Freecycling pedals on, jammed doors and mystery plantings

I think our local Freecycle has come back with a roar. After several years of flagging interest, declining membership and some less than friendly encounters, then the long almost total shutdown since early last year, the spirit seems back.

Yesterday's success with the painting materials encouraged me, instead of traipsing all the way, across two towns to the thriftie, why not offer the bags of yarn that were out there in the car.

Which I did, complete with a picture..

In literally minutes half a dozen polite and friendly requests all giving day and approximate time as requested, came flying into my email. 

This is so much better than before I dropped out, that I'm thinking of not doing thriftie runs at all, at least for identifiable stuff, in enough quantity to be of interest.

And when I offered the bag to the first comer, fair's fair, she replied with great enthusiasm. And it was gone a few minutes later. Yay! 

I had used all I could of the various yarns, and it seemed wrong to cling when another person could really enjoy them. The taker said they were just the thing for some projects she had in mind. This one wasn't a difficult process.

This is how Freecycle was a few years ago, and I'm glad it's back.

Cleaners here today and I went to the Preserve between showers, and provided snacks for biting insects, while getting pictures of wild plants in a special area for insects, butterflies and birds.

There was an absolute congregation of bees working this area

And I need to ask who can identify this? 

Two pictures for ID purposes.

The cleaners, aside from their usual great cleaning, not too hard in the house of a single pet free person, but welcome anyway, managed to jam the patio door lock. This happened when they came last month, too, and now I know it must be them.

Someone, instead of leaving the lock in the horizontal locked position, forced it up the channel completely past the tolerance of the mechanism. I suppose they thought they were securing it, since they're very conscientious about security. I know they meant well. It could have broken the lock.

Each time, I have had to get my (large, strong) contractor friend to come, physically lift the heavy door up from the track, shake it till the lock dropped back in place and lower it. It takes a powerful man to put right the goof of another powerful man!  This door took three burly installers to handle when they put it in.

So all's well, my heart's back in my chest, and my rescuer left with a pot of plum jam. That stuff is currency! And I sent an email asking the  cleaning group please not to do that again. They'll be mortified, but I think we'll recover.

Never a dull moment!

A mild attack of Winnowing

One thing and another led to my finally coming to grips with the admission that I am never going to paint my walls personally again. 

All my life I've painted them myself, one wall at a time, and I have to say that, now I'm being careful about climbing, is a good time to give the doings to other younger people who can still paint their own walls.

So, first listing in two years on the local Freecycle, took a picture, logged in and made the post. I figured that if I don't get a bite, I'll just go over to the thriftie tomorrow while the cleaners are here, and donate, along with the bags of yarn and kitchen stuff currently cluttering my car.

In less than five minutes I had three requests, more coming. The first person who set up a time for pickup as requested, got the nod. He's planning on this afternoon. So it's out there for him, simple drive-by. 

If he shows up, that will save me a trip, and be a Good Thing all around.

So we'll see. 

Winnowing is so much more than just selecting and boxing. It's a meeting with yourself and it's not easy to say goodbye to the person who thought nothing of painting the entire three story house and in earlier days, the condo. The boxes of what looks like random stuff are a symbol, too. 

I really understand keeping things though I don't much do it. It's more than objects.

Solstice Greetings

Happy Summer Solstice to northern hemisphere blogistas, and Happy Winter Solstice to blogistas reading in Oz and NZ. and any other southern hemisphere readers I don't know of.

Longest day here, and wildflowers everywhere. They're tiny so you need to keep looking.

Here's vetch, finished flowering and now making tiny seedpods. I expect they're related to edible peas, same vining tendrils and small flowers succeeded by pods.

I forget the name of this creeper, which showed up a few years ago and has brightened the ground cover with a lovely green. I like that it climbs right over the top of the ground cover. Right now it's in yellow bloom for a few days. 

Sorrel everywhere, edible where they haven't sprayed it, a dark sour flavor great in salads. I've never had enough to make soup but I believe you can.

The summer Austenfest continues, with the BBC Emma. 

Low budget costumes, wonderful sets, great acting, except I think Harriet Smith and Emma should have exchanged roles. Mainly because though Romola Garai is a powerful actress, she's not up to the subtleties of Emma, and I think Louise Dylan, who plays Harriet, would be a very good Emma.  

Mr Woodhouse brilliantly played by Michael Gambon, Miss Bates likewise by Tamsin Greig.  You can tell who understands Austen and who's following a script.

I'm only partway through, since this is a four episode TV series. With subtitles, I'm happy to say.  And I may adjust my attitude as I see the last two episodes.

