Restingmotion

One of the performances I was most anticipating at Santa Fe this summer was Lili Elbe. I love modern opera, I come at my love of opera from the modern reaching backward. And yet, this opera was a disappointment. Not only that, I think my disappointment was amplified because the orchestral score itself was beautiful — lush, dynamic, moving. The most emotionally rich and moving scenes in this opera were the orchestral interludes, which included video projects of bodies shrouded in mist and longing. I love a good orchestral interlude, but it story progression seemed strangely off-kilter simply because the sung portions of the opera felt dry and clinical, as if the artists were reading a history book to music, sung in a flat, “just the facts, Ma’am” tone. I loved the score, I hated the opera, and I am incredibly sad because I saw so much potential in the story and the voices. I saw what could have been an emotionally powerful and moving opera, except that, for this audience member at least, none of this happened.

There is a moment in the opening scene, where Eimar and his wife Gerda are preparing to go out, when Eimar slips his jacket off his shoulder, and wraps his neck scarf loosely as if it were a shawl and briefly models in the mirror. But Gerda returns and he quickly sets himself to rights. This is the only instance in which we see any hint that Eimar had ever had conflicting feelings about his sexuality. The next thing we know is that Gerda’s model fails to appear and she asks Eimar to don a robe and model for her, so that she can finish the legs on her subject. In that moment, it appears as if Eimar, suddenly has this fully-fledged, unbidden insight that he is Lili. Gerda thinks he is playing a game; believes he is playing a game. There is no exploration of his transformation, no psychology, no emotion, and this is a great opportunity wasted. The situation is emotional, it is tragic, it is comic, it is rich with opportunity. It could be so powerful. What an opportunity lost.

In powerful, dueling arias, Eimar could explore fleeting feelings from his past, his own evolution of thought, and yes, even perhaps this sudden lightening-bolt insight. Gerda could explore her confusion, her budding recognition that her husband may not who she had assumed he was, and her own fears and longing to have her “old” husband back. But there are no arias in this opera, there is no true recitative. This could have been a watershed moment that carried the entire opera forward, an opportunity to launch this opera into a moving, perhaps even wrenching story of love, self-discovery, and identity.

There follow other scenes, a move to Paris, two parties, one in Denmark, one in Paris, encounters with family, doctor visits, hospitals. The transitions could have been alluded to more artfully. One party would have sufficed. But the momentum of this opera has been set in stone, by exposing every detail, the story itself feels like it has lost its weight.

The parties struck me as further lost opportunities. Everyone was beautifully dressed and great effort was made in costuming, with the apparent exception of Lili.

In the promotion photos, she does not appear so dowdy as she does from the hall, but to my eye, and to my companion’s, eye as well, Lili appeared to be dressed as a fusty old grandmother. It was difficult to see why all the men flocked around her.

The party scenes were not festive. The men congregated, but they could have been scientists discussing a new discovery for all I could tell. The story was told, Lili entered and stood. I found it difficult to understand the appeal. There was an opportunity for the men to explore the allure of this new attraction in song, opportunity for the women present to explore their own reactions, and an even greater opportunity for Lili to explore her own emotions and her perceptions to this new level of attention. Instead the scene felt flat.

In Paris, Claude Le Jeune falls immediately in love with Lili, but we have no inclining of why. Even in the Tuileries, we have some sense that Claude may suspect the truth, but this is hinted at so faintly, that I remained confused. Another opportunity lost, but how delicious it would be for the artists to explore these new, possibly conflicting feelings, how rich and enlightening the possibilities for drawing the audience into the story.

I wanted more.

The sets are dynamic and creative and beautiful. The costuming is exquisite. Possibly there were too many scenes, too many sets, as if factual detail was overemphasized at the cost of art. But it is art that brings emotional richness, art that allows us to experience new emotions and to understand feelings in new ways.

The videography is beautiful and emotionally rich. It could have been used more to forward the story. I felt there was too much of the doctor, too many scenes, too much literalism. The shock of the medical procedures might have been better handled by the excellent videographer, the doctor singing his own extended aria. There are times when reality is best alluded to obliquely, making the shock more powerful than the litany of facts, which dull the brain.

I expected the ending to be emotional and fragile. I knew that letters between Lili and Gerda would be involved, but for me the setting was too sterile, the words too mechanical. I am no romantic but it as I write it seems that this is what I am reaching for here. I think there could have been more nuance, more mystery, a sharper revelation between the emotion of the words, (shrouded in myst?) and the reality of the clinical setting. In my ideal ending, Gerda would have rushed into the mists to find Lili dead, only then with the mists fading and the sterile hospital room revealed.

