Cabbage Rolls!

Every big idea is made better with food. The idea this weekend is, for many, a family gathering on this Thanksgiving. My challenge? Bring cabbage rolls, a dish I have made maybe once, on my own, in the last forty years. I approached this….this intimating challenge cautiously. But dammit! I would make them and do a good job! From cookbooks and YouTube videos, I researched what was needed. Purchased the groceries needed. Cleared my kitchen. Gathered my tools and ingredients. And then, something interesting happened. I slipped into ‘the zone’ as I cooked brown rice, chopped onions and garlic, parsley and celery, measured out dill weed and smoked paprika and made tomato sauce. Over a dozen cabbage rolls later, tucked in and covered with bacon, they went into the oven for a two hour bake. I did reserve one small piece of filling and cooked a tiny meatloaf to taste the finished product. The flavours are quite good - but I’ll wait till tomorrow to get more objective opinions.

“….no one is born a great cook, one learns by doing.”

~ Julia Child, My Life in France

Cornered

Running as fast as 

life would allow to

leave childhood behind,

no thought of 

potholes or roadblocks

’til into a corner

~ I stopped ~

to stand still slowly

breathe, accept and 

walk with the life given me.

“There is only one corner of the universe you can be 

certain of improving and that’s your own self.”

~ Aldous Huxley

Artistry

Designing with colours and 

onto the textures of nature

with the delicate touch of

time, chemistry and temperature ~

       children see

  more than just a tree.

“…and then, I have nature and art and poetry, 

and if that is not enough what is enough?”

~ Vincent Van Gogh

Chapter Two, Episode 104 - A Good Life - Situationally Theirs

A Good Life

“Lying down in the grass tickles!” Lisbet and Lily rolled down a little hill. Elizabeth muttered in her early morning sleep. “It doesn’t even smell like grass Lily. Don’t be silly.” Squinting against the morning light, the aroma of coffee perking and bacon frying woke her completely. She reached to the pillow beside her. Only the dent of Samuel’s head betrayed him. 

“Here’s your coffee, Elizabeth” Samuel’s voice had more gravel in it. She supposed he hadn’t had much to soften it yet. “Do you want it here or at the table?” Tall and grizzled, he stood just inside Elizabeth’s bedroom door holding a steaming mug of coffee. Elizabeth pushed her graying hair out of her eyes and sat up. “Mornin’ Sam. You sleep ok?” She leaned on her hands at the edge of the mattress. “I’ll get up and come to the kitchen? Just let me get out of my nightclothes, wash my face and I’ll be right out.” 

~~~~~ 

Any fly on the wall, listening to this morning conversation, could have heard an old married couple with an edge of young love. And it was neither and both. They felt as though they had known each other outside of this life. Something long past the romantic love of the movies. They had no plans from marriage. Martha would be disappointed. "That's for the young folks." Elizabeth didn't disagree. She was content and happy with her life. Martha was her best friend, but she didn't want her to butt in. She knew she was a good soul and a very kind hearted person, "Just wants to fix everything. Explain it all away." There was nothing for Martha to fix or to explain away. But if she knew about her deep relationship with Samuel, she'd get all excited and want a celebration. 

She shook her head, turning the water to hot. After washing her face, she joined Samuel in the kitchen. Places were set with mismatched plates and cutlery. At the stove, he was dishing up the scrambled eggs and bacon. The toaster popped up. Picking up her coffee for a sip, she said "I'll get it Samuel. Looks like you have your hands full."

Breakfast was quiet. When it was over, Elizabeth picked up their dishes while Samuel filled the sink with soap and hot water. He washed the dishes while she dried them and put them away. "Guess it's time to get to work Sam. I left early last night and that big kitchen in a bit of a mess. Not like me." Their eyes met, his sharp blue and hers soft grey. "And I've got tomatoes to pick from that last plant standing. A couple of zucchinis are ready. That'll take care of the garden.

"There's enough zucchini in the freezer, but I think it's high time for baking a chocolate zucchini cake. Bring whatever you get to the kitchen, Samuel." He drained, wiped out the sink and dried his hands. Elizabeth folded the tea towel and neatly placed it by the sink. Embracing, they gave each other a peck on the cheek. Jacket on, umbrella over her arm, Elizabeth went out the front door Putting his jacket on, Samuel left from the back door. Golden sun, still low in the watery blue sky, promised a lovely fall day. Gulls wheeled overhead. A foghorn called from the strait.

~~~~~

"Love is not written on paper, for paper can be erased. 

Nor is it etched on stone, for stone can be broken. But it is 

inscribed on a heart and there it shall remain forever."

