Wednesday, June 30, 2010

tiny triumphs


This may appear to be a banal shot of my refrigerator, but if you peer closely, you will see pristine shelving and sparkling glass.  This and a scrubbed kitchen floor seem like a fitting way to celebrate halfway through the year. 

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

green tomato giddiness


After some quality time spent with a cousin, came home to find my deck abloom and flourishing.  These are the first tomatoes that I've grown in eight years, so am swooning about my deck, awaiting the day of eating them.


My first sweet pea of the season; Grandma Dunston is one of the strongest influences on my life and she always had a patch of sweet peas.  The scent just wafts me straight back to delightful childhood summers.


My find from the small streets of Poulsbo!

Monday, June 28, 2010

sloth


I have all kinds of post its lying around with brilliant blog postings and I simply don't get to them.  So, here are photos of the past couple of days.  I'm enchanted with my view--to be able to see two gorgeous mountains from my windows is marvelous.  Not to mention, my stellar views of Lake Washington.


I love twilight and am slightly cranky that the word has been preempted by the nether worlds of vampires.


Festive toes for the upcoming 4th.


Gorgeous flowers remaining from last week's funeral.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Bernstein & salted caramel


Am pleased that the funeral of state yesterday went smoothly--my reward was sleeping in and this happy pink box with a salted caramel cupcake inside.


The Symphony last night was also a delight--from the Chichester Psalms
(which I got to sing with the Napa Valley Symphony mannnnnny years ago) to the glorious bit based on Auden's Age of Anxiety, it was an evening of aural loveliness.  I had not read this poem by Auden and was unsuccessful at finding at a bookstore today, but will keep searching.  Bernstein read it when it was first published in the mid-1940s and was so enthralled with the images, he composed this piece.

Friday, June 25, 2010

poetry! friday! dime!

Today's poem was chosen partially for the play on words regarding 'change' and from seeing former neighbors and high school teachers last weekend.  Honestly, most days I still feel 19, but occasionally I will be slapped upside the head with the fact that a couple of decades have passed since I was.

Off to enjoy a Bernstein concert with the Seattle Symphony tonight; expect a full critique tomorrow.


(photo blurred for the monetary witness protection plan...)


Change
by Louis Jenkins

All those things that have gone from your life,
moon boots, TV trays and the Soviet Union, that
seem to have vanished, are really only changed.
Dinosaurs did not disappear from the earth but
evolved into birds and crock pots became bread
makers and then the bread makers all went to
rummage sales along with the exercise bikes.
Everything changes. It seems at times (only for
a moment) that your wife, the woman you love,
might actually be your first wife in another form.
It's a thought not to be pursued….Nothing is the
same as it used to be. Except you, of course,
you haven't changed…well, slowed down a bit,
perhaps. It's more difficult nowadays to deal with
the speed of change, disturbing to suddenly find
yourself brushing your teeth with what appears
to be a flashlight. But essentially you are the
same as ever, constant in your instability. 


 Some intriguing red/green leaves which I walked underneath today.

Thursday, June 24, 2010

delight catching up


Had so many good blog ideas while my computer was out but the sun gods suddenly decided that it is  summer and my motivation has disappeared with the rain clouds.  The above is one of my favorite walls in Seattle--it's an entire block of poetry written by local high school students.  I try to get a different line every time I walk past.  (My second favorite wall is a hotel wall with lights that change colours--so far all my photos of that have failed.)


The most divine and delicious 'shroom crepe.  If I were motivated, I would regale you with tales of the most incompetent and odd wait staff ever.  But for now, we'll just admire this tasty moment.


My men's choir, The Rusty Chords, has their first performance this week.  They decided we were all to wear blue shirts and khaki trousers and as I didn't have a blue shirt, a trip to Goodwill was organised.  I LOVE Goodwill.  I came home with a gorgeous raspberry velvet jacket (yes, I know that it's summer, but when I do my worldwide autumnal tour, I'll need jackets) and this lovely polka dot pot for Bogart's catnip.

May I just say that my ungrateful feline doesn't care for fresh catnip?  Oh no.  He'd rather take out a row of my beets then deign to dine on his own special garden growth.

But I am digressing.


This is Yvonne, my fabulous organist.  Was enjoying her postlude this last week, but wasn't watching.  When she finished, she shrieked that none of us saw that her music had fallen, so she played the entire thing one handed.  


And on a whimsical jaunt, I got myself a nice packet of magic rocks.  Pretty sure that one's second childhood isn't supposed to begin until one is in one's 90's, but I say, why wait?  My first one was fun and most days, being adultlike is highly overrated.
I hope this midsummer's eve finds you full of whimsy.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

silver tea


It was summer.   There was a heat wave.  It was choir tour in southern Europe/Turkey and when I heard the hum of an a/c unit,  I honed in on that shop with a speed and directness that would make any military proud.


To my delight, it was silver shop.  The shop keeper and I shared no common language.  Except music.  When I shrieked over finding a ring with treble clefs on it, I attempted a music lesson via drawings and demonstrations.  He was so thrilled that he brought out his transistor radio and we had our own Michael Jackson sing-along.


We had such a nice song fest that he brought out an exquisite tea set.  It was the most revoltingly sweet apple tea that I've ever tasted, yet the afternoon is one of my favorite memories.

A random afternoon, an unexpected connection, a lifelong memory.


No matter how mundane the day's task, despite the inanities that may stare at me,  whenever I wear this ring, I am cheered--knowing that there are still enchanted adventures ahead.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

update

laptop's back at the tech doctor; the delight in that is that it is still under warranty.

