HODGY PODGY

“The thing to do is to note the pith of what is said—that I don’t think—then to use the little kick of energy which opposition supplies to be more vigorously oneself. . . . To investigate candidly the charge; but not fussily, not very anxiously. On no account to retaliate by going to the other extreme—thinking too much." - Virginia Woolf

Woolf said this about critical reviews of her writing, and I find it equally true of ungenerous judgments of others toward oneself. Don't you?


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If you don't listen to CKUA Radio, check it out: http://www.ckua.org. You can hear it online.

CKUA is always introducing me to musicians I've never heard of who are really great. There's wonderful variety too. Check out The Old Disc Jockey, for one, if you like that kind of stuff, but there are all kinds of shows and artists.

I'm now enamoured of Madeleine Peyroux. Remember when I first bought her CD and didn't like it? Now she's one of my favourites. 'Course, I have a hundred favourites. So much fabulous music, so little time ... and a big appreciation for quiet also keeps me from doing much listening these days.

CKUA played a song by Rhiannon Giddens that I liked, "Down That Lonesome Road":



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I made this Wild Rice Salad when Cathy was here.

Here's the recipe if you want to try it yourself. Something different.

http://stubblejumperscafe.blogspot.ca/2016/11/wild-rice-salad.html

Last night for the first time I threw together this easy dish and loved it: http://stubblejumperscafe.blogspot.ca/2016/11/one-pan-mexican-scramble.html. It's going to be a regular around here. 

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I am about to lie down in order to be receptive to a session of distance healing by my friend Kate at Bluehorn Healing Centre. See her ad under "Letters of Recommendation." It will be my first experience of this aspect of Kate's many talents. 

Later,
Kate

IT'S A SKATING RINK OUT THERE

"Oh mighty hunter, is this your catch of the day?" I say when he comes in from outside and plunks a frozen lump of ground beef onto the kitchen counter.

You bring meat to the house, I'll cook it, I tell the lad (who doesn't want to be vegetarian). But some things I won't touch and one of those is a package of pork hocks. Those he has to prepare himself and eat them too. The hocks aren't the feet of a pig but that's what I picture when hearing the word. Dad agrees with Scott that the hocks are delicious, but understands my aversion; the hocks are "close enough" to the feet, he says with a chuckle.

It's silly. Dead animal is dead animal. Why does it matter what part of the body you're eating?
But there you have it. I can be silly.

Just the content of the red and white bag, the beef, is on tomorrow's menu. We made meatballs with mixed beef and pork a few weeks ago, when this picture was taken. Scott and his brother raise organic cattle and their cousin raised the pigs. Emil has been asking to be taken to see some pigs but we didn't get around to it, shame on us. He loves pigs but is afraid of chickens. 

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While I'm getting Julian Barnes out of my system:

"Every love story is a potential grief story. If not at first, then later. If not for one, then for the other. Sometimes, for both.
So why do we constantly aspire to love? Because love is the meeting point of truth and magic."

~From Levels of Life.

There is an English word for excessive fondness for one's wife: uxorious.
Is there an equivalent word for excessive fondness for one's husband?
If not, that's telling, isn't it, about our society. Does it suggest that it's possible to love a woman too much, but not possible to love a man too much? Or does it suggest that loving a man too much never happens? Or what?

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There was freezing rain all over the place yesterday; lots of traffic accidents. I hung onto the railing while going up and down the steps, and my shoes still slipped. I didn't dare walk on the driveway, and gravitated to the grass alongside it instead, but it too was like glass. Today is no better. I'll still go out, but it won't be for a long, brisk walk. It will be a careful plod over to the quonset to put bread in the deep freeze, and then a slow saunter to the road for a look-see before coming back to the house.

VOCABULARY LESSON

Goddamn Blogspot, not cooperating. 

Yes I've restarted my computer. Still not working right.

Lately Blogger is getting on my nerves. 

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My vocabulary is probably about average. I read a lot, but sometimes won't slow down to look up an unfamiliar word, instead guessing its meaning from those around it. When Joan gave me the Canadian Oxford Dictionary for Christmas one year, I began to change this lazy habit. That's when I learned not only how often my understanding had been incorrect, but how many more words I have never heard of. Now I keep my journal and pen handy while reading so I can scribble words, sometimes even those I've looked up before, and write down their definitions. It slows me down, but it's worth it. Tedious, but worth it.

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From Flaubert's Parrot, by Julian Barnes:

He was in his early forties, with a pinky glabrous complexion and square rimless spectacles: the banker type of academic, circumspect and moral.

Can we deduce love for Juliet Herbert from the fact that Gustave called his greyhound Julio? Some can. It seems a little tendentious to me.

It seems a reasonable guess that if he had eaten bear he would have commented on such ipsophagy.