I know this is not what the opera was imagined to be. But this was the opera I wanted. Somehow, because I so wanted more, my sense of loss and disappointment felt all the more intense. It is no fault of the singers, although I admit that I have never previously been to an opera where I wished the singing would just stop and the melody return.

And yet I wonder if there is more to my disconnect, a disconnect I have been struggling with in literature as well. Perhaps I am simply a literate old fuddy-duddy, a product of the 20th century, in a 21st century, post-literature world. I am a person who thinks in abstraction and ideas, who wants long, idea-rich sentences, perhaps long emotional arias, I also love metaphor and allegory but that is not because of the late 20th century world that shaped me but because of my years studying 16th and 17th century literature. Perhaps I have become an anachronism.

I think I need to study this opera further. With anything new, repeated exposure is a bonus. A recording has just been released. Perhaps my issues are more with the staging than the opera itself. Perhaps I also need to analyze my own approach. Worth further thinking, at any rate, even though my initial response is simply what it was.

I do hope that someday there is a beautiful, emotionally rich opera that explores of the experience of being in the wrong body, of transition, of being an outsider and discovering oneself. This is something that it seems to me that opera is perfectly suited to explore. Perhaps this opera is that opera. Perhaps it is not. Alas, that experience did not happen here, in this performance, to this member of the audience..

(note photos in this post are from the Santa Fe Opera House website)

My June reading was mostly fiction and included hits and misses. Alas we started with the latter.

34. I See You’ve Called in Dead by John Kenney which was recommended as being “sidesplittingly funny”. This only goes to show that we don’t all share the same sense of humor as I found this book mostly just sad. The title is promising, and the first scene, the blind date, is incredibly clever and funny, although even then we see a hint of the self-sabotaging (I do not see it as self-deprecating) humor wielded by man who is depressed and insecure. From there the book went downhill. Where my friends saw wit, I saw sad deflection. New York shone, but otherwise the characters were stock stereotypes geared to take us on some magical path of redemption. If the book had not been a book club selection, I would not have finished.

35. Yesteryear by Caro Claire Burke. This is a currently trending novel which uses the Trad Wife / Instagram influencer idea as a foundation for exploring patriarchy and misogyny in America along with the ways these ideas shape the manosphere, conservative politics , and evangelical christianity. (small c intentional). It is a far angrier novel than I anticipated and deeper as well, although I do not think it quite succeeded as satire (at least in accordance with my definition of satire). I felt the ending was a let-down, although logical in modern parlance and the novel took a turn that blunted the satirical and social impact. This is an example of the ways fantasy and magical realism can add a cutting level of depth, which cannot be achieved with more straightforward narratives. I still think this is a novel that should be read, unspoiled, for which reason I shall say no more. If you want to talk about it sometime, I am willing.

36. Fluke by Brian Klass. My one non-fiction book. Fascinating book exploring the role of chance in the world. Basically Klass is saying that we “control nothing but influence everything” with lots of interesting observations and data. Thought-provoking.

37. The German Wife by Kelly Rimmer. Historical Fiction. I loved this book, even as I can see how some readers on both Goodreads and Library Thing have found it problematic. It seems the author even finds the story problematic, in ways that I really don’t see. But I often find myself at odds. A lot of research went into this book, and a lot of effort to see the story from different sides. Some points of view are told more effectively than others, but still it is a compelling, and thought-provoking novel, if you are willing to be provoked.

Four books. I actually read five, but the last novel I read in June, and the first novel I read in July have both been put back on the stack as requiring a re-read. Since it is already the end of July, I doubt they will make the July list either. Annoying, but so it is.

It seems like it has been ages since I have wandered far afield, wandered at all in fact. I’ve been in a prolonged nesting phase, and preoccupied as I have been with the personal details of fur and feathers and all things cozy and personal, I have been absent from these pages.

But I went out. Not far, merely to Cincinnati, a mere four-hour drive. I had a great time and I am surprised to say I think I may go back.

DAY1

Garbo and I drove up from Knoxville. Up meaning North. I feel I have to qualify that statement because I live in a place where sometimes it seems to me that “up” can be any which direction. I am sure there are rules as to usage but I have yet to discern what they may be.

Anyway. We drove north. We picked up my friend Liana at the airport, and had a leisurely lunch on a shady patio under one of the flyways near the airport. It was not quiet, but the afternoon floated languorously away, three calm ladies enjoying the breeze and conversation.

