Frost Moon

Dear Bill,

What a happy day my sweetie and I have had. Just quiet, really. He wasn’t teaching today so we sat together writing and reading. He’s working on a book, and perhaps I am too. I certainly have lots of stories to tell. We talked about these things and about our wonderful family. We agreed that we wouldn’t want to be at any other time in our lives. As he said, if only we could hit the pause button! But we do want to see the grandbabies grow!!

My sweetie cooked us a splendid and special dinner–roast lamb with fennel, rosemary, and wine gravy. Here it is–just before we tucked in!

Yes, you can probably see we’d already been sipping the wine.

Right after eating we left the dishes to do themselves and went to a performance of Rutter’s Requiem.  It seemed a very apt concert on this the week of All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day. 

We’ve just driven home now. On the way we had a good look at the moon, which was very low in the sky and very orange. It was full on Monday. In November the full moon’s called the Frost Moon. I like knowing this kind of thing.

Anyway, we’re just about to open the bedroom window wide, turn off the heat, and snuggle into bed. As I said–a happy day. All’s well.

In case you think I haven’t been doing any knitting, let me assure you that the little Fiona top’s coming on apace. Pictures soon. Also, I’ve taken up my cross-stitching again! It’s something I used to enjoy and then abandoned for a while. You know how that goes. Anyway, here’s the project I’m presently working on. The first photograph is from the front of the pattern. . .

and the second is to show you how far I’ve got.

Yeah. Not very far.

The quotation’s from Song of Solomon 8:7. It’s prefaced by the famous verse, “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death.”  If life has taught me nothing else it’s the truth of this. Love really is that strong.  Instead of buying more new books (heaven help me–I’m swamped with books) I’ve been trying to discipline myself to reread the ones I have. Lately, I’ve been looking through The Orthodox Way by Bishop Kallistos Ware. My sweetie and I heard him speak here in Grand Rapids some years ago. Anyway, Ware writes, “To say to another, with all our heart, ‘I love you,’ is to say, ‘You will never die.’ ” Now, isn’t that a Good Thought.

More Peterhead stories tomorrow!

Love!

Momma

Two Ecumenical Failures

Dear Bill,

Our driveway a week or two ago . . .

Our driveway on Friday. . .

We live in Grand Rapids, Michigan. What can I say. The oak trees would be doing us a huge favor if they’d drop their leaves at the same time as the other trees.

I was going to tell you a little bit more about Peterhead. For those in blogdom new to my particular corner of it–my sweetie husband (now retired) was a Church of Scotland minister. I married him and found myself living in amazing places. Marry a minister and see the world! In the 1970s he was called to Peterhead Old Parish Church.

Peterhead is a small fishing town about 30 miles north of Aberdeen.  We lived in a manse (a church-owned house) not far from the church.  

I had been brought up in Montreal–in a modern city, in other words. My parents’ house had central heating, a dishwasher, a washing machine, a dryer, enough hot water to fill a bathtub, and so on. The manse had none of these things. If you want to read more, please look up earlier blogs. There are some pretty funny stories you wouldn’t want to miss.  

Anyway, here’s a photograph of one of the streets that led up to Peterhead Old or the “Muckle Kirk” (the “big church”) as it was called.

You probably notice one huge difference between Grand Rapids and Peterhead. Yep. No trees.

Well, there were some. When we lived there, however, the accepted opinion was that trees were dirty. They messed up the streets. Even grass wasn’t that popular. The manse had a small walled garden at the back of the house. I loved it dearly–not because we grew anything exciting, but because it afforded us some privacy and space for the children to play. There was very little of either in the front of the town’s houses, as you can see from the photograph.

We had a couple of trees on one side of the back garden. “Garden” is the British word for “yard.” It doesn’t mean flowers necessarily–and didn’t in our case. These trees leaned over the wall and onto the path leading up to the local Baptist church, which happened to be right next door. I would hear the churchgoers complaining about the leaves, about all the  “rubbish” from the trees, as they went in to worship. I’m sure this did little for the ecumenical movement, but the trees stayed.

Thinking about the Baptists next door has reminded me of the local Methodist minister’s wife. A battle-axe, if ever there was one. One day she arrived at the manse door with papers of some kind for my sweetie husband. His office was in the house–as was the case then with most Scottish clergy. As it happened, he was out visiting hospitals so I offered to give him the packet.

“Hmmm,” she said doubtfully. And then, “How lang ago wis it ye haed yer wee quine?” In the local Doric dialect this was, “How long ago was it that you had your little girl?”

I said our baby girl was now about a month old.

“Hmmm,” she said again, looking at my stomach. “Weel, ye’re surely takin’ a lang time tae gae doon, airen’t ye?” (“Well, you’re surely taking a long time to go down, aren’t you?”)

