Breakfast in bed, chair exercises

If you spot a theme here, you're right.

Lazy life right now. Breakfast was very early, son's morning text before leaving for work came at 5.30.   So I thought to myself, self, I thought, breakfast in bed this morning. Buttered toast, pot of tea.

 That pot holds about a cup and a half of the matching mug. Like a big breakfast cup.

The tray, sheet iron, was a very good street find. It had been put out for the recycle, rejected by them, not tin nor aluminum, so it came home with me. This is a high end find -- in a gutter in what the media calls affluent western Princeton! Only the best.

It had a horrible faux colonial decoration, so I applied one of my all purpose remedies -- sprayed it white. I like it because it's big enough for everything you need.

And when I get up, plans include playing music, making a bit of art, possibly finishing up an Izzy doll or two, but let's not get carried away here, and a new exercise program I just found.

I've been a slacker on my weight training for a while, and this is interesting stuff, to get back into it.  I've been doing weights pretty steadily for over twenty years, and I'm pretty sure it's helped me avoid joint pain, stiffness, and other ills.

 It also makes a person feel stronger and more capable in all kinds of ways. So I'm going to give this program a try. It's HASfit on YouTube. And it's done in a chair, gentle theme today.

 If you're limited in mobility, this shows adaptations, and the recommendation came from a Twitter friend who has severe physical limitation and pain, and finds this approach doable. 

You just do what you can. A friend of mine after her husband died, wanted to get back some fitness, after a long period of stress and caregiving, so she consulted a personal trainer.

 They did a preliminary session to establish her current level, at the end of which the trainer said, well, about your core. You haven't used it in years!  So they started by finding it. I think she's using it now.

So that's today's ambition: use my core! I know it's around somewhere. I had it a minute ago.

Frrrrench menu. Madame va etre servie!

Tonight and two more nights, it's pommes roties, avec une petite omelette fines herbes.

Translation: egg 'n chips.

The potatoes in question were a sub Handsome Son found, in place of the listed, unavailable,regular white potatoes: white sweet potatoes.

The fines herbes is fresh clipped chives. Seasoning on the potatoes as shown, mustard seeds, garam masala, turmeric. Olive oil. Plus sprinkle of kosher salt. 400f for 35 minutes.   Puffy, crisp outside, tender inside. Ketchup optional.

Comfort food.

Et maintenant, Madame est servie!

Art is food is art

Today was The Time of the Prepping of the Ginger and Garlic.

Garlic is so beautiful in its design that I can't just peel, I have to do pictures.

It's like handling a sculpture that also smells interesting.

Ginger, too, is an adventure in smell, and I wonder who first found out about it. It looks like strange little figures when it's growing, and who thought to break a bit off and sniff? Then even, daringly, taste, and find they'd been transported onto a higher plane?

So garlic

And ginger

Are now in the freezer, ready for whatever might seem to be a good idea. The stainless steel spoon is to remove the smell of garlic from your hands.

 You know that old trick, under cool running water, rinse hands and spoon together and some chemistry happens, the smell of garlic is gone. Interestingly, the smell of ginger stays around a bit. But that's not much of a problem.

Morning sighting

This was the first thing I saw this morning when I looked out at the weather.

Mrs Downy confirming that the branch is dead, and interestingly stocked with food.

A Friday thank you

I have four different neighbors currently texting to offer shopping, just give them a list. Plus my son, just a list, Mom,done.

I think they're all in league to keep me at home cooking treats for them..

Here's a surprise that showed up yesterday, on the step.

 Asked by neighbor what I needed,I'd mentioned ginger and garlic, but said no hurry, just if you ever  happen to be in a shop that has them, since their trip was to a store that doesn't.  Not to make a special trip.

An hour later, these showed up. Payment firmly refused.

This kind of gesture doesn't just happen overnight. Years of friendship go into making a community, and the care goes both ways. I tend only to talk about what is done for me, but I'm sure you realize we've all done our bit for each other.

And right now the bread we've tossed on the water is coming back multiplied. It's such a help to feel valued when everything's frightening. And to feel useful.