The rest of that first day was spent settling in, taking a walk with Garbo who was not at all certain that she is a city dog. As we walked we admired some of the murals painted on the sides of buildings and Garbo searched eagerly for the world she once knew, namely grass. We found a small park with some raised planting beds. They had to suffice. I ended the day with a drink and a bowl of mussels. The drink, named “An Italian in Manhattan” was a marriage of some of my favorite flavors — Bourbon, Amaro Nonino, Monin black sugar, and black walnut bitters. The drink was excellent, the mussels were merely okay, but they served a function and it was a good day.

I was not planning on being ambitious on this trip. I’ve been struggling with energy levels this spring and summer and the purpose of this outing was to see an opera on Thursday night (day 3), so I had no specific plans.

Day 2

Garbo and I wandered a little further in the morning, and we found a grassy knoll outside the main branch of the Cincinnati library, which also had this lovely book sculpture in a corner of the courtyard.

As to other adventures, we went to the Hyde Park area, where we went to a yarn shop in search of a particular size of double point needles. I oohed over some Knitting for Olive yarns, something I have only, so far, admired online. And also some locally dyed merino in the perfect shade of muted plum. Reader, I did not buy it. I have been unpacking and cataloging yarn and knitting patterns and my head was too full of all the things I wanted to knit, patiently waiting for me at home. We explored Hyde Park, had lunch, stopped in a little gallery, and bought Garbo an apple, one of her favorite treats.

That evening we had tickets to go to a play at the Cincinnatti Shakespeare company, a new play called Dogberry and Verges are Scared, based on the eponymous characters from Much Ado About Nothing. This was a lucky impromptu treat. Facebook knew we were in Cincinnati, one of the rare times I might thank big brother for watching over me, and told us of this production.

We went to dinner at a lovely little mediterranean spot, where we shared a few small plates, including a beautifully composed wedge salad:

And then off to the play.

The play was one of the most ridiculous and sublimely funny things I’ve seen in a long, long time. We were there for a preview night, and I had few complaints. The acting was superb, the actors were all obviously experienced shakespearean actors, and, even though this was a modern play, it honored Shakespeare nicely, as well as courting modern tastes. I thought the actor who was playing Dogberry, apparently a late substitution, was a trifle to earnest in his efforts; but I still enjoyed the play.

We had our picture taken outside the playhouse, and enjoyed a leisurely walk back to our hotel, where I snapped one more picture of a mural.

And I fell into an exhausted sleep.

To be continued.

America and I share a birthday weekend this year. It feels rather subdued.

I remember the bicentennial, how extravagant and excited we all were! The parades, the tall ships, merriment everywhere, much laughing with friends. This year feels quieter. Yes there are fireworks, and Independence Day celebrations, but it doesn’t really feel any different from any other year. I find that sad. I also find it understandable in a way because so many people seem to feel anxious and subdued, and question what it really means to be an American. I certainly don’t have answers.

My birthday is this weekend also. I turn 68. It is not a significant milestone, but in some ways this has felt like a transitional year, more transitional than say 60, or 65 were. I’m not yet sure how it is all going to turn out. I know I’ll be fine whatever the future brings. I am not anxious or depressed and yet a subdued birthday weekend feels right to me this year.

I finished mulching the western. bed in the front yard this morning. I’ve probably focused most of my gardening efforts on cleaning out this bed, pruning, trimming, adding compost, and now, finally adding a nice layer of mulch. This morning was slightly cooler than yesterday, and it felt like a nice thing to do on my nation’s birthday, protecting a little piece of soil. I don’t really like “groomed suburban beds” with lots of mulch and isolated plants, so I have plans to add more perennials and ground covers, and fill in with annuals. But early July, in the middle of a heat wave is not the time to do that.

My intention has been to focus on one thing at a time and finish it before moving to the next. I’ve done that here. Next up will be the east bed, which may be in even worse shape than the west bed was. And I have to keep this bed nice as well — maintain what I’ve done — not keep falling back into endless cycles.

That is my tendency, to take on too many things, and constantly keep recycling through them. But right now a tighter focus feels good.

I am even attempting to be relatively monogamous with my knitting, although I had two projects on the needles the last couple of weeks.

I made these socks shorter than I have of late. I used to always knit my socks this length, it is the length I prefer on my legs/feet. But lately I had been knitting longer socks to wear with specific boots. I have enough of those socks, and not enough short socks. These are about six inches from the top of the sock to the heel shaping, and I love them. I knit the from La Jolla by Baah Yarns, which I purchased when I was visiting my friend Liana in Nebraska at the beginning of February. Shorter socks means more yarn left over. I used just about 2/3 of the skein, so I have 144 yards left over to add to the “odd ball” box.

I am also knitting a prayer shawl for my church.

This is knit from oddments in roughly DK weights, I am alternating rows with three yarns, although one has been, and will be, consistent throughout the entire shawl, the other bits and bobs change. I had hoped to finish this shawl this weekend but that appears unlikely as it is already well into Saturday. I am about 2/3 finished, and I’m not sure I want to devote the time I need to finish it completely.

I’m already dreaming of the next project though and eager to get started. I’ll be traveling some soon, and I always worry about having enough kitting. I usually pack too much. But one traumatic trip 30 years ago when I ran out of yarn in the middle of west Texas looms large in my memory. I’d rather have a new project than the tail end of an old project, but when I think about it , that I started with a new project, I just finished it faster than anticipated.

I’ve also decided to rip part of the big alpaca blanket I’ve been working on off and on. I added to it in May, but I knew there was an error in the previous section. I ignored it, and now I realize that this was a mistake and it will bother me forever if I don’t rip it out. I knew that in May also, but I apparently wasn’t thinking all that clearly, so now I have even more to rip back. But that is not going to happen today, or even this week.

Oh foolish Human! Dost thou ever learn?

I am too far behind to provide extended reading notes, and yet I wish to maintain the list. Instead here is a quick listing of what I read in April and May.

20. Here One Moment by Liane Moriarty. Book club selection. I expected more from this book, but then I think I always do from Moriarty’s novels. It is true that the author explores interesting questions concerning fate and pre-destination in this novel, but I felt the development was rather clichéd and the characters interesting but not fully fleshed out enough for me to fully engage. An entertaining quick read, that ultimately felt like a bit of an overindulgence in sugar.

21. Seascraper by Benjamin Wood. Historical Fiction. Heartwarming. This was a short, beautifully written, and uplifting novel, that also resonated in my thoughts for sometime. Set in 1962 young Thomas Flett is barely eking out a living carrying on his grandfather’s dying career as a shanker. It is a profound story of emotional repression, loss, isolation and yearning. The ending is ultimately uplifting without seeming forced or contrived.

22. Project Hail Mary by Andrew Weir. Science Fiction. Fun, Light, Fast Moving. Doesn’t stand up to scrutiny but that is beside the point. I thoroughly enjoyed it this, and it moved quickly enough that I was able to suspend disbelief.

23. Saga of Brutes by Ana Paula Maia. Brazilian literature. Darkly comic, often brutal, but also compassionate. A compilation of three novellas about the men who do the dirty work of society, disposing of disposable things, men who perhaps feel themselves to be brutes, and worthless, because society treats them as such. Yes, their work is brutish, but they men themselves are not devoid of humanity or compassion, although their actions may appear to be so. The literary strength of the novellas varies, but the stories were compelling, disturbing, and thought-provoking. This novel will stay with me a long time.

24. The Correspondent by Virginia Evans. Winner of the Women’s Prize for Fiction, deservedly so. Its unusual premise combined with beautiful writing, memorable characters and distinctive style make for a very engaging book. A bit too emotionally manipulative for me perhaps — infertility, cancer, blindness, Holocaust survivor, death of a child, dementia, mental illness, bullying, asylum seeking — really, I would have found Sybil von Antwerp compelling with a small subset of these. Despite this, I thoroughly enjoyed the book.

25. Death on Cromer Beach by Ross Greenwood. Police procedural. Easy and engaging read with good character development and a strong sense of place.

26. Death at Paradise Park by Ross Greenwood. Police procedural. Second in series. Still a good sense of place but this installment felt a bit far-fetched and pushing at the limits of belief.

27. Death in Bacton Wood by Ross Greenwood. Police procedural. Third in a planned series of three. The series comes to a conclusion, but lacks connection between the volumes. That said, the plot is more convincing than in the second installment. Solid on the procedural aspects of the novel, perhaps looking toward a new series.

28. The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak. In this story two young people in Cyprus fall in love, are separated, reunited, and move to London where they have a daughter. The mother dies and the daughter is trying to reconcile her grief with her family history and her sense of being “apart” in society and in a family that does not discuss its history. The story is told in large part by a fig tree, which has been brought to England with the family. Parts of this story are quite clichéd and others almost too analytical, yet I felt it worked beautifully on an emotional story-telling level, if not always literarily. Shafak seems to merge many current themes and influences — the increasing interest in the interconnectedness of trees, Richard Powers, science, Internet Memes — with traditional mysticism and superstition, including magical realism, loss, pain, heartbreak, and hope, into a story that is simultaneously disjointed yet oddly interconnected and complete. I think the odd disconnect in the writing here helps flesh out Ada’s own sense of isolation and lack of connection. Worth reading again.