I’m learning to be a bad-ass. I’m so learning. That’s one of my chief aims as the years go by. However, I was not one then. This Methodist minister’s wife was a very stout woman. A very, very stout woman. I could have said so many bad-ass things . . . but nothing came to mind. I was simply too nice in those days. I blushed, took the papers, thanked her, and closed the door. The ecumenical movement! Humph!

Cow. 

Love!

Momma

Beets Are Far Worse

Dear Bill,

I feel I must return to the subject of my last blog. Not to the brussel sprouts–no, no–but to the sweater I finished for our younger son. Check the picture out before you continue. It’s in the blog just below this one.

Some of you might have read the comments appended to said blog. Amongst them was one, not from our younger son, but from our older one. He is a lawyer. He’s married to a lawyer. Bad Bill is a lawyer, as you’ll all know by now. Bad Bill is married to our older daughter who is also a lawyer. Far too many lawyers altogether. We have noisy family dinners. Thank goodness for our younger daughter, our younger son, and their two spouses–all of whom have chosen other, quieter, careers. But I digress. Here is the comment from our older son, Colin. . .

“I hate to say this but that uh svelte body modeling your product ain’t your uh ‘younger son.’ “

Now, what do you think of that? How do you think it feels not to be able to get away with a Single Thing? Not even the Tiniest Deception, even for art’s sake?

Fine. Here my answer to him.

Humph! OK. You’ve let the cat out of the bag. No, it isn’t your brother, our ‘younger son,’ in the photograph. I’m coming clean and admitting it. It was, of course, your dad my “sweetie husband.” The reason for this is that your brother was away on a business trip to Kansas City and was therefore unavailable. Why did I crop off your dad’s head in the picture, you’re probably asking?  Because I couldn’t stop him making crazy, male-model, kissy, pouty faces at the camera. We have to do the best we can with what we’re given to work with.

Now that I’ve answered that pressing and substantial question, I’ll move on.

My next knitting project is underway! The following photograph is not it, but is a reproduction taken from the pattern. (This clarification is for Colin and any other lawyers who may be reading the blog).

It’s called Fiona’s Top by Rasmilla. You can find it on Etsy. I’m knitting two in pale yellow with pale pink trim–one for a one-year-old grandbaby and one for her sister, a three-year-old grandbaby. I think they’re going to be very cute.

More Peterhead stories tomorrow. For the time being I leave you with a limerick on beets.

When down at the table I sit

I check out my plate, I admit.

If beets there I see–

Something happens to me,

And I cry out–I don’t eat that vegetable.

Don’t send recipes, folks. Nothing will ever make me eat them.

Love!

Momma

Brussel Sprouts and Guinness

Dear Bill,

I promised you knitting and here it is!

It’s the sweater I’ve been knitting for our younger son–to keep him warm when he’s hunting!

The pattern is Oat Couture’s Port Orford Pullover. I used Cascade 220 superwash wool, US # 5 and #7 needles, and knitted size 46–all this involved a little fiddling with gauge–successful fiddling thank goodness. The dropped shoulder style’s a little weird but it’s roomy, and the sweater fits. C’est fini!

My sweetie husband and I finished cleaning out the house today. The dumpster with all the trash was picked up and dragged off. We also brought a lot of stuff to Goodwill/Salvation Army. Our sailboat gear is packed up for the winter, and we’ve emptied out our Egg Camper. Everything’s “safely gathered in, ere the winter storms begin.”  We’re pretty happy with ourselves!

Tonight we had brussel sprouts. In honor of this event I’ve written a limerick. It’s called, “Ode to Brussel Sprouts” or alternatively, “Happy 250th Birthday, Guinness!”

Ahem.

 

For dinner we had brussel sprouts,

About which we both had great doubts.

So we added pancetta!

Were they good? Well, you betcha . . .

(. . . but with cream, melted cheese, and two stouts.) 

In other words, if anyone has a good brussel sprouts recipe, we’re ready to try it.

Love!

Momma

Come One, Come All!

Dear Bill,

Oops. That big knitting project I mentioned yesterday isn’t going to be in this blog after all, but it’ll definitely be in the next!!!!

Here are a few more pictures from Sedona, both taken just outside the Chapel of the Holy Cross. This first one’s St. Francis.

And here’s a pretty little flower bed.

You can see how gloriously sunny the weather was. Alas, not so much here in Grand Rapids, Michigan. I took the following photograph of our driveway at 8:30 this morning. Our light (we call it our Narnia Lamp) is triggered to go on when it’s dark. Please note that it is on. Also note that the ground is wet. We’re not talking Scottish mist here. More a monsoon.

And now we have the same scene a mere hour and a half later.

What’s this? you might well ask. In Scotland we used to call a thing like this a “skip.” This made it sound like something light and airy and fun. Here in America we call it a dumpster–which, in typical American style, is telling it like it is. Yes, it’s a dumpster. My sweetie and I are about to do a fall clean-out of our house. We have many boxes in our front hall ready for the Salvation Army/Goodwill. And we have a great deal of stuff ear-marked for the dumpster. So do many members of our family. So do many of our friends. Even casual friends. Yes, people are even stopping us in the street to ask if they can put stuff in.