 My state has now lost more people than we did on 9/11.   We're in the epicenter of the virus. Field hospitals operating, thousands of retired medics back as volunteers, revised licencing, cutting red tape to allow fully qualified immigrants with MDs from their home countries to practice in NJ.

Volunteers at food banks, making gowns, masks for medical personnel. Grocery workers in masks and gloves, sturdily working their shifts as usual. 

It feels as if the whole state is mobilized. Staying home out of the way, refraining from grumbling, being a cheerful presence, are such tiny things in comparison to people daily risking everything. But I think it helps.

And I think ginger and garlic just illustrate it all nicely.

So I'm thankful. And now I have to chop and freeze them.

Early morning with pancakes

My son texts me daily before leaving for work, so the loud alert on my phone acts like an alarm. Timing depends on his shift. Today text landed at 6 am, and I'd had enough sleep, so breakfast was early.

And here it is

Lovely thin pancakes, plate drizzled with molasses ahead of time. Pot of tea. Perfect.

The batter happened yesterday. I had one aging banana, no other fruit, no handy baked item, so I was wringing my hands, dessert, dessert, my kingdom for dessert..and bethought me of yon fritters,  I an idea I haven't got around to for years.

Banana fritters. With molasses. No picture because my food stylist just couldn't make them look appetizing like in the magazines.

But they were very good.

And, two exciting events today: Handsome Son coming over with groceries including fruit, this afternoon. A masked, gloved, hatted, coated man will leave bags on the step, and we might exchange a couple of sentences. I expect it'll be Handsome Son, but everyone looks about the same in safety garb.

Then later there's a live online lecture on Asian art by a Princeton art museum curator.

I don't know if I can handle it all.

What a difference a day makes

Here's the house across the street, now being repaired.

 By day's end it will be good as new. Full on effort by skilled crew. Yes, of course they're Latinos. Cheerful, working, showed up early this morning. Immigrants get the job done.  They'll leave it clean as a whistle.

Then, walking after the storm, I notice no mud; this area drains very well, prime arable land before it was built on, second only to the Shenandoah Valley in yield per acre.

 That kind of building on irreplaceable farmland was hammered by the TDR legislation, a few years ago, despite the screams of rage of out-of-state developers, who fancied even more land grabbing than they'd already done.

 The farm I buy from legally agreed to farm in perpetuity.  Yes, they did get a very nice package in the settlement with the State. But selling to a developer would have brought much more. And the same family has farmed that land for over a hundred years. You can see several generations out working there in season.

Back to my walk, and a sweet honey scent a block away, gradually getting stronger in the breeze, brought me here.

 Bees going mad. They'll bring pollen back to the farm where I shop, and the farm honey will happen. They also mob my herbs, taking lavender, thyme and sage pollen back to the hives.

Playing Elizabethan songs on recorder this morning. Duets by Morley, for tenor and soprano. So I played the parts turn by turn. He's friendly to play. Hard for me to sing, though.

That's because though the tenor voice and soprano voice seem to be in the  same range, the register breaks are not.

 The break is where your voice moves from one range, to another, higher, range. My register break is on the d above c5.

If you have a  keyboard, find middle C. Now go up one octave. Now one more note. That's where my break comes.  That's always  a difficult note to lean on, because your break is where your vocal cords  want to shift about. And that's often the note that's very significant in Morley, basically written for male voice.

For the tenor voice, the break is a bit lower, so my break is, for a tenor, a comfortable note to lean on. Purcell, too, is really difficult for me, but works a treat for a (male) countertenor. That's that very high tenor voice. But looking at the score you'd think it would be in the female soprano range. Anyway, technicalities only interesting to a singer.

Then there's stitching, which is when I like to hear books. Listening to two main audiobooks now,  while I work and rest.

For working, it's Jeremy Irons' brilliant reading of Brideshead Revisited, an elegiac rendering, he simply gets Waugh. But it's emotionally heavy. It's written in the first person. So it's intense.

