How Can We Know the Dancer from the Dance?

 

Up Close

They're givin' (as our neighbors used to say) hard cold for Sunday night. So all the tender porch plants will make their annual pilgrimage to the greenhouse.

This beautiful fuchsia (still blooming!) has come through two winters inside--I hope it can do it again. My previous fuchsias have never even lasted through the summer.

In go the indestructible Angel Wing Begonias . . .

And the ever-cheerful geraniums.

Soon the leaves will be the main source of color --for a while.

                                                                                    

In Praise of Patina

                                                            

                         

Such a useful word when one is an aging person living in an aging house surrounded by aging stuff.  

The spoon above was a wedding gift 59 years ago--it's coin silver and was already old when we were given it. And it already had the soft patina that many years of use and polishing had given it. It's one of my favorite things.

                                                           

  

A patina is a finish over a surface that develops over a period of time due to weather, stress and/or age. It is often used to refer to objects made of metal that develop a green film as a result of chemical reactions, as well as rust. However, the term can encompass any type of material, from metal to wood to leather.   

   

 The goose/swan was originally shiny copper . . .

The floorboards were smooth--but being soft pine, have worn.

The front door bears the scratch marks of generations of dogs who wanted IN.

The basement door and my hand--both showing signs of weather and wear. 

Ah, patina! Such a useful word.

Josie on Wednesday

I have had a cold (Not covid) and haven't been to see Meema in a Long time. But on Wednesday she picked me up from school--I showed her my Fireman's helmet. I missed the field trip my class took to the fire station, but they brought me this helmet. And a coloring book about firefighters.

We went for an ice cream cone too and there was a man there who Meema knew. She said she had been his teacher a long time ago and now they were friends. He was very nice, and he got a soda and then he paid for our cones too. We sat outside and talked. When he left Meema and I played Red Car, Blue Car and I won because I saw the most. I always get red. Meema said she would like to have white or gray for her color, but I said NO because the game is Red Car, Blue Car.

Meema didn't take any more pictures of me. But before we got home, she took lots of pictures of the leaves. She is always doing that--stopping on the road to take pictures. Sometimes I have to say Meema, Hurry Up! Because I want to get to the house and have some apple. And pee. and color in my new coloring book.

 

 

Autumn's Stained Glass

 

John Goingsnake Crosses the River

 

The river is much lower than usual, and I stopped to take a picture of these rocks. We were told of a great drought long ago during which a man could cross the river here dry foot. 

 

And this place was in my mind when I wrote a scene in The Day of Small Things--the story Birdie's grandmother tells her of John Goingsnake escaping the troops that were marching the Cherokee people to Oklahoma--The Trail of Tears.

 

“Did John Goingsnake cry?” I ask though I know the answer. I am about to cry to think of the poor Injuns.

“No, he did not, though he had loved his Nancy better than ary thing. He sat there with one hand on Nancy’s cooling face, holding his sleeping baby and looking out across the river that was shining silver in the moonlight. It was the fall of the year -- a dreadful dry season. He could see the rocks of the river just a-sticking up, looking most like stepping stones all the way across the water. And that gave him an idea.

“’Nancy,’ says he, speaking low to her spirit which he knows is still about, ‘I mean to stay here in the mountains with you but to do that I’ll have to leave you to be buried by these others. If I get away, I vow I’ll come back when it’s safe and sing over your grave.’

“And with that, he picked up the babe and strapped her to his back. She stirred and whimpered but didn’t wake, just drooped her head down heavy on John Goingsnake’s shoulder. All round, folks was sleeping hard, wore out with the walking they’d done.  Even the soldiers who was meant to be keeping guard was setting down, dozing by their campfires.  Then, quiet as a hunting cat, John Goingsnake creeps to the water’s edge and steps out onto a rock. The moon is making a path for him across the water and he hears a singing in his head as he steps to the second rock and then the third.”

“Well now, John Goingsnake, he stood there in the middle of that broad river, wondering what to do. He could see rocks like stepping stones to the other side but betwixt him and the next rock there was a stretch of deep rushing water. He studied the distance and knew it was too far to make a leap for. ‘No telling,’’ thinks he, how deep the water is here in the middle where it runs all the year. Strong as it’s raging through this narrow channel, I fear was I to try to cross, the child and me would likely be swept away. Though,’ says John Goingsnake to hisself, ‘if me and the babe was took by the river, why then we’d be with Nancy. Could be that’s the best thing for us.’

“On his back, the baby stirred and made a little sound like she was a-feared, a little whining sound, and John Goingsnake stood there thinking on the meaning of that sound. A cloud passed over the moon and a hoot owl called and he studied on the meaning of them things too.”

Granny looked over at me, real solemn. “That’s how Injuns do; they look fer meaning in everything they see or smell, everwhat they touch or taste or hear. And being as John Goingsnake was a Cherokee wise man, he was uncommon good at knowing what the world around him was saying. But just then, standing there in the middle of the river on that long ago night, John Goingsnake was plumb bumfuzzled.