29. The Black Wolf by Louise Penny. Armand Gamache takes on an international conspiracy. I’ve long loved this series but am not really interested in Gamache taking on the broader political ills of society. I do understand Penny’s statement that the series must evolve, I remain uncertain that I wish to evolve with it.

30. Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt. I wanted to like this book from when we first met Marcellus, a giant Pacific octopus. He initially reminded me of the stories my father told throughout my childhood of Pedro the octopus, who travelled with my family and had many adventures. Allas, although uplifting and quite enjoyable fluff, I felt this book was also annoyingly predictable and clichéd. Aside from Marcellus, I felt the characters were two-dimensional trite stereotypes.

31. Brooklyn by Colm Tóibín. A rather conventional immigrant novel revolving around the journey of Eilis Lacey to America, back to Ireland, and then returning to America to settle into her new life. I found Eilis to be frustratingly passive and yet I found her story engaging and moving.

32. My Mexico by Diana Kennedy. This is a cookbook, but it is also a memoir and a paean to the cooks of Mexico. I’ve had it for decades; I’ve cooked many dishes. But it has been a long time since I’ve read it, cover to cover. I did so this time around and thoroughly enjoyed the process. I’m not sure I had fully given the book the attention it deserves, not as a cookbook, but as a book about food.

33. Long Island by Colm Tóibín. I found this second installment in the Eilis Lacey story to be stronger and more compelling than the first. The form itself remains fairly conventional but I can see here how Tóibín is using this structure to deeply explore the mindset of the residents of an Irish small town (and Eilis herself). The novel is full of things that can’t (or won’t) be said and the way these secrets and repressions shape and harm the lives around them.

All in all, a fairly happy mix.

I have been absent. I am not yet ready to share the reasons behind my absence. Simply note that I am here once again.

The hardest thing for me is picking up writing once I’ve lost the thread. I want to apologize and explain and instead what happens is I regurgitate up a sea of words and emotions and meandering philosophical thoughts that do not deserve to be unleashed upon the world.

And yet, I have to start somewhere.

I turned the heel on a sock last night. It is a simple sock, my basic, no-pattern, pattern: stockinette sock with a short-row heel. It is the sock I most like to wear, and it is a pretty easy, mindless knit (except for that heel). I started this sock in late May and I should have finished knitting the pair of socks by now. But I didn’t really knit at all last week, and this sock has technically been knit twice to this point, so I have already almost knit two socks except that I only have half a sock to show for my efforts. I don’t mind that, it was an intentional decision

I started out making this sock:

Note that nice honeycomb pattern. It was fun to knit and I was really enjoying the process, with the exception that I somehow kept dropping stitches and having to pic the up again. That was due to a few scattered and unpredictable episodes of bradycardia. Reuniting dropped stitches in pattern was more annoying than it was worth, and, when I tried the sock on, I decided I didn’t really like the bulk of it. Perhaps a tiny flat pattern would work, but the truth is although I love texture and pattern, I want my socks to be smooth and simple. I mostly wear then inside of boots anyway. So I ripped it all out (I was already at the heal) and started over. My simple sock makes me happy.

I’ve been in a mood for tofu and I happened to pick up this book by Fuchsia Dunlop, which is new to my collection:

It has a nice chapter on tofu dishes and I made the Hangzhou breakfast tofu for breakfast the other morning. The requires gently warming silken tofu and then serving it with various toppings. In that sense it is somewhat reminiscent of congee, which I adore, but lighter and with more protein. I served mine with light soy sauce, (I used a Thai brand, the only gluten free light soy sauce I have found), sesame oil, and Chile oil, along with a generous handful of chopped cilantro, scallions, and fried peanuts. This was so simple, quick and satisfying, I can easily see myself throwing this together again, although the toppings will probably vary, just as they do when I have congee. I never used to eat silken tofu, now it is destined to become a pantry item.

I have been working slowly and steadily in the garden. I did not get as much done in the spring as I hoped, due to the same setbacks that kept me from blogging, but I am working now. I’ve only made tiny inroads, but they feel major to me, and I am once again hopeful. Perhaps that, in and of itself, is all that matters. Tired or not afterward, and hour or three in the garden lifts my spirits in ways very little else does.

I planted yellow petunias around the white roses. They haven’t filled in yet, but they make me happy here, even though they are only little yellow blurs in this photo.