Or is this coloration indicative of a further shift away from humanity, a progression to the extremes of ursinity?

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glabrous: free from hair or down; smooth skinned

tendentious: calculated to promote a particular cause or viewpoint; having an underlying purpose

ipsophagy: not in my dictionary, not in an online dictionary, but I found this in a review of the book: "If Barnes wants to be as nitpicking as this I may as well point out to him that `ipsophagy' is a dreadful mixture of Latin and Greek roots, and if he wanted to coin such a term it ought to have been `hautophagy'." Unfortunately the book's been returned to the library so I can't re-read the entire section around the word to figure it out. 

ursine: of or like a bear

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Sometimes I'm almost embarrassed that I don't know or remember the meaning of a word that is commonly used or that I've looked up before. Almost. It keeps me humble.

Then there are the new words discovered while searching out definitions for others. This morning while turning the pages toward 'glabrous' I learned something new:

gittern: a medieval stringed instrument, forerunner of the guitar

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My journals are filled with quotations and excerpts from the books I read. From Flaubert's Parrot:

"As you get older, the heart sheds its leaves like a tree. You cannot hold out against certain winds. Each day tears away a few more leaves; and then there are the storms which break off several branches at one go. And while nature's greenery grows back again in the spring, that of the heart never grows back."

The author, Barnes, was a grieving widower when he wrote this book. 

I copied out these few sentences and followed with a note of my own:

"This seems apt enough, but I choose not to believe it. I'll remain positive and expect my heart to be more open to beauty and joy as I get older."

It's a perfect example of my wilfulness. Barnes is probably absolutely correct, and he should know, having experienced the loss of a beloved spouse. I don't want to accept this kind of inevitability, even if my elders tell me how it is, and so I arrogantly insist that I won't, that I'll have healthier beliefs and therefore avoid their experience. My world will be different. Pfft! I never did learn much the easy way. Wouldn't listen to anyone. Still don't. Found out many times that it would have been wiser to take heed.

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Monday is my bread-baking day, and this week's batch isn't spoken for so the loaves will go into the deep freeze. It means I thaw and add vegetable water to the dough, which I don't do when a batch is to be sold, as it may flavour the bread in heaven-knows-which-way, depending on what we've been eating. Potatoes, cauliflower, whatever, if it's been steamed I've saved the liquid to get its nutrients.

Veggie water now lukewarm, with molasses and vegetable oil stirred in.  

The liquid will be added to 20 cups of whole wheat flour mixed with yeast and salt, and toward the end of the kneading period I'll slowly pour in sunflower and sesame seeds. I thank the DoGs each week for my kneading machine, which saves me 15 minutes of huffing and puffing.

                     

JOAN'S ROCK ICONS SO FAR

David Bowie

Jimi Hendrix

Mick Jagger

Slash

Artist: Joan McEwan, Kelowna, BC

I can't wait to see who will be next!

ONE OF MY SEESTERS

When I was at Joan's, we talked nonstop. 

We went for a couple walks. Kelowna has the most rich air, moist -- I like it. 

We did some clothes shopping and she bought me two tops, a thigh-length sweater-vest and a flannel shirt even longer to wear over leggings. These are my Christmas and birthday presents, she insisted, not fooling me for a moment because sure as shit she'll send presents anyway, being a person who dotes on her sisters. We are lucky, aren't we, Karen?

We stopped at a grocery store where, just outside the glass doors, we donated a few dollars for poppies ("I don't know if you've ever been pinned by a vet before," said the gentleman in uniform, fastening the flower to my collar. "Does this mean we're going steady?").

We took a new piece of Joan's art to JoeBud's Coffeehouse, the café that has been hanging it. Her airbrushed caricature of David Bowie sold quickly, and she had recently completed one of Jimi Hendrix that the café owner had no doubt would also be purchased soon. After that she finished her pic of Mick Jagger, and she has just posted one of Slash on FB. If you're connected with me on FB you might've seen these, as I share the posts. I'm very proud of her, not to mention amazed at her talent. Not that she isn't good at everything she does. It would be one thing if she'd been drawing and painting all her life, but this seemed to come out of nowhere, when she was already a fully fledged adult, so it's been surprising and her artistic output continues to delight all who know and love her.

I'll ask her permission to post photos here. Why haven't I done that already? So much to do, so little time ... no, really! Life is full. The days pass so fast, and the evenings are over before I know it. 

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What I'm making today, following this recipe Joan photographed for me. I don't have quinoa but there is bulgar wheat in the pantry.

      

SPEAK UP

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                                Reply to Comment

Steve Reed has left a new comment on your post "Curtain Blind": 

Maybe Scott thinks you accidentally washed the curtains with the drapes and is intentionally not saying anything? :) 

Ha! :)