And is there honey still for tea?

Quotation, beloved nostalgic poem about England, from the trenches. Followed by the Peter Sellars' skit: 'oney's orf,dear!

All flashing through my ragbag of a mind as I put out afternoon tea, English breakfast, strong, scones hot from the oven, walnut and choc bit, homemade raspberry jam.

Midst shot and shell and political attacks on my sisters, afternoon tea still helps.

Friday, Little Library, afternoon tea, and three little budgies

Today was not only warm, it was eventful.

 
The third budgie, left, has joined the others in the tree, after a trip to the knitting group, at the big library, where he was photographed and admired like a star!

After I left the knitting group meeting, where I gave a Moosewood cookbook to a very happy recipient, I took my remaining book to leave at the Little Library, a new addition to the Art Center.  

 Locals will recognize this location as the old firehouse, now renovated for the visual and performing arts.

I've been looking for a local Little Library, and was happy to find this new one.  So I left a cookbook, took a book of mystery stories. If you're not familiar with the concept, it's a box on a post, set up with shelves, usually small, where you can leave a book or take a book, or both.

Then home to the first afternoon tea on the patio for the year. Reading, birds daringly feeding right overhead, a nuthatch getting brave, and giving me a great close up of how he works the feeder. He picks out the best seeds.

The tea was artisanal bread spread with farm honey, well it was gone before the photo happened, so you have to take the empty plate's word for it. Since tea leaves and coffee ground are acid, and that's what roses and azaleas like, I've been putting the used leaves out around them. We'll see how it works.  It beats disposing of them any other way.  

Reading outdoors today was Eleanor Oliphant is Just Fine, by Gail Honeyman, a funny and sad and moving story, written from the viewpoint of a probably autistic woman, brilliant,  working hard to figure out social interactions and language in the neuronormal world while dealing with past violent abuse.   It sounds much darker than it is;  it's piercingly funny, too.

Wild food and civilized food

Between storms, the fourth one in three weeks about to arrive, I picked a bit of the bittercress, and a handful of potgrown chives from the patio, dressed them with labneh (strained yogurt with a touch of salt and lemon) and a bit of mayonnaise, and made a very good topping for my supper baked potato.  

Spring greens, probably full of good elements, and tasting good, too.  The chives are especially onion tasting when they're this early.


And, a civilized afternoon tea for Handsome Son who dropped in to get an update on my medical adventures, now up to three doctors at once all intent on finding something wrong with me. No answers yet, just a lot of speculation and questions and testing and waiting..

So HS came over to get up to speed.  It may end up being nothing very significant, but good to be knowledgeable about the organ recital.  

 
And in the process to enjoy newbaked scones split and spread with lemon ginger marmalade, which he approved.  We demolished the banana walnut raisin bread, too.

Before he left he climbed up to set the time on my wall clock, since the hour changed.  It's battery driven, and will be handy if we lose power, I suppose.  And this new storm is forecast to be damaging, high winds, heavy wet snow.  Well, we'll see if the rest of the tree withstands the upcoming couple of days, or if I won't need to fell it after all...meanwhile the neighbors are weighing in on how much we could save, and persuading me not to fell the whole thing. Everyone's invested in this tree.  We'll see how it goes.