Cat Under Utilitarian Art

When I was taking pictures of the latest pair of potholders--these only took about five years to complete--Gus came to investigate, and struck a playful pose, so I decorated him with the artwork. I admit that I got the idea from the kitty over at Bread on the Water who was getting in on that art display.

Many years ago I was really in the potholder business. They were a perfect craft to work on while I sat at folk dance classes, drama lessons, Spanish classes...all those activities where I didn't want to read a book when other mothers were chatting. Everyone needs potholders, so they made handy gifts, and I had plenty of leftover fabric from a lifetime of sewing.

Then for my 50th birthday a friend took me to the quilting shop and bought me some fabrics just for this purpose. I got excited and collected even more color-coordinated materials dedicated to potholders. Now I have a big plastic tub of the stuff, including many hotpads in process, and no likely time for working on them.

Deer

Deer by John Drinkwater

Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer

They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near

Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live,

Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,

Treading as in jungles free leopards do,

Printless as eyelight, instant as dew.

The great kine are patient, and homecoming sheep

Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep

Delicate and far their counsel wild,

Never to be folded reconciled

To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are;

Lightfoot, and swift and unfamiliar,

These you may not hinder, unconfined

Beautiful flocks of the mind.


I would have to say that deer are my favorite animal. To watch one bound away after it is startled in the forest is a captivating sight, none the less that it is normally a quite brief sight, of great strength and speed combined with grace. Last month we visited a farm where white-tailed deer are kept as livestock, and viewed the corrals where the lovely animals are kept but evidently not tamed ("never to be folded reconciled"). The deer in the pen closest to us seemed to be frightened at our presence. The farmer was not there at the time and I don't know if his presence is any less disturbing. I couldn't take my eyes off the deer zigzagging nonstop in its cage; to watch that beauty without it disappearing into the trees was very odd. We weren't there long enough for me to get used to the vision that is usually so rare. Nor did I begin to feel reconciled myself to coming near upon their pastures.

The photo of deer above was taken while walking down the street in an Oregon neighborhood. Perhaps those deer are calm because they are still "keeping their counsel wild." No one is threatening them. If I'd had my camera that day at the corral, I might have taken a sad video of a wild animal from whom I was at that moment stealing something. In that moment I wasn't thinking about these things; I didn't think there was anything wrong with breeding wild deer. But since I came home and read Drinkwater's poem again--I have treasured it and worked at memorizing it for decades--I am reconsidering.

Sunday of the Myrrhbearers

Today in the Orthodox Church we remember those women who came to the tomb to care for the body of our Lord. They teach us to honor the dead; I will write more about this another day.

And they were mightily blessed for their faith and good works, as the angel appeared to them first and gave them the wonderful news that "Christ is risen!" Indeed He is risen.

My own patron saint is Joanna, one of these women, who twice teaches me to care for the dead, as she is reported to have used her connections as the wife of Herod's steward to recover the head of John the Baptist so that it could be buried properly.

It was a great joy to attend Vespers tonight and hear the Paschal hymns again, in addition to the sweet and sad hymn pertaining to Good Friday beginning, "Joseph and Nicodemus took Thee down from the tree...." As these men also cared for Christ's body after the crucifixion, they are commemorated today along with the myrrhbearers. Joseph of Arimathea bought 100 pounds of spices, enough for a king, to anoint the body of Jesus. He gave the tomb that he had bought for his own burial, and these men probably had to pay a price to the government officials as well, in order to obtain the body. All this I heard in the homily tonight, which focused on the fact that even if Joseph and Nicodemus were secret disciples before Christ's death, they were nothing like that afterward.

Christ is risen! ...eggs are eaten.

In the joy and fullness of Bright Monday I ate a few of the boiled quail eggs. What a wholesome and lovely snack.

I probably won't blog for a bit now as I am traveling again.

Trio of Pretty Eggs

While shopping at the supermarket this week I came upon a package of these darling quail eggs. Grown commercially, of course, but still so Spring-y I had to bring them home and take their picture, even if I don't do another thing with them.

During our decades of homeschooling, twice we joined or formed groups to decorate eggs in the pysanky style. This week I dug the remaining creations out of the cupboard to show you.

It is a wax-resist process. You apply your design with wax, and in multiple dips in the jars of dye the eggshell takes on the color where there is no wax. In the end you use the candle to melt off the wax and reveal the layers of the design.

Another egg-dyeing process is what I helped with today at church, to prepare red eggs that are traditionally given out to the whole congregation on Pascha night. We boiled and dyed these at the same time in one red bath, but then decided that they weren't red enough, so we dipped them in the bowl of stