Tag Archives: words

September is in my blood.

Blooms on arbutus unedo, the Strawberry Tree.

The American Labor Day holiday is on the very first day of September this year. This prompts me to pay closer attention at the outset, because that’s also the first day of the liturgical year for Orthodox Christians. I’ve been supremely blessed by various aspects and events of the day…

First, it’s quite warm, which is too hot for some people, but I guess it’s in my blood, to want to be enveloped by air that is not much colder than my body temperature. (Of course I don’t feel the same way about it when the humidity is approaching that of my blood.) No marine breeze has come against me for a couple of days; even at night, when the temperature eventually drops to the usual mid-50’s, evidently it lingers in those lower registers more briefly. It is sweet, to feel fully relaxed, without sweaters or quilts. This kind of day is why I love September so much.

My sometimes helper Alejandro wanted to come and work this morning, so he could do family things later on. He probably would have come at sunrise if I’d let him, but he was willing to come a little later, and he cleaned up and trimmed the most parched and spent things around the place. That lifted my already floating spirits a few feet higher.

I pruned the lemon tree a bit, and removed numerous pine needles and spider webs from it, then texted with my brother about what might be causing some fruit to be deformed. He helped me figure out that it is citrus bud mites. I don’t know, if anything, what I will do about this. Maybe some insecticidal soap…

I admired the tallest sunflower I have ever grown.
I dusted one bench, and sat on another
to admire my favorite echinacea flowers.

I watched the skippers on the zinnias,
and tidied up the apple mint and the lemon verbena.
I made tea with the trimmings of the verbena.

Bent-lined Carpet on the other side of the glass one morning.

From time to time I consider tossing out the orchids that have come to me over the years, all but one of which has never bloomed again. But a friend told me that I should give them the kind of nourishment they like, food that is designed specifically for orchids. She said there are different orchid fertilizers depending on the species of orchid, and whether it is in the bloom period or not. I bought just one type so far; that is a start! My plants have been outdoors for the summer, in the shade, where I remember to water them more often, and they seem to be generally very happy, even if only the one is blooming. Today I will start being a less lazy orchid farmer.

Orchid, with lemon tree in background.

I really would like to grow amaranth in my garden, but I keep forgetting to try again. The one time I planted seeds, they did come up, but I think they were shaded by zinnias or other vegetables and never thrived. Maybe next year. In the meantime, I discovered that a type of amaranth has self-sown in the cracks of my driveway.

Amaranthus blitoides, Prostrate Amaranth

Is gardening labor, or is it work? Many people have weighed in on the difference in meaning between the two words, and after a brief perusal of their ideas it seems to me the discussion gets too complex for a day like today, when I am relaxing while working. I know working is the word I much prefer, unless I am talking about the births of my children.

Creeping thyme waiting to be planted.

I find a short quote about the words labor and work is not too taxing to think about on this non-laborious day:

“[Hannah] Arendt points to how language itself has always put a consistent break between them: “ponein and ergazesthai” in Greek, “laborare and facere” in Latin, “travailler and ouvrer” in French, “arbeiten and werken” in German, labor and work in English.” -Front Porch Republic 

In any case, I’m sure I will continue to do both, through September and onward, and I will try, I will even work, to be thankful for all of it, whatever God gives me strength to do.

Blessings with gingerbread and Flour.

Grandson who is now married.

By the time the book was ready to pick up at the library, I’d forgotten that I’d ever put it on hold; there must have been a good reason for me to look beyond the hugely generic title of Flour. Probably it was back before Christmas when I was still looking ahead, to Christmas baking, whereas now I’ve moved on.

Normally I am more drawn to provocative titles like Samarkand or Bravetart, two other cookbooks on my shelf at present, though I also have had plainer in my possession, such as The Onion Book, and Salt and Pepper — or was it Pepper and Salt? I gave that one away. The Moosewood Cookbook from my youth comes to mind, named after a restaurant, and Mollie Katzen followed it up with The Enchanted Broccoli Forest. I guess she had a knack for evocative names!

Before I leave the subject of Katzen, I have to tell you that one of her own three favorite cookbooks has an ambitious title: Honey from a Weed: Fasting and Feasting in Tuscany, Catalonia, the Cyclades, and Apulia, by Patience Gray. I definitely need to check my library to see if I can borrow that one; it has several words that arouse my imagination. Katzen’s latest published work has the lovely title, The Heart of the Plate ❤️

I did bring  Flour home, and leafed through its pages a bit. It turns out that the word is in this case a reference to a very specific thing, and place, the Flour Bakery that the author Joanne Chang owns in Boston. Chang graduated from Harvard with honors, and degrees in math and economics, and also studied astrophysics. But even while she was in college she was selling cookies to her classmates.

today’s flour

All these facts make me start wondering about different personalities and how they use language; I’m fairly certain no one whose mind works like mine would ever come up with such a name for a bakery or anything. Her more recent book is titled Flour, Too, which is even more puzzling. In spite of all this distracting analysis, a recipe for Deep Dark Spicy Gingerbread caught my eye, and I decided to make it to serve after my house blessing that was today.