 So when I'm winding down in the evening, it's a switch to Frederica, one of the funniest of Georgette Heyers. Another great actor, Clifford Norgate, reading, great range of voices for the different characters. Both of them are on YouTube. Look up Ian Yates channel.

Between them they're a great antidote to the bad news all around. My little town now has hundreds of confirmed cases. All I can do is stay put.

 Pleasing myself, making art and music, walking, writing, cooking, taking what care I can of my friends, doesn't seem too onerous a civic duty.

 It does seem a bit removed from the daily drama enacted a mile away, in our large regional hospital.  But I guess this is the hand I've been dealt this time.

Everyday disasters aren't suspended for the virus

So this morning, midst the storm I heard a creaking, screeching crashing sound, thought it was a tree down, couldn't see anything.

Then fire, police, ambulance showed up, sirens, flashing lights. Neighbor reported to me that someone, trying to back into his own parking spot, had crossed the street, jumped the curb, crossed the grass and come to rest in the kitchen across the street.

A nonvirus, nonstorm calamity.  One person led gently into ambulance, fire department checking safety of remaining wall, shutting off utilities, we have gas, vital to check. Now boarded up and tarped against the rest of the storm.

I could hardly think of a worse time for this to happen.  Cue the locusts.

While I was out  l found my daffodils broken by the wind, cut them

Here, left, the rescued daffodils, and on the right the bag of spent flowerheads I keep in the freezer for future paper making.

And a neighbor on the other side I haven't seen for a while offered to shop for me, share supplies etc. I'm very lucky to live where I do.

Which is more than I can say for the poor folks with a hole in their house. But all the emergency folks were here in maybe five minutes. And they won't get rain indoors. So there's that. Not exactly what they were expecting today.

Spring on the patio

Today is all slashing winds and rain and excited texts from the power company, so it's a good thing I did these pictures yesterday.

A guided tour of the approx 20'x10' patio. Don't laugh-- you could fit an entire New York apartment on it--yesterday.

But first, it being Easter and I'd baked bread, whole-wheat, AP, oats and caraway seeds, I did a couple of deliveries.

Friends next door and across the street got a little care package of sliced bread, warm from the oven, for their toasting pleasure. Excited texts ensued. Just enough for each couple's breakfast.

Then, Easter Bunny work done, I wandered about outside to see spring springing.

Above are the remains of the cherry bush blossoms, where there's going to be edible fruit for me, if the birds and squirrels don't get there first. This cherry bush variety hides the fruit near the branch, under the foliage, so you have to see it from underneath.

 The little Japanese maple, whose foliage is a great dye material later on, is opening

 Lemon balm everywhere. You can use it in drinks, or for flavor in, say, lemon chicken

The chives are recovering fast from the recent wild pruning when I needed them to make chivyssoise

The honesty plant coming through again in the strawberry pot. Since I planted it in this pot, pretty high up, I've managed to keep it safe from chipmunks.

 They used to reach up and bite right through the stems about six inches from the ground, just as they were setting seed, the reason I grew them. They can't reach this high and don't seem to be climbers.

I'm growing them for the lovely silver coin- like seed cases, as dried flowers. Each year I can add a little harvest to the current collection.

So there's spring, the true story of central NJ, brought to you by the observer at Field and Fen. We're not called F and F for nothing!

Happy Easter, happy spring, looking forward to better times Dolliver style

As usual it falls to us Dollivers to take care of everything around here. So we organized a seasonal display, brought out the animals we could trust not to wreck the joint, the Dolliver Dogs playing outside.

And here we are. Complete with kitten, cats,  our flock of parakeets, various eggs including ones Boud blows and decorates each year, not this year though, and porcelain ones and the little cockatiel eggs (from long-departed Emily Hope) in the teacup, the Easter Bunny, and whoever else we could conscript.

We are wearing old dresses. Old. Wearing out, they are. But we aren't complaining. Wouldn't be in the siege spirit. We're just saying it's time for new outfits.

 Where were we? Oh, right, happy Easter if you celebrate it, happy new beginnings if you don't, in fact that's a good hope for all of us right now.

Boud thanks us for stepping up, which we did with all the grace we're known for. She suggested that line, but we're not sure about the spirit in which she said it..