“And then the moon come out and he looked down at that stretch of water at his feet and he was dumbstruck –for right there in front of him, where a minute before hadn’t been nothing but fast-moving water, there was a great flat rock with the water curling around it. Without stopping to think, John Goingsnake stepped onto the rock. And then a quare thing happened – the rock begun to move."

                                                 

Moonrise in October

 

Tampa Soul Food

Arroz amarillo con pollo y camarones-- Chicken and yellow rice with shrimp. This is the signature dish of Tampa's Spanish restaurants and it appeared often on our family table, conveyed thither by my father who would pick up a to-go container of the delicious stuff on his way home from work.

The recipe I used is adapted from the cookbook Clarita's Cocina by Clarita Garcia of Tampa's famous Las Novedades restaurant. (It's a terrific cookbook, probably long out of print but worth looking for on used books sites.)

The Recipe

(which could be made with only chicken or only shrimp)

1 large chicken, cut into serving pieces. Reserve the back to make broth. (Or you could use 3-4 lb. of chicken thighs and/or breasts and use canned chicken broth.) 

1/2 cup olive oil

i large onion, chopped

1 green pepper, chopped

1 large ripe tomato, chopped

6 cloves garlic, chopped

I lemon, juice of

1 bay leaf

1 tbs. salt

Hot sauce to taste (I used Sriracha)

1 cup hot chicken broth

 

2 packets Goya Sazon (yes, I have boycotted Goya ever since the former guy pitched it but alas, I can't find or make a substitute that give the same taste that is part of this childhood memory.)

1/4 c. dry white wine

2 c. basmati rice

12 or more shrimp, raw, peeled

1 c. thawed frozen baby green peas (I just dump them in hot water and as soon as they've thawed, drain them.)

Pimento strips

In a large skillet or casserole suitable for stovetop and oven cooking, lightly brown the chicken pieces in oil. Set aside. Add the onion and green pepper. Sauté till translucent. Add tomato, garlic, lemon juice, bay leaf, hot sauce, and salt. Mix well and cook till tomato softens.

Dissolve the sazon in the hot chicken broth and add the white wine. Pour on vegetables and stir well. Return the chicken pieces to the skillet, cover and cook about 15 minutes or till tender.

Add rice, stir to distribute then bring to a boil.  Cover and place in preheated oven (325F) for 20 minutes or until rice has cooked. Put the raw shrimp on top of the rice for the last 5 minutes--they just need to turn pink and curl up a bit --no overcooking!

Remove casserole from oven, garnish with the peas and pimentos, recover and let sit 15 minutes.

All you need now is a green salad and a glass of wine. Cuban bread would be great--if you can find any. 

 

Still Turning

                                                                       

                                  

                                                                                     

Is Amazon the AntiChrist?

 

Or just an incredibly savvy marketer? Is there a difference?

Amazon has done a mass mailing (TO CURRENT OCCUPANT) of a catalogue of kids' toys. It includes stickers ("Stickers!" Josie shrieked and proceeded to stick them all over a table from whence I had later to scrape them with my fingernails,) and games, and a story, and masks to punch out--all very appealing to kids. Josie was all over the catalogue the minute Grumpy brought in the mail. " Grandma got one of these too. Now I need a marker so I can circle the things I want for Christmas."

I can remember as a child spending long hours with catalogues from Best and Co, and FAO Schwarz--I probably circled things too. I know the feeling. But I had to explain to Josie that just because she circled something didn't mean it was sure to be under the Christmas tree. I'm not sure she was listening as she flipped pages, circling like mad.

The thing is, Amazon has been incredibly useful to us during Covid and will continue to be so as we grow older and less inclined to go shopping. Actually, it's been a very long time since I enjoyed the thrill of the retail hunt. The toy shop I used to patronize in Asheville closed a few years ago and Amazon has taken up the slack.

Josie has some interesting choices--weaponry . . .

A play kitchen  . . . some stuffed animals . . . way too many Barbies and Barbie lookalikes (I really dislike Barbie and her ilk). . . lots of plastic tchotchkes . . . and, as they say many, many more.  

I'll probably order a few of her choices--the realistic fox plushie is pretty adorable and there's a nice doll that looks like a little girl instead of a hooker. And maybe the sword that lights up.

But the electronic drum kit is a non-starter. Perhaps her other grandparents will come through.

                                                   

In Praise of Angel Wings

Angel Wings Begonias, that is. 

When we moved from Tampa in 1975, my grandmother gave me starts from several of her plants (which had very likely come from Troy, Alabama, back in the Twenties), and these are the descendants. Almost fifty years later, they are still flourishing. Also known as Cane Begonias, these natives of Brazil's bamboo like stems can grow to ten feet

They winter in our little unheated green house and spend the summer in various pots on our various porches. They bloom profusely and grow and grow to the point that I usually cut back some of the more exuberant branches and, channeling my grandmother, stick then in a glass of water till they grow roots. Then I've got another pot of Angel Wings.

Their blooms are beautiful but, right now, it's the foliage that's spectacular, especially in the morning sun.

If there's anyone in my area who'd like to adopt a pot of Angel Wings, I'd be happy to share . . .

 

Thoughts Like Turkeys

Some days my thoughts are as random as these turkeys--

They would like to take flight but instead they run away.