It’s not as though I needed another gingerbread recipe. If you are fond this kind of cake you might explore the other versions I’ve written about here over the years, like the vegan Gingerbread Pear Bundt Cake and Wheatless Gingerbread; I’ve made chocolate chip gingerbread many times but evidently never shared it here.

For the house blessing, we began our prayer downstairs, not far from where I had displayed the air clay owl that my granddaughter Ivy made for me last year. This year someone made a clay sloth for me. Not long ago I was also given a sloth tree ornament. Is there something about me that makes the family think of sloths? Now the sloth has joined the owl, and what they mean together, I am still pondering.

Knowing while sleeping last night that I would bake a cake in the morning, attend my friend Gwen’s house blessing, and drive back here for my own — all that made me wake up earlier than ever, and I had the cake in the oven before 8 o’clock! I was not channeling my sloth friend today.

The cake was not that special. I think it had too much butter — a full cup for a 9×13 cake — which bogged it down; the gluten-free flour probably contributed to its heaviness, and it included a whole 12 oz jar of molasses. It was not as spicy as I expected considering the fresh ginger and lots of black pepper that went into it. If I make it again I will use half the butter, and more egg. And maybe try another sort of flour.

But it was easy to eat
with a dollop of whipped cream on top,
and I sent a big chunk home with my priest,
because it was his birthday.

The soft and white sand.

My church friend Ana and I flew to Florida last week for the Symbolic World Summit in Tarpon Springs, and returned on Sunday. I am still processing all the quite stimulating and encouraging lectures and discussions we heard; Ana and I also enjoyed the extended time together over five days to talk about our loves and lives, including many books and ideas. We attended services at St. Nicholas Greek Cathedral in town after the event.

In the paragraph above I notice that I effortlessly included six noun or adjective conjunctions; does that habit flow from my general tendency to the “Yes, And” point of view, I wonder? I hope you don’t mind, because I’m not in the mood for polishing up my writing skills right now. It could be that the Summit increased my leanings toward expansiveness… but it’s an effort I am always making to keep the conjoined words to only two.

Orthodox Lent is almost here! And there is plenty for me to focus on, of the sort of things that help us on our Journey to Pascha. A few of the speakers at the conference gave us their unique short list of “action points,” for going forward in our personal lives on the theme of the event. That theme was Reclaiming the Cosmic Image, which right there seems a very Lenten goal. Maybe I will share about it in future posts.

For now, I just wanted to document the Florida sands. I had never been in that part of the country before, or anywhere on the Gulf of Mexico. When we first walked from our car to the beach, the bright whiteness struck me first. And then, to walk barefoot on that soft, soft sand, everywhere full of broken pieces of shells, was such a different experience from California’s North Coast, which is my normal experience. We rarely see any but mussel shells on our beaches, but there in Florida intact shells were also in great abundance, and in places laid out in wide swaths. Of course, the air was balmy, but not hot.

Shells not yet made into sand, and therefore not soft.

We visited Sunset Beach on Friday (at sunset), and Honeymoon Island on our way to the airport Sunday. Both outings were fairly brief, because most of our weekend was at the conference venue.

We collected a few shells, and my purse collected a lot of the fine, glittery sand. I even carried a big handful back to the car, where Ana found a ziplock bag for me to put it in. I have been neglecting my sand collection in the last couple of years, but now I will get it going again, and will have added one little bottle of white sand to show that I truly was once upon a time in Florida.

Love Poem for Frances

Ogden Nash wrote so many loving letters and poems to and about his wife Frances. Here is one typically playful poem on a favorite subject:

FOR FRANCES

Geniuses of countless nations
Have told their love for generations
Till all their memorable phrases
Are common as goldenrod or daisies.
Their girls have glimmered like the moon,
Or shimmered like a summer noon,
Stood like lily, fled like fawn,
Now like sunset, now like dawn,
Here the princess in the tower,
There the sweet forbidden flower.
Darling, when I think of you
Every aged phrase is new,
And there are moments when it seems
I’ve married one of Shakespeare’s dreams.

-Ogden Nash

Paintings About Love
Chez le Père Lathuille by Édouard Manet