Then I will return the DVDs to the library where I found recently someone's put a box for collecting donated eyeglasses.

I'll add these prescription sunglasses to the collection. I used to donate old glasses through my eye doctor but the person who was doing it had to stop temporarily for Covid reasons. 

Meanwhile these will be useful. My eye doctor told me years ago he'd done voluntary work in Haiti, fitting people with the nearest to their required correction, free of charge.

I was doubtful, after Handsome Partner died, whether his glasses would be useful. He had no vision in one eye, so clear glass, and a massive correction in the other. Astonishing that he did great scientific research at a lab bench with such limited sight.  But I wondered could his specs be useful for anyone else.

Eye doctor, who knew him, explained to me that the glasses would be prized. With that correction even in one eye, it could make the difference between employed active and helpless. He was happy to take all of them.

Speaking of happy to receive, my next door neighbor is delighted with his little jar of plum jam, and as soon as I handed it over, ran for the muffin to toast for it.

Happy day all around.

Black plum jam! Ebullient!

 The black plums you saw in the Misfits box are now jam, no very tangy, nicely jelled.

I left the plums in the pot with the sugar and lemon juice, to let the juice start to flow, while I ate lunch, salad of course, romaine, Italian parsley, sharp cheddar, tomato.

I'd checked around for cooking times abd found a recipe for five cups of plum chunks and three of sugar. 

Here's where the realization dawned

I noticed it's a golden ratio!  Remember way back our discussion about the golden mean in art, the golden ratio, the three by five card an example of it! The balance and harmony of it? 

How could my jam go wrong, with these good omens? True, jam wasn't the focus of the people studying this, but what's a bunch of fruit and sugar between friends?

So here it's boiling merrily, reaching what ze French call ebullition 

It was when I was studying French and came upon the word ebullition meaning boiling, that the whole family of words suddenly made such sense. 

Bubbling, boiling, ebullient, bubbles, all related. So vivid to describe a person as ebullient when you know it means bubbling or boiling. And the bubbles forming on the liquid tell you it's boiling. 

Anyway where were we, oh yes, the colors in that pot are just amazing, even without bubbles.

And it turned out fine. Nicely jelled, lovely flavor. A modest amount, enough to eat and to carry a sample next door.

And here's a sample for the cook with the last of the pancake batter I've been having daily for breakfast for idunnohowlong. Nearest thing I had to bread to spread it on.

By tomorrow the flavor will have developed and will be mellower, though it's fine now.

This'll do.

Sunday morning, thankful.

The Austen film festival is still in progress. Last night Mansfield Park, appropriate for the first Juneteenth national holiday. For people who haven't read it, it touches on the issue of slavery and how Mansfield Park itself is financed by the proceeds from a slave plantation in Antigua, and the moral dilemma arising from it.

This version gets graphic on the subject, far beyond the subtleties of Austen, but it's worth seeing. One of those movies where you keep recognizing actors and wondering where you saw them before.

The potatoes are flourishing

And the Japanese maple, sunlight shining through. It's doubled its height this year. I guess it's happy.

And a recent HOA meeting revealed that the fence project is nowhere, Board still receiving material from the contractor which they haven't read, more contractor demands. 

I suspect the contractor wants out and is making it so difficult that the HOA will dump them, no liability on them. 

Anyway we're now all continuing as if the project were not happening.  I've moved the ficus again, onto earth, hitched to the fence. She may as well have the chance to put down roots if the new fence isn't happening right now. No reason she shouldn't have a good season.

And here's the latest cause for joy. Next to the latest butternut walnut bread is -- a strong cup of Vietnamese coffee. Made by boiling milk with the coffee briefly, then straining it, and it's really strong but not bitter.

It's the first time in years I've been able to enjoy coffee, the real thing, snarling with caffeine and flavor, without hideous pain in a few minutes. Not just a bit of heartburn. More the kind of pain where you have to hold onto something till it passes. Every mouthful of anything but yogurt, instant reaction.

The reason was severe side effects from a medication designed to protect my aging bones. Severe enough for scary emergency testing procedures to determine  if something really serious was going on. Nope. Just this medication attacking my entire digestive tract. I dumped the medication instantly on my doctor's finding. Iatrogenic illness, I was a living example.

Took years to recover from, and I had to quit all sorts of things. Including my little evening glass of wine, coffee, cocoa, sigh.

I was always a coffee drinker in preference to tea, and heaved a  moan or two when I had to switch to tea in the morning. I learned to like it eventually, but there's nothing as good as a coffee jolt. 

Excuse the medical info, but it explains why this simple afternoon snack is such an excitement. Wheeee, I'm back! Maybe I can even have a little glass of prosecco..