I’ve decided to work on one bed at a time, to weed it, do what I need to do, add compost and mulch and plant as much as I can. Without plants, weeds will just take over. Some places get annuals, but if I know what I want, and I can find it I will go ahead and stick a perennial in the appropriate spot. The hope is that this way I don’t keep doing the same thing over and over again. Mostly the underlying structure looks good, and I love the happy beds like the one above, where things just mingle together. I like my gardens to be an informal mash-up.

See you soon, hopefully sooner than the last gap.

I made Szarlotka, an apple pudding cake. This was a recipe from Dobre Dobre by Laurel Kratochvila, one of my April book club selections. It is the only recipe I have tried from this book, and it was too my mind worth the price of the book, even if I never bake anything else. The other two books that were on my agenda last month remain in Purgatorio, awaiting a decision. This one I will keep.

Szarlotka, at least this version, is a moist, cool apple pudding type of cake, neither pie, nor cake,nor pudding, but an amalgam of the three. It is filled with chunks of moist apple, surrounded by cool sweet pudding and cake. I love it cold either for dessert, where ice cream is nice, or cream I suppose, or sliced with coffee in the morning.

Otherwise life is quiet. I told you about our farm adventure. I realized something that weekend, and Garbo and I have been sitting outside in the mornings, while I drink my coffee and journal. I struck me that I don’t need a farm to get away from the world, that this sense of haven that I found there is what I have been aiming for in my garden, this sense of slightly wild overabundance creating a little bubble of peace in my suburban neighborhood.

So there are weeds. Weeds will always be with us. Some of the weeds I like at the moment, although I may well pay a price for them later on. The vetch has been in bloom and I love the waves of purple blossoms. I have not yet gotten to that area of the yard anyway, so I shall accept Mother Nature’s gifts. A weed is a plant that is simply not where it is wanted by humans. Nature itself has no such classification system.

There are some small boons.

• It has finally rained
• the irrigation system is finally open for the season should the rain stop again.
• I have two large leaf bags filled with thistles in the garbage can for pickup today (as I do not (yet) have a hot compost setup to dispose of them).
• My new neighbors admired my “pollinator garden” and I realized that it is long past the time I stopped noticing (and judging) only the things I haven’t done. Life is a story of progress. Learning to accept that it is never finished, is a life lesson.
• I see that my garden is a peaceful haven, for me, for wildlife, even for bunnies, and I see that my efforts are paying off in that the underlying structure I have been aiming for is finally taking shape.
• I filled the planters
• I am starting to dream about gardening again.

Garbo is ready to welcome you to our little haven.

This year I placed the ferns on the step rather than in the tall planters by the door. Last year I decided they were too large for that space — they seemed to be constantly in the way. This year I have streptocarpella by the door. Hopefully they will drape nicely although I wonder if I should have planted some tall grass in the middle of the pot. I am still contemplating a smaller pot in front of the ferns. None of this is important, it simply makes me happy.

For years, decades even, I wanted to be something, be someone, do something important, strive for something outside myself. Now I think I want to just be here, now.

Yesterday was May Day. No dancing around the May Pole here.

I was wearing red rather than white. In fact as I walked out of the house in my long loose red dress, red jacket and red Birkenstocks, I perhaps felt I was channeling the Hand Maid’s Tale. Well, not really; I wouldn’t qualify for a red dress in that world.

Impromptu photo at the church desk, my Friday AM volunteer duty. My sartorial decision making really revolved along the lines of “What is loose and comfy”. No makeup but loose dress, pretty colors and jewelry — that is my “I don’t feel so hot” default. My back was fairly sore last week. I ate too many carbs over the course of a weekend away, which may or may not have played a role in the back pain. None of it is major but I still lean toward comfort more than style.

Otherwise it has been a great couple of weeks, worth celebrating.

The garden is really shaping up nicely. I can see the basic foundations of what I have planned and this is a positive and hopeful thing. There are still weeds (as you can see in the back — thistles that I am pulling out and destroying) but the bones are good, and things I have planted in the past are thriving. I know there will be a penalty for letting the vetch run wild, but I love the pretty purple flowers. The very wildness of my garden makes me happy.

I over extended myself cleaning out the basement pantry, an unplanned , but necessary, event. I had some mice come in and Garbo got the scent. While I was working at my desk on the second floor, Garbo was in the basement chasing mice. She managed to knock containers and cambro bins of flour and miscellaneous dry goods onto the floor. She also killed two mice. I found them lying in a pile of cocoa and flour. Cocoa dusted field mice anyone? Garbo was up to her knees in a combination of cocoa and katsuobushi flakes, happily devouring the contents of a bin of coconut flour.