Friday, June 18, 2010

a penny, a poem and a pound o' nuts


Well, not really, but as it's Poetry Friday wanted some alliteration.  Found the cent on my walk and the nuts were a gift from home and the poem?    I find it delightful that on a random fence, there is a post box filled with a poem of the month.  Here is the June creation:

Here Between
Guy Holliday


At the ragged intersection
of the earth and heaven
peaks and sky contend
the imperfections of their interface
bespeaks the harder days ahead
I miss the fast flat line the prarie lays
the buffered blue the cotton kiss
above the breeze before it pays
unfathomably for no crime but
failure to confine the wind
an hourglass unbound by time
reversed in violence unsinned against until
the mountains fall and we are left
exposed to all.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

perspective

was trying to find the delight in this day that was long on meetings/funeral planning and seemingly short on the joyous side of things.  The day did not begin auspiciously when I was not only late for work, my car needed gas.


As I had forgotten to brush my teeth, I dashed into the mart to procure some gum.  The clerk--a man whom I've never seen before--said, "Oh lady, are you okay?  You look very tired.  You ought to go back to sleep."



I related this story to many giggles during staff meeting and as I wandered the day, I decided that I would take this seeming insult as a kindness.  While living in a busy city and shopping at a random shop, a stranger actually saw me and noticed how tired I was.


While this may look like nasty slices of spam, it is a pan full of sweet potatoes tossed with garlic and rosemary.  Not only healthy, but made my flat smell divine.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

whether the weather


We're having schizophrenic weather; when I walked librarywards yesterday, it was pouring rain and I was drenched.  On my way home, bright sun and blooming things.  Bizarre.


But the walk did yield $.35.  These are my clay creations.  Which Bogart ate last night.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

52 degrees

and all is right with my world again.  Here are a few things that were celebrated recently:


Nephew building muscles


45 years of marriage celebrated in Monterey


stunning sunset


dessert


tasty lunch with choir people


random and relaxed conversations


trellised archway into the Thomas Street P-Patch


treats from the local art store


Monday, June 14, 2010

Top 10 (this posting does not reflect the minute delights of anything)

reasons why I loathe the summer season.  If you adore these unending months of heat, please skip this post because it will only irritate you or worse, compel you to write to me why this season ought to be considered delightful. Now, I realize that I am lucky enough to live in a relatively cool climate, but this past weekend our thermometers crept upwards and this list was created.  (These are not necessarily in order of annoyance or importance.)


1.  Lawn mowers, leaf blowers, hedge trimmers and the fact that owners of these shrill tools seem to feel compelled to use them at 6 a.m.  For those of us dropping off to sleep at 3 a.m., this is simply cruel.  I actually saw a man leaf-blowing his lawn yesterday.  It's JUNE.  There are no leaves on the lawn.  Perhaps he was fluffing the grass?  Buy a goat; they're quiet and create delightful cheeses.


2.  Bee stings, mosquito welts, bird droppings--all unnecessary and not part of winter.    And while we're talking about dining al fresco, let's not forget hayfever and the dripping nose and itching and swollen eyes.


3.  Testosterone being proved through stereo decibels.  We get it; you're a man.  A man with cool taste in bad music.


4.  Smokers.  For all of the touting of Seattle being a healthy town, there seems to be an inordinate amount of smokers per capita.  And when stuck in the car ferry line?   There's nowhere to escape the toxins. These are my only pair of lungs and I object to you poisoning them.

5.  Overexposure.  I know very few of us are models, but for the love of God, would you cover up?  No one wants to see that much flesh in public.  Gauzy material is your friend.  Use it. 


6.  No rest for the wicked--with the sky getting dark at 10 p.m. and lighting back up at 4 a.m., there is very little down time.  And yes, I've got black-out curtains, but Bogart has decided that he ought to pull them down between 4-5 a.m. each sunny day.  I swear that he has SAD and is thrilled when the sun shines on his favorite patch of carpeting.


7.  The ubiquitous bbq--really?  How do you spell carcinogen?  And when did charred food become chic and fun?  And please refer to #2 in this listing.


8.  No pockets in summer clothing.  I abhor walking through the city, schlepping a purse, I feel much safer having my money and id tucked inside a pocket, next to my body.


9.  No more summer break--say what you will about the teaching profession, it's lovely to have June-August to lie fallow.  Very cranky that I'm supposed to be productive all summer long.  I want to go back to childhood when summer meant wading in the ocean or a creek, reading in a tree, bike riding in the evening and eating unending popsicles.


10. And speaking of walking, I've yet to find a pair of shoes which I can wear without socks without coming home with bloody blisters.  And if one is not walking, one is facing an absolute oven of a car where one's lotion has oozed all over, and the pens have melted ink and the hand sanitizer has blown up.  Lovely. 

We haven't even touched on hair frizzing or going limp, or make-up melting off, or sweating profusely and ruining clothes or skin cancer or headaches from squinting at the sun, or pets shedding and/or hoiking up hair balls in the middle of the night.  Currently, the only redeeming thing I see about summer is fresh tomatoes and peaches.  And frankly, those could be grown in a greenhouse.  The largest carrots I've ever seen were ones grown in Alaska.


I cannot be the only one who rejoices when 22 June hits and we're headed towards the good bits of the year.  The times where we can wear sweaters and other cosy clothing and eat yummy fattening foods and not feel guilty for being slothful by the fire instead of being exhorted to be up/doing/hiking/kayaking/scaling mountains.  If I were wealthy, I'd be the opposite of those sun birds who move between their two homes following spring/summer.  I'd move to find eternal autumn.


But that's me.