud beat
Of their long wings, the flash of their white feet. 

Fantastic! Then I went to youtube, hoping to hear some recited by actors. Here's Sam Neill (why did I think he was American?). 

Yeats was really into the world of the little folk - well, I like the fairy folk myself. Except that after a while I wondered if he ever came back to earth. But I don't know anything about the man. 

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

New Year's table

 I've been wanting to put the little Christmas tree on the table during dinner some time - that was easy enough, since it sits right next to the table on a shelf. And I've been wishing I had charger plates for a more elegant look. Years ago I bought a big, gold, plastic one but what good is only one? 

Anyway, I wondered how the tree would look with that charger plate under it, and when I went up on the stool to get it, I saw three more behind it, and a silver one! I've had them so long, and never used them once - so I forgot they were even there. I put them under the dark blue plates and found some Santa paper napkins which livened up the place settings with some design and color.

 I put a thrifted brass candle holder with holly leaf cut-outs next to the tree and went through the cards we got - one that Debra made seemed to go nicely there.

 It was lovely!

ring in

A Happy New Year to everyone!

 Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

                                        - Tennyson, from Ring Out, Wild Bells

oft told Christmas tales

 I have a book called A Literary Christmas which I've been going through here and there. A Washington Irving excerpt caught my fancy and it turned out we had the complete piece at the library.

"It seemed to throw open every door, and unlock every heart. It brought the peasant and the peer together, and blended all ranks in one warm generous flow of joy and kindness. The old halls of castles and manor houses resounded with the harp and the Christmas carol, and their ample boards groaned under the weight of hospitality. Even the poorest cottage welcomed the festive season with green decorations of bay and holly - the cheerful fire glanced its rays through the lattice, inviting the passenger to raise the latch, and join the gossip knot huddled round the hearth, beguiling the long evening with legendary jokes, and oft told Christmas tales."

                                                                             - from The Sketch Book, "Christmas"

melting

 Christmas has been so nice and quiet, which is what's usually needed after all the hubbub that always comes before. But we did have some ice Christmas morning, and almost thought we wouldn't make it to church

but we did. Then things got warmer on Sunday and it mostly melted and I am still grateful at how amazing it all was, to snow just in time for Christmas and melt away right after. 

A patron brought in some homemade goodies for us at work last week, and I asked her for a particular cookie recipe. They are chocolate drop cookies with chocolate chips and dried cherries, which sort of dissolve and give a fruity flavor. Well, mine spread out too much and looked unattractive; she didn't say to chill the dough. Anyway, I hadn't baked the whole batch, so I pressed the remainder into a small cake pan and cooked it that way.

I like it like that! At least it looks more appealing. The recipe is worth keeping. 

like magic

 And there was snow, this morning, Christmas Eve day. And yesterday I scrubbed the kitchen floor. What more could I want?

Earth, strike up your music, 
Birds that sing and bells that ring;
Heaven hath answering music
For all Angels soon to sing:
Earth, put on your whitest
Bridal robe of spotless snow:
For Christmas bringeth Jesus,
Brought for us so low.

-  Christina Rossetti, a verse from Christmas Eve