I did not appreciate her new boots; the combination of kasuobushi and cocoa is not a pleasant aroma. Garbo got dragged outside to get her legs washed before we proceeded to the vet. I had no idea if she’d eaten any of the cocoa but better safe than sorry. She got to spend the day vomiting; I got to clean up the pantry. Several hours and two vacuum bags full pantry staples and a trash bin full of broken plastic food storage containers later, we were reunited, and she was eager to go do it all again.

All that cleaning is apparently harder on the back than gardening, but now that it is all over, I can only laugh.

We had spent the previous weekend at a friend’s farm.

Garbo got to meet goats. She was not particularly impressed. She did love running around the farm though and thinks we should move to our own farm.

I loved sitting out on the porch, looking out at the fields and hills. There is a part of me that would love to live in the middle of nowhere, but I realize that is not a viable plan for me, alone, at this stage of my life. I was also reminded that I have a garden, a garden that I want to be a bit overstuffed and free, an oasis from the world. I can sit on my own porch and drink my morning coffee. I can watch the wildlife that finds haven in my weeds. Garbo can chase a rabbit or two.

A box of ramps also arrived just before I went out of town for the weekend. I had time to wash and chop up two pounds of ramps in order to turn them into jars to begin the fermentation process that would transform them into ramp kimchi. My kitchen has been filled with the funky oniony aroma of ramp kimchi ever since.

The remaining ramps were in the fridge and I finished them up on Sunday afternoon, turning them into a peppery tart/sweet ramp jam using a new recipe. The results were more like a sweet chutney than a jam, but I know I will use them all, and may explore the idea further next ramp season.

I’ve finished two more knitting projects.

First up, a summer top using Noro Ohajiki, a mixed fiber yarn that is 50% cotton, and also includes silk, wool, and rayon. The skeins themselves look mostly pink, but I am really happy with the colors, and the way the colors aligned perfectly in my garment. In fact I’m pretty happy with the garment overall.

It is very cool and comfortable to wear and I think the yarn is actually closer to a dk weight than worsted although it claims to be worsted. But I’ve found that not all Noro yarns end up being quite what I expected. And yet I keep knitting them. Most of the time I am happy with the results, although sometimes there is a bit of experimentation before I match the yarn with the right project. This was a great match, and I would actually knit this again in the same yarn but using a different color.

Boring yes, but I’ve discovered I tend to be like that. I don’t need a lot of new shapes/ideas. There are things I gravitate toward and wear. There are other things I want to knit. They do not always converge.

The second garment is for next winter. These fingerless mitts were knit using Eriu Elements Luxury Irish Wool, a DK weight blend of Bluefaced Leicester and Romney wools. The pattern, “Tree of Life Mittens” is produced buy Eriu and is not available on Ravelry.

This was a quick, easy pattern, and kind of an impulse buy and project. The yarn is a perfect match for my everyday winter coat, and will be very useful, especially walking Garbo on chilly winter mornings.

I already have a pair of cashmere-lined suede gloves that I wear with that coat. But when I am walking the dog I am constantly having to take one glove off and on again. I’ve thought about fingerless mittens for a while, and have finally acted on that impulse. It is not even summer yet and I feel like I have a leg up on winter.

I go through phases of more practical and functional cooking and then phases of play, when I explore some cookbook and recipes otherwise unfamiliar.

In March I was cooking from Kusina by Woldy Reyes, a vegetarian cookbook inspired by the author’s Filipino heritage.

There was some necessary prep work:

I started with some Annatto oil (jar at back right) which was needed for the banana ketchup (front left in the squeeze bottle). The annatto oil was from Memories of Philippine Kitchens, by Amy Besa and Rory Dorotan. I’ve cooked from this book before, and the annatto oil is useful in many ways. Woldy Reyes has a recipe for gussying up commercial banana ketchup, but I started making my own some time ago when I couldn’t find a version I liked and didn’t taste too sweet/chemically in local stores. This may be why Reyes gussies his up. My own recipe works off a base I found in the Adobo Road Cookbook by Marvin Gapultos, which was the first Filipino cookbook I bought, many years ago. That recipe has been modified by ideas found in Snoop Dog’s Goon with a Spoon cookbook, and ideas from Filipino food blogs (use of the annatto oil). From Reyes’ book I will probably change the base recipe again, using chili paste for heat rather than the finely chopped jalapeños I have used in the past. Banana ketchup is a sweet/spicy condiment that I actually use more than tomato ketchup, or at least more than commercial tomato ketchup. When I bother to make my own tomato ketchup, that might take first place for use.