Doesn't take much to thrill some of us!

Happy Sunday!

Misfits and actual planning, what a concept

 The Misfits box arrived today, borne on the shoulder of a large young FedEx man who swung it down gently on the step while waving to me and clicking on his tablet to note the delivery. As if it weighed nothing. 

I can't get it over the step! I roll it into the house usually, works fine. But as for picking it up? Way beyond my lifting power. What you see here doesn't include two heavy freezer gel packs and a hefty box.

And I actually sat down, after the usual mad scene of prepping and dropping and spilling, then sweeping and wiping  so the kitchen looks like people, not bears, live there, sat down. And did some planning.

I figured this was better than daily staring  at the ceiling in the hope that some heavenly being would swoop down and tell me things to cook, while feeling pressed to do justice to this bounty. 

My ideas are quite vague when I make my order; it's when I see the produce that it becomes real. These jumbled notes are now magnetized onto the freezer, at what you might call the point of supply.

Tonight's dinner was the usual, a  salad for Misfits day, Romaine, celery, Roma plum tomato, broccoli, ribbon of mayo, after the pic. That didn't take planning.

Then after supper, on to action stations.

Since the canteloupe was already ripe, I decided it could help those carrot greens that have been waiting in the freezer, have their day as a green drink thing.

Soooo, canteloupe, lemon slices, ginger, handful of  Italian parsley, which I remembered after I took the pic, and a mass of carrot greens, water, not much, blended as far as this blender can manage.

Then, it still being a bit fibrous, strained and pressed through a sieve.

And it is excellent, even if the cook says it. Sweet enough because of the canteloupe, nice bite from the lemon and ginger, lovely deep green veggie flavor. And a great air of virtue glowing throughout.

This, with pancakes, is tomorrow's breakfast.

Happy Juneteenth!

For once the US congress got something done at warp speed. The bill establishing Juneteenth made it through a quick undebated vote this week, both houses and the Oval, and went into operation immediately.  As in, hey Friday's a holiday, fellers! But it did take years of campaigning before it "suddenly" became law.

I got two flustered emails about the cancellation of planned activities at the library because  they were going to be closed, to the surprise of the employees, evidently.  

The actual Nineteenth is Saturday, but the law on this kind of holiday, where an actual date is commemorated, says the nearest working day becomes the holiday. If it fell on Sunday, then Monday would be the holiday.

For readers unaware of the significance of June Nineteenth

This announcement, for various reasons, some technical, some slow-walking, anyway, this announcement came two and a half years after the Emancipation proclamation.

I hope it doesn't serve as a useful tool to the politicians busily interfering with AA voting, as in look, you got ANOTHER national holiday, as well as MLK, don't tell me you also want to vote!

That reservation stated, it's a good day, and let's make it true.

In other good news, here's a vending machine in Europe somewhere that I'd like to see locally

I never get urges for candy or cupcakes, or that kind of thing, but I can see going out late at night for a nice bit of cheese, Gromit.

The same site, evidently written by people who don't do research, also said why don't we in the US have special sales at discount of nonstandard produce. As in Misfits market boxes, I suppose! Mine's arriving today, if Juneteenth hasn't put a crimp in delivery.

More about that later or maybe tomorrow.

Austen and others

 A whole array, panoply, cornucopia, of reading this week. Great weather for sitting outside, not too many mosquitoes, yet. Not too hot for this delicate temperate climate reader.

Going all at once, depending on mood, are some great novels 

The Divine Miz Moon recommended this, and now I do too. 

It's a modern day Pride and Prejudice set in Pakistan with the lives of the five Binat daughters, their hapless father, cheated out of his inheritance, left with little but a prestigious name, the mother very aware of the necessity of the daughters' marrying well, and the postcolonial society they all move in.

It's witty and fast moving snd not only great echoes of the Bennet sisters, but of Pakistani people I've known, especially the wording Mrs Binat gets herself tangled up in. 

Great summer reading, and really likeable too. This was Kamal's first novel, which might in part account for the high energy. 

Then I found this by accident, bargain price for Kindle, and though I rarely buy books, I went for it. 

A Margery Sharp I've never read, didn't know there was such a thing. She's always light-hearted but really astute, loves independent women who speak up, launch their own lives, even if not always wisely.  This  one l don't know anything about other than she wrote it and it comes with a bio. Done.

Gardens have suddenly became a theme.  I just discovered my library system has a garden themed book group. It's been on for a while. I looked back over earlier selections and found I hadn't missed a thing, I'd read them all! This is the current selection

It's a series of episodes taking place over centuries in a small Massachusetts town, starting with the founder, a young English woman. 

