Eventide is when the air cools, the traffic thins and days end….
Saturdays come and go every seven days, filled with…….
Phillip was fascinated by his apprenticeship……
Entertaining them was a stressful situation ……
Communication is tempered by social mores……
Tempered glass bears the brunt…….
“Just as we expect others to value our boundaries, it’s equally
important for us to respect the boundaries of others.”
~ Laurie Buchanan, PhD
When worries wrapped my head in knots
and my cat's health was driving me mad,
there was no need for my stalwart phone
to close it’s eye and fall silently dead!
I burst into tears and scared my cat.
I crumpled and sobbed like a baby.
Wiping my face and taking deep breaths
I knew my iPad would keep me connected.
When rested well all morning long,
I gathered fragile strands of strength.
In the afternoon heat I went downtown
and bought a new phone instead!
“Stress should be a powerful driving force, not an obstacle.”
~ Bill Phillips
Elizabeth didn’t believe in dreams. She believed in hard work. Her evening with Samuel at the new restaurant was lovely, especially the tour of the restaurant kitchen. Meeting the chef who told them about the workings of a busy restaurant kitchen was wonderful. Just Plain Food. That would have been her choice for a restaurant she owned. But her work was over at the Estate. The busy hard work was done a long time ago, when there were parties and guests. The times when she heard the long gone Mrs. Beaufort breeze in upstairs, chatting nonstop to friends. Giles, Mrs. Beaufort’s chauffeur came in the back door with her imperious demand for a luncheon, or supper and maybe even overnight guests who would need breakfast! Elizabeth smiled to herself. Occasionally, one of them would wander down the stairs, to taste whatever she was making. Making suggestions and getting in the way until that annoying bell tinkled from upstairs, chasing the nuisance to the party. “How did you know I was down here?” Then chairs scraping, the clinking of glasses, music to fit the crowd. Maybe jazz, which Elizabeth was not fond of, waltzes, some form of easy listening that encouraged them all to sing. Once it was even Country and Western followed by the stomping of the Line Dancing Mrs. Beaufort had just learned.
Elizabeth sighed. She did miss those days, at least being busy all day, and sometimes into the night. But she did not miss Mrs. Beaufort. Seemed like the pandemic took all the arrogance out of her, and replaced her with Miss Emelina, now married to Dr. Jeremy. Even Martha seemed at a loss most days, never really knowing what to do. She, at least, had Miss Emelina reduce her hours. James Digby, her husband and the estate butler, was also investigating retirement. She sighed again. “Not a good day at all. Being in the Just Plain Food kitchen, discussing food preparation with the chef while Samuel…….what did he do while I was so involved? He practically had to drag me out of there. The sous chefs left the kitchen spotless and shining. I ran my hand over the silver workspaces, touched the knives safe on their magnetized bars.” She polished her teakettle, setting it gently on the back of the stove, made certain her sink was clean, the table washed and the counter tops tidy and clean. Still talking to herself she said “Samuel never said a word about any of it all the way home. Neither did I.” It had all been too much for Elizabeth, and for Samuel. He had known she was interested in cooking, chefs and food, but had no idea how deep it ran.
“Well, there’s nothing for it. I best get to work. Miss Em does have a luncheon meeting today that I need to prepare for. Everyone will need hot coffee and tea. No one’s told me they’ll need breakfast, but I can whip that up pretty quick if I need to.” She took a last look around her kitchen and eating area, put her sweater on. Umbrella and purse over her arm she went off to work. “Think I’ll clean out the freezer today and maybe even the pantry.” Striding out, she looked up at the clouds. “Good thing I’ve my umbrella, they don’t look too friendly.”