Did you know American’s used to eat a wide variety of ketchups, made from a variety of ingredients? That was before Heinz began mass-producing the tomato ketchup we know today, after which market forces, rather than expanding our options, actually narrowed our palate.

Also in the picture above are chili oil, pickled golden raisins, and confit shallots. The pickled golden raisins are bright, tart and sweet and completely different than middle eastern pickled golden raisins I’ve made previously. The confit shallots are also probably something that will frequently appear in my fridge. Reyes chili oil however is not my favorite version of chili oil, but I will use it up. There seems to always be a need for chili oil.

Speaking of those pickled golden raisins. They were fabulous on a bowl of Lugaw, which seems to be something of a filipino version of congee. I prefer my house congee, but I like the idea of the combination of chili oil (whatever version I have on hand) and the sweet/tart raisins as condiments.

This is a Mushroom Adobo. It is vegetarian and I used a mix of king oyster, grey oyster, shiitake and cremini mushrooms which gave the dish a complex flavor. What was surprising was the use of coconut milk, which I found gave the dish a fabulous richness and complexity, perhaps a bit softer than more traditional adobos. Reyes says this is best immediately, but I actually liked it better the next day when it was perhaps not as bracing but the flavors had melded into something utterly compelling.

Above is a photo of Miso Coconut Pancit, a noodle dishes that uses Bagoong. I used gluten-free spaghetti here, and Reyes’ comment that he would call this “filipino Alfredo” is apt. The coconut milk and bagoong give this a creamy, subtle yet umami-rich flavor that I found very appealing. I don’t usually think “subtle” in terms of filipino food, at least that has not been my experience, but what do I know. I love the bright fruity pop of the pink peppercorns here. In fact, I used more pink peppercorns in March than I have in the previous two years.

Bagoong itself is usually made with shrimp and it has a deeply funky, salty, umami flavor. This vegetarian version does as well. It makes a large batch so I tried freezing the extras in small cubes. That was perhaps a mistake as it is rich in oil and getting them out of the freezer trays was a mess. Next time I would freeze it in small jars which I did not have to decant. Some of the oil did separate out, but not much. The recipe did call for a lot of oil. Many people in my cookbook club said it was too much oil and they cut the quantity in half because they had trouble getting it incorporated into the rest of the mixture. I had no real problem with that, the process felt much like making mayonnaise, although there were no eggs present. I’ve whipped olive oil into a cream before, so this was not much different. I think the texture was somewhere between a pesto (before you add the cheese) and a mayonnaise. I do think it would be a completely different condiment with less oil but I might try it sometime. This is excellent, and I am glad I have it, but I’m not sure I would use it frequently enough to just store it in the fridge, at least at this point. Who knows though, I might just go on another filipino food trek one of these days.

This dish, with eggplant and chili oil was my least favorite dish of the group although I don’t really think that was the fault of the recipe per se. My out of season eggplant was bitter. I used small globe eggplants from the grocery store, and I would have been better served to go to either the Asian or Indian markets, and purchased a different variety of eggplant, as they both tend to have outstanding produce, better than my local grocery stores by a wide margin.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m not particularly fond of Reyes’ chili oil either. Mixed with the bitter eggplant it did not shine. I turned the leftovers into a kind of fusion layered eggplant, ricotta, and ground lamb gratin that worked beautifully though.

I love roasted carrots and these roasted carrots with banana ketchup and limes were no exception. The only was the issue is that the recipe states that one should slice the limes (whole unpeeled) very thinly, and they were charred beyond recognition before the carrots were even fully roasted. Next time I would roast the carrots about half-way through, and then stir in the sliced limes. I might be added sliced limes to other roasted vegetables as well.

This was my favorite dish from the book. It is visually stunning and fabulously fresh and flavorful. The recipe called for purple daikon, but I rarely see them in the market. When I did find the purple daikon I had to make the salad. I would never have thought of the combination of bok choy, mint, cilantro and daikon in a salad but it was excellent. I will not forget it. The addition of pumpkin seeds and sesame seeds was perfect counterpoint, and although the dressing was good, I think this would work with any light vinaigrette that leans tart.

Overall this was a fun book to explore, and although I admittedly had doubts upon my first reading, I ended up loving it. I am surprised at how that happens sometimes, that a book I would have never chosen on my own become a favorite. At the same times occasionally books I am looking forward to disappoint. I suppose this is one of the reasons I adore my cookbook clubs, and time to play. I learn new things, my taste evolves, I suppose my entire perspective evolves.