Various people drift in and by, including Johnny Appleseed, Emily Dickinson, you get the idea. It's a great read, combining possible history with myth and folk beliefs and mystic connections with animals. I think readers who love fantasy probably love Alice Hoffman.

West with Giraffes is being sidelined for now but there's plenty of time left on the loan, and A Woman of no Importance is back on my Kindle. Ashton Warner is in a longer loan, just as well.

If you have read any of them please let us hear how they worked for you. Always open to comments around here.

I had some great chats with neighbors yesterday, about plants, particularly mint, used a lot in Indian cooking, mainly spearmint. But I was given sample leaves of chocolate mint, too. 

And we got onto the subject of chai, which my next door neighbors, both of whom cook, drink just with the black tea not the spices but cooked in milk and sugar. I must try that, too. 

But I do like the spices. I can make a second cup from the same mix, I find, still good flavor though more muted the second time around.

Tea and reading. My current life.

Magna Carta, Bloomsday

 Yesterday was the nth anniversary of the signing of the Magna Carta, at Runnymede, by King John, the only English king of that name, pretty much at sword point, the barons having finally had it with his tyranny, and wanting to wield a bit of it themselves, I suspect. 

But the calendar has been fiddled with since 1215, so who knows really. Thirteen days went missing at the adoption of the Gregorian calendar in the sixteenth century, named for the Pope who did it to straighten out the Julian calendar drift because of leap years. Or something.  

I've always wondered about the poor guys who had vacation planned then, and suddenly found they were instantly scheduled to go right on working instead.. joke, joke.

Anyway it was a declaration of human rights and power sharing. However, England specifically appears to be in the process of abandoning it, and I thought I wouldn't get too excited yesterday.

Today however is another matter.

It's June 16, Bloomsday. The day Leopold Bloom, the hero of  "Ulysses", spent wandering the streets of Dublin, encountering friends, stories,  himself, Molly, and literary history.

It was Sylvia Beach, owner of the Shakespeare and Co. bookstore in Paris who first published "Ulysses"  when the establishment wouldn't.

On his fortieth birthday, February 2,1922. I wonder if he had many and complicated thoughts on the date. Born on the Feast of the Purification, hmmm.

Here's my tiny annual tribute, where I read more of it, as you see getting near the end

 and the massive blast of trumpets that is Molly Bloom's tour de force

Thank you to Sylvia Beach, and Kindle, which keeps my place from year to year. And Norah Barnacle who probably kept Joyce going. It's usually the surrounding women who ensure that great things happen and great literature is written then made available.

Here's to centering them! Acknowledging their own art in their own right. 

Meanwhile I have to get on to Ulysses again. Maybe I'll get to the end this year, before I run out of years 

Cauliflower Capers, and yet more pockets

So the day started fine, attached three pockets, end of pocketing for now.

Blue shirt, pinned in place

Now stitched, and a nice size for my hands, phone etc.

And the pink shirt with the tiny patriarchy smashing pocket in place. You can just get a couple of fingers partly in..

Then I thought I'd make a lovely cheese cauliflower broccoli bake, plenty of cheese in the house, and did so.

Well, I almost did so. I think despite its good looks, this may have been an end of season cauliflower. Fibrous, tough, after lengthy steaming and half an hour baking. 

Usually when you bake it, you want the cauliflower a little firm so it's still shapely after baking. This one had other ideas. The tips were tender, the rest could have used power tools.

However the cheese sauce was excellent, good cheddar, the last of the garlic spread, and the broccoli was fine. 

So after fuming for a couple of minutes, I ended up tossing the very toughest bit, then blending all the rest in the pot with a good chicken broth. It tasted fine.

So I declared it cream of cauliflower soup. Half a dozen helpings there.

Here's the trial bowl, with Japanese style garlic scapes featured.

Austenland came in, thank you for the recommendation, Debra. I'll watch it tonight.

This afternoon will be about reading one of the many choices I have lying around, including Unmarriageable on my Kindle, which I think is another Austen adjacent item, West with Giraffes, Ashton Warner, among a lot of others.

There's a textile presentation from HGA later. I'll see about that. If it's good I'll let you know tomorrow.

An up and down day in a way. Oh well.

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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.

Sunday quiet study of patterns

Just a wander round the houseplants, to look at design and pattern. 

Notice how many of these are used by fabric designers. And see if you can name the plants, all pretty common houseplants. Just fun. No prizes. Other than a smug badge.

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

11.

12.

Blogger decided where the numbers should go. A bit freeform.

And it's the season to give lavender to neighbors. 

This bunch went across the street and a chat ensued. About flowers and the neighbors and the HOA and the weather.