Pocket coda, friendship coda with cicadas, chai coda, pasty coda

The coda on friendship: I did reference human friendship and everybody politely stayed within the frame of reference. But my friends include animals and plants. 

Two of these converged yesterday when the five year old grandchild visiting next door came to show me her new friends, cicadas in a jar. Just caught for a while to see them up close. 

She took one out to introduce me, and it gave a rattly squeak. I said he's talking to you. She: Yeah, when I pinch his butt he does that. Me: Do you think he's saying  ouch? She: Ohh. Maybe. Me: I like him. She: Yeah. Im putting him in the tree now. And off she went,  mission accomplished.

I doubt if I will live to experience another 17 year cicada season. So this was a great moment of friendship across race and species and age, all at once.

On to less weighty subjects.

More on the endless world of pockets, with another Pro Tip from Polly Pockets here. 

Here's another beloved linen shirt, altered to suit. Roll sleeves, cuffs long gone into some art or something, tail shortened to my liking. It already has a pocket but things can fall out if you bend to see stuff out walking. So it does need help.

As you see, the tail, complete with one button and button hole, still available. Which gave me a cool idea.

Before the cool idea, see that little pink item. It's a Tiny Pocket, a finger in the eye of manufacturers who love them. It's going on the chest opposite the side of the Useful Pocket on the pink shirt. More than one way to achieve balance. Small can weigh large. And a couple of square inches of linen can be a political statement.

And the cool idea is: these two cut out pocket bits, where the shirt tail curve is the pocket top, very well finished already, the front side finished, too, and only the hem and underarm side need my finishing. 

Tune in here for Simple Stuff I Can Do to Get Pockets and Smash the  Patriarchy.

This will happen tomorrow in daylight. 

Meanwhile another version of pasties, this time they probably have a name I don't know, and if you do, please say.

Granny Smiths, with nutmeg, cinnamon, golden raisins, small amount of sugar, usual tortilla dough except bolted flour. 

The flour is very delicate in this recipe, probably needs regular wholewheat combined. That's why it looks a bit lacy. I mean artisanal.

They were very good though, plenty more to come, and triggered another Clever Tip for Cooks Running to Catch up with the Big Kids. 

I finally got around to finding a little shaker for the confectioners sugar, see here. Filled it before I could say I was too tired, and there it is.  This has taken years to accomplish.

When I was first learning American labeling, a friend who cooks and bakes like a pro, gave me a handwritten itrecipe for her lemon bars, which I've since made many times for appreciative audiences. 

I noted the abbreviation she used for the sugar and asked her "what's this ten times sugar?" Such a look of compassion she gave me, never forgotten. 

And now it's short stories and chai.

That's another of those trap words like tea. 

If a Brit invites  you to tea, you're not going to get a cup of hot water with a teabag in it.  You've been invited to a meal, all baked from scratch. At my house, anyway,  including the bread in the little sandwiches, and the jam, a couple of kinds of cake, maybe a savory, and a fresh pot of tea, choice of lemon or milk. Nice cups. Napkins. Clean tablecloth.

When an Indian offers you chai you get this recipe I made, made slowly and with care, with milk. 

Yet chai just means tea. And you can get spice mixes called chai which are lovely, but not the classic Indian recipe.  It all depends on context.

I blame the English for all this confusion. For everything, really.

Ficus pushed ahead of schedule, emergency gardening

I've been wondering when to get the ficus tree out to the patio for her annual season at camp.  She needs to be tethered to avoid being blown over, because top heavy, houseplant, not outdoor pruned, and the fence, the usual support, is to go away soon.

Then today while I was watering, I realized we had an emergency plant situation. The whole pot was infested with tiny insects, ready to move on to the other plants.

So Ficus was hauled outside hastily, and stood on the deck while I ran for twine. Before I'd got back less than a minute later, she'd blown over.  Here she is, upright again,  resting against the wall

Then I was wondering what to tether her to. I decided on the faucet, pretty sturdy. And there she is. 

Full sun was not my choice but no other way to secure her. We're getting cooler weather and  rain starting today, so I guess this timing was just as well. She's under the roof overhang so she won't get much rain. 

And she needs to be moved to stand on earth soon, so that her roots can sink in and get nutrition. Also she doesn't blow over so much when she's rooted.

The rest of the plants are quite happy to take up the space. You can just see her outside, at the right end of the window.

Blessed silence from the 17year cicadas, probably weather related. For the benefit of readers unfamiliar with this particular cicada, there are different kinds of cicadas, I checked decibel levels. 

The CDC warns that more than a few minutes exposure higher than 85 dbs is hazardous to hearing. 

Chain saw 110, lawn mower 85-100, 17 year cicadas 90.  And they hatch in millions.

Summer crickets make a comparable sound, but we don't get them in millions. And the sound is not incessant. A few friendly crickets around the house don't compare. I rest my case!

The 17 years are beautiful, not harmful usually, don't sting nor bite. But they are a hearing hazard.  And I changed my walk to avoid the trees where they're plentiful for a few days.

I wore my Mitered Squares jacket to the library today, chilly enough,  in the hope of seeing knitter librarian friends, but no luck. They may have taken the day to lengthen the holiday weekend. Memorial Day in the US. 

Also the start of summer, pools open, shore in season. For me, arranging the deck for reading outside. And changing the red felt winter door curtain for the stripey canvas one. Not a big commitment.

Next time Handsome Son is over, he'll help with that. Also finally deliver my mother's day card. We both forgot to observe the day, what with dryers and ultrasounds.  It lost its place on the list!

Walking out in spring

 This is what happens in this neighborhood about now

Violets, not scented, just wild, dog I think, all over

 

First day of the dogwoods opening

This little feller's been there for years. I don't know if anyone owns and wants him -- he's a few yards outside a fence, on the edge of the trees -- so I end up leaving him there. I hope he doesn't get tossed.

Blossoms, maybe flowering crab?  Please correct if you know better.

More violets everywhere underfoot, which tells you this is damp ground.

Woodpeckers busy all around, crows shouting, Carolina wrens organizing territory, cardinals singing all their songs, a tree packed with mourning doves, like a convention bus dropped them off.

No toads yet. I expect to see one on my front path any day now.

This year the 17 year cicadas emerge. We don't get a lot in this neighborhood, just enough to know they're there and find them lying about on the sidewalks. 

I used to work in an office in cicada territory, old trees,  and the noise was dangerous to hearing. All doors and windows tight shut, still loud. Running to the car hands tight over ears. A few days of being reminded of the power of insects!  Every 17 years, long enough to forget from the last time.