~~~~~
Dez was not worried about the fine mist that coated her windshield. She had her rain jacket on and was only going from car to kitchen. She checked the time. Cook should be there by now and had coffee on. She’d not bothered to get anything when she got off the ferry. She’d just been over to Vancouver for a day trip for an Art Show at one of the museums. It had turned into an overnight when she met an old friend from their wilder days. The two of them went to supper, stayed talking til the restaurant closed. By then it was too late to get a ferry back to Hartley, so she took a motel room by the ferry terminal and took the earliest one back. Too much wine the night before did nothing for her appetite, especially once on board. Now, approaching the Estate, she was hungry. She could have gone to her duplex first, but knew there was nothing there to eat. “I need Cook’s food. She won’t mind fixing me breakfast, at least she never has before.” After the crowded ferry ride, she hadn’t even turned her radio on. Breaking the silence was finally ok, even if she was just talking to herself. Visiting with Marianne last night was great. Lots of old memories - good and bad. “We were crazy kids then.” Parking and turning off her car, she pulled the hood of her jacket up, the mist turned to a gentle rain. “I’d better not go into the kitchen dripping wet!”
“Good morning, Cook! It’s Dez.” She took off her boots and set them neatly on the boot rack. “Yes, I’m taking off my boots and setting them up.” Laughing and shaking her head, she muttered under her breath. “Just like my mother.”
“I heard that, Miss Dez. Are you here for breakfast? Your sister’s not down yet.” She got out her frying pan. “Scrambled eggs all right?” Dez poured coffee, added the requisite two spoons for sugar and went to the fridge for cream. “That would be great. Here they are, Cook.” She handed Cook a carton of eggs and took her cream to the table. “My sister doesn’t even know I’m coming. I’m coming to the luncheon at noon, but just got off the ferry and am starving.”
“Three egg scramble, Miss Dez?” She had already set some bacon in the pan to start frying. Eggs into the pan, she broke the yokes with her spatula and stirred them into a scramble. “Made sourdough bread yesterday. Cut some of it for your toast, Miss Dez. The toaster is by the coffee maker so just plug it in.” Dez wanted to hug Cook. It was like being in the kitchen with her mother. Being taken care of.
“What’s going on down here? Dez, where have you come from at this hour of the morning?” Emelina came down the stairs, surprised to see Dez. She had heard her come in and that breakfast was being readied. “Cook can I get some of those eggs?”
“Of course Miss Em. Get the orange juice out of the fridge while your sister makes the toast.” Cook smiled, her back to the women, “Just like having my own sous chefs.”
Setting two plates of bacon, scrambled eggs and slices of Samuel’s tomatoes in front of the sisters she said “Here’s your breakfast and I made tea for myself. Now, Miss Dez, tell us about what you’ve been up to.” Emelina appreciated Cook. She’d never failed her, even in when she in her ‘awful’ years. She smiled up at her “Thank you Cook.”
“Sometimes the dreams that come true are
the dreams you never even knew you had.”
~ Alice Sebold, The Lovely Bones
There is a natural grace to trees
in the arch of their branches,
the grand height of ancient red sequoias,
the twists and turns of climbing roses,
the graceful droop of fragile wisteria blossoms and thousands more. On my walk home, the natural grace and simplicity of ordinary leaves against the backdrop of a rumpled tree trunk, caught my eye and slowed my step.
(Cell phone cameras come in very handy.)
“Grace, like water, flows to the lowest part.”
~ Philip Yancy
If I hadn’t looked down
all the way to the ground
I would never have seen
a peaked wooden roof
with a little brown door.
Fairies live high in the trees,
and on a grassy green floor!
“I’ve always believed in experiencing everything in life.
When you walk out with blinders on, you cut
yourself off from the angels and the fairies.”
~ Alyssa Milano
To say thank you sometimes can feel rote, reflexive. To have an opportunity to express deep gratitude to a complete stranger did not feel rote or reflexive today. This woman’s roses, their scent perfuming the very warm air, had given a good friend of mine pleasure from the distance of a photograph. Overcoming my shyness, I told her of my friends appreciation and thanked her.
“No duty is more urgent than that of returning thanks.”
~ James Allen