Ed. Note:

Speaking of grace, my son was very touched by a message from a friend of mine today, thanking him for faithfully working at the supermarket all through this siege, masked, gloved, worried and still working.

  Despite mobs of customers, many not understanding distancing, the ever present concern about infection, colleagues going down with covid-19.

 It used to be a peaceful job, suddenly an only modestly paid front-line position. Please thank your grocery workers. We often don't notice them much, and only now realize how vital their work is. Heroes also work to feed us.

It feels feeble to be staying home out of the way, but,  for some of us it's the most valuable thing we can do. My little family represents both ends of the spectrum right now.

But this too shall pass. Life isn't interrupted. This is all part of it. Shakuhachi.

Seems to be soup weather again, with forays into blister rust

Bitter howling winds and rain, hail etc, means an extended soup season.

Which also meant, since my gallant son was not able to get here till this evening with the groceries, riding over the hill, panniers packed, I had to rummage about in the freezer.

I found the last of last year's farm asparagus, the last of some green beans, and remembered chickpeas in the Cabinet of Beans.

So, chicken broth, curry powder, plenty of fresh ground black pepper, milk powder, the end of the potato flakes for thickening, and a large pot of soup emerged.

With that bready cornbread, pretty good. And several more meals to go.

The other reason to finish the asparagus, aside from being high time, is that this year's asparagus season is almost on us.

This early in the year, the farm stand is not staffed, so there's an honor box for the money, padlocked, and a change box to get change. They've been doing this for years.

 Only in the last couple have they had to install cameras, sadly. Much bigger population, no history with the Stults family, and the sheer labor of farming, I'd guess.

 Anyway the first asparagus is an event. I imagine since it's food they'll be able to open. Since NJ is an agricultural state, despite our industry, pharma, etc, there are laws about permitting food production. Watering bans in droughts don't apply, even to home gardens producing food.

We have laws against gooseberries, too! They can not be grown here because they carry white pine blister rust, a scourge of the white pines which are an important export crop. One crop pitted against another.

Full disclosure: I had a lovely gooseberry bush in our first house, planted by the previous owner, probably predating the law. Made some good jam, too.

Singing, playing, rescuing

As planned yesterday I did some singing last evening. Some of the time I sang the recorder pieces I'd been playing -- it's a whole lot easier to sing trills than play them on the recorder -- and I remembered one of my song favorites back when I was getting voice coaching, "Que ne puis-je la Fougere".

I found various arrangements on YouTube, and the words, too, which helped. After a few scales and vocalises, I tried it, and a lot of the rust left my voice. It was great. Check it out if you want to know what I'm talking about. Music of Pergolesi, old French poem.

Played recorder too, but I love the sensation of singing.

And then there's the story of a gardening success and a total miss.

Here, left, is the primula, which I thought would be a one season plant. But I repotted it, tended it over the winter after flowering was finished, and it's coming back in triumph.

Then, right, is what remains of the Vicks plant which I was given a couple of years ago as a cutting, nurtured it, it flourished outside in a pot. Then I failed to bring it in before frost nipped it, and it nearly failed. Just one small section survived.

 So again I tended it, got it flourishing in the house. And then put it outside too soon. Cold nights nipped it. Back to one tiny section, which I'm starting in water as I did the original cutting. It must be wondering what maniac is tending it. A gardener who doesn't learn very fast.

It's related to the coleus, I believe, and is determined to survive. It's the plant from which the medication Vick's is derived. If you pinch and sniff, you'll detect the characteristic menthol smell.

Pink moons and spice bushes

Amazingly the clouds cleared up later, on the night of the pink super moon and she showed up. Beautiful, golden, not pink. I found that the pink doesn't refer to the moon, but to the wild pinks, flowers, blooming around now.

If you saw it through a haze, though, you might have got the pink effect, who am I to spoil your moon!

And my spice bush, viburnum carlesii, is in full bloom, powerful scent like vanilla but sweeter and deeper.

Here it's pushing through the cherry bushes, those leaves on the right.

 It's taken years to get established. The first few springs it put up leaves which were immediately blighted. But finally last year it started blooming and this year it's really living up to its billing.

It's heavenly just standing near and getting that great scent. It drifts on the wind right over the neighborhood,  so I'm doing community service by growing it.

There are a lot of ways to serve a community. I like to garden to give neighbors something good to see and smell. And I give away a lot of herbs to local good cooks. I've moved my herbs out front to make it easier for them to pick.

 A lot of divisions of daylilies have gone to people who planted them in Trenton to beautify the city corners. Quite a few of them now grow all over my own neighborhood, too,along with irises.

It's good to exchange irises and daylilies with other gardeners, too. Such a treat to grow and give plants and views.

 With a very limited working area,  it's no use my studying the White Flower Farm catalog for actual planting purposes! It's eye candy though. But I'm pretty much full up.

Not bread and roses but close

Walk today, finding blossoms everywhere. And a shouted chat with a neighbor I haven't seen in ages.

Then home, not in the mood to bake regular bread, also low in flour, so I made yet another version of cornbread. This one, judging from the scrap of printed recipe on cardboard in my binder, must have come from a box of cornmeal. One of those bland test kitchen recipes.

This one wanted skim milk, but I have whole, so I used that, and vegetable oil, so I thought okay, we'll see, and egg whites.

Now it just happened that I had egg whites frozen from back when I made lemon curd using yolks, so I broke the block of four, used half, put the rest back.

Verdict: pale in color, because of no egg yolk nor butter, firm texture, a bit bready. Okay but not a winner. Slice with butter ready to spread. It needs butter.

Interrupted by a neighbor wanting to march into the house to visit with her dog, force of habit, until I said sorry, no one comes in right now.  So we had another shouted conversation, with her talking through a slightly open storm door and me well back in the living room. Her husband's working from home, and I think she needed a break from him.

It's heavy being alone at this time, but I don't have to cope with anyone unless I make contact, so there's that! I notice in the two conversations I had today, my voice is rusty with disuse. I'll do a bit of singing during my music time today.

New daffodils, under guard

Since yesterday this group has opened. Considering what a limited space I have, it's an extended daffodil season.

Two views

One with, one without,  wooden cat on watch.

Just walking

I've moved my daily walk to late morning, and find I do,  after all, have  the energy then. I've always walked in the afternoon when I'd gathered my strength. Never had much morning getupngo before.

And today was beautiful, birds shouting all over, violets and shepherd's purse underfoot

trees greening up

The air's cleaner, little air traffic, no noisy late afternoon helicopters carrying mail from corporate offices to New York, faster than the post office or FedEx.

Wildlife are bolder than usual, because few people about, little traffic. I wonder if we'll see any young black bears soon.

It's getting near the time the young males go in search of their own territory. They don't look like babies, even though they are. Hulking fellers. And the absence of people and cars might encourage them nearer houses.

 Every year at least one or two manage to cross the heavy traffic of six-lane Route One, following the old Assunpink creek water course which runs under the road, though most people are unaware of it until it floods. So with much reduced traffic, more bears might make it.

Nowadays people know to just stay clear, don't panic, don't eat lunch outdoors!  The bear won't want you, he'll want your sandwich.

Mask making 101

Here's the first, possibly the

only, mask..

I used bias tape for ties, not wanting loops around my ears, enough trouble with glasses, ears can only take so much.

Front

The bendy bit at the top is to shape it over your nose, to fit and to avoid fogging up your glasses. I used two pipe cleaners which I whipped together before stitching a casing under them to keep them in place.

Back

See pocket into which I guess you can put a filter. I had thought of a piece of interfacing, but now I wonder.

On me

And here's the famous neurosurgeon after a successful day's work. At least I play one in my blog.

I've tried wearing it and it's really warm, that exhaled breath. The idea is to use closely woven fabric like this, at least two layers. Maybe you get used to it. But I don't think  I'll add in the interfacing.

It's not a lot of sewing. I did it by hand in maybe a bit over an hour, not rushing.

So I have it. For wearing, on the offchance I go anywhere.