~ Rumi

Antzy

Antzy

“Imaginary friends have big noses, unless they are ants. They do all have big stories.” Grandpa tapped his pipe on the ashtray. He reached inside his vest pocket, pulled out an envelope and carefully took out a square of cardboard and handed it to his grandson. “What is this grandpa? Where did you get it?” The little boy looked up at his grandfather, his fine brown eyebrows knitted together. “Well, Jacob, this is a picture of my imaginary friend.” Jacob’s blue eyes got big and round. “You had an imaginary friend! Wow! What’s his name and why is he green? Why is he wearing that scarf around his neck?

“Whoa, son - his name is Antzy. I’ll answer the rest of your questions but let’s get some lunch first. Your mother is calling.”

~~~~~

Jacob and his grandfather were the best of friends. They always talked over these puzzling sorts of things. But Jacob had never heard of this Antzy. His grandfather - wow! He finished his sandwich and milk. He watched his grandfather’s big hands holding his sandwich and tried to imagine them drawing that picture. He was a carpenter that used hammers, saws, screwdrivers. He just couldn’t imagine him as a little boy, even though he’d seen pictures of him as a boy. He squirmed with anticipation in his chair. “Well, Jacob, Antzy came to me when I was the same age as you. He started out being a real ant! Mother and I were out walking one Saturday. On the old wooden sidewalk was a long line of ants. I squatted down and watched them creeping in their long row. I asked mother where they were going but she just told me to step away from them and ask father when we got home.” He smiled and tipped his head towards Jacob. “My mother, your great grandmother didn’t care much for ants or any creepy crawly bugs.” Jacob didn’t really care about that part of the story. He wanted to hear more about Antzy. “Anyway, I did get away from that marching line of ants but not until one fellow climbed up the side of my pants, up the front of my shirt and dropped right into my shirt pocket.” Jacob’s face had crumpled. “But grandpa that was a real ant, not imaginary.” His grandfather chuckled. “But you haven’t heard everything, Jacob.” Jacob leaned back impatiently in his kitchen chair. “So was he magic?” His grandfather picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. “Now where were we? Oh yes, was he magic? No….or maybe he was. An ordinary ant fell in my pocket and disappeared. I forgot all about him until I took off my shirt at night when I was getting ready for bed. When I checked my pocket - I turned it upside down and shook it out - it was nowhere to be found. That night, I got out my sketch book ~ I was supposed to be in bed asleep ~ and drew this picture. All my paints were downstairs and all I could find was a green crayon. That’s when I named him Antzy and why he is green.” Jacob was still not satisfied. “Why did you give him a red scarf, grandpa?” His grandfather picked up the little sketch and smiled at his old friend. “I didn’t, Jacob.” “You didn’t? But how……….” His little face scrunched up trying to puzzle it out. “When I woke up in the morning, the funny bowtie ~ not just a scarf ~ was on the sketch. Sometimes it would be red ~ sometimes blue ~ sometimes yellow with polka dots. He stayed in my bedroom and whenever I needed someone to talk to about serious things, or funny things or really anything, Antzy would crawl out from wherever he had been hiding. We’d laugh and laugh. His bowtie would turn all different colours. When I was sad, the bowtie would be purple or black. When I was happy, yellow or pink. ” Jacob interrupted. “Why is this one red?” His grandfather went to the back door, took his coat and Jacob’s jacket down. “I never knew why Antzy started out with red, the colour for anger. Come Jacob, let’s go for that walk.” Jacob’s dog, Butch had been completely ignored in the excitement of Antzy’s story was being told. “Do you think we could find another Antzy?” He clipped on Butch’s leash and followed his grandfather out the door. 

“Everything you can imagine is real.”

~ Pablo Picasso

Fast Moving Fragments

Could there be hippos in this pool of water?

Hungry hippos have really big teeth………and that’s all I’ll say about that! I’ve been muddling all day about how to approach this stem that I left for myself. Fragments of story flew through my head so fast I couldn’t catch them. I thought maybe if I researched the children’s game of Hungry Hungry Hippos it might jog some of them loose. More fast moving fragments. So I went on kidadl.com for information about hippos. Sadly, I learned that hippos are a violent species - not the cute brightly coloured hippos of the child’s game. They do eat grasses - 155lb (68 kg) - each day, are mostly herbivores and can hold their breath under water for up to five minutes.

Delving into research, any and all fragments vanished! So, tonight was not the night for a children’s story from this author.

“What a schmuck!”

~ Lemony Snicket,  The Bad Beginning

A Curious Cat Tale

Curiouser and curiouser…..

I prowled and paced. 

nosed in corners, cushions 

and behind the drapes. 

Today, my favourite chair 

held a strong human scent ~ the little one who looks like a small human 

~ nowhere to be seen or heard ~ 

Curling up, I slept. 

“Curiosity has its own reason for existence.”

~ Albert Einstein