We’re very popular just now.

On Monday the big truck will take the dumpster away, and things will go back to normal.

I’ve read that the only way to keep a home tidy is to live in the garage. After Monday our garage will be pristine enough to do just that if we want.

Love!

Momma

He’s the Giant Really

Dear Bill,

Next blog! A finished knitting project! A really big one! Don’t miss it!

My sweetie husband gave me this card today.

I told him I was too short (I’m pretty short) to be a giant–way up there with him.

But he said no.

Love!

Momma

Benjamin Disraeli: “If you are not very clever, you should be conciliatory.”

Dear Bill,

My sweetie husband and I spent the weekend in Scottsdale, Arizona, with close friends. On Saturday they drove us to Sedona. It was magic. I took so many pictures that I’m in danger of boring you to death. (No comments, bad Bill.) Well, I’ll try to restrict myself.

Here’s one just to give you the idea:

Do you see the rock formation that looks like a mother and child? Here it is closer:

Here’s one that looks like an eagle’s head:

There’s a local saying you hear all the time in the area: “God may have created the Grand Canyon, but he lives in Sedona.” I wondered if he lived here. . .

Ahem. Probably not. For one thing, he wouldn’t need an observatory tower to see the stars, right? More likely he lives here. . .

This is the Chapel of the Holy Cross–a very quiet and holy place, as you can see from this photograph of the inside.

And finally, lest you think we left civilization behind–here’s a picture of Sedona’s local McDonalds. They weren’t allowed the golden arches as it was thought they wouldn’t blend with the beautiful natural surroundings. Eventually there was a compromise solution.

They say that swearing was invented as a compromise between running away and fighting. So were the turquoise arches.

Love!

Momma

It’s a Mask

Dear Bill,

I’ll be back to blogging on Tuesday. My sweetie husband and I are off to the left side of the country for a couple of days. But don’t worry–I’ll bring my knitting. Work, work, work.

I’m knitting something new for you to wear to work on Hallowe’en instead of your William Tell costume. I mean, fetching as it is, you can’t wear the same thing every year! Looks good, though. Nice knees. Nice, jaunty little feather.

It’s a cool mask. . .

EXCELLENT!

Love!

Momma

A Dang Pain in the Neck!

Dear Bill,

OK, here some knitting as promised!

First a baby girl’s blankie:

This was knitted with Bernat Baby Co-ordinates, which is a sports weight, on US#9 needles. Each domino square began with 48 stitches and there are 36 squares. I finished up the whole thing with a picot edging.

Next we have five cardigans to match and go with the blankie:

The pattern here is the top-down raglan Barenys cardigan–free on the Internet! I used Baby Beehive fingering yarn (alas, discontinued) and US #3 and #5 needles.

And finally we have:

. . . five matching baby hats. Again I used Baby Beehive. I started with someone else’s pattern and adapted it so far that I really would have to call it my own now. I used US #0 and #2 needles giving it a nice tight knit for the ribbing. Stays on better with this!

So, there we have it. All this should arrive on your doorstep this week, dear Bill, as it’s a donation to the silent auction at your children’s school. No, no, don’t write to thank me (as if)! It was a pleasure. And actually, it really was.   : ) 

So, I’ve had a sore neck for a few months. Finally, I gathered myself together and took myself down to our GP. We love our GP–one of the nicest guys on the planet. So nice I kind of hate to bother him with health issues. He said there was something wrong with my neck and sent me on to a physical therapist. Turns out I’ll need therapy for five weeks (including neck massages, to be charged to our health insurer–life can be so good sometimes). What I’m dealing with now is probably the result of whiplash damage caused by a car accident I was in at age 15 or so. Now isn’t that interesting?

For years I’ve fussed with things that weren’t comfortable–pillows, chairs, couches, car seats, head rests–always blaming them and never the true problem, that I am a Stiff-Necked Person, like Pharaoh in the book of Exodus. Only he was spiritually Stiff-Necked and I’m clinically Stiff-Necked. This is a difference I’ve had to point out to my sweetie husband who’s been teasing me somewhat.

But I guess there’s an interesting wider lesson in this. Supposing you’re unhappy and blaming other people/things for your misery–it might be a good idea to look within. It may not be outside stuff at all.

Pharaoh, after all, was not only Stiff-Necked. He was a Pain in the Neck as well. And we wouldn’t want to be that, would we!

Love!

Momma

So Darn Yummy!

Dear Bill,

This in haste. Next time I write I’ll have a finished knitting project to show you–quite a big one! But for now, here are two photos. They’re of our youngest grandbaby eating a cupcake to celebrate her first birthday:

Here she is before. . .

. . . and here she is after. . .

So darn yummy.

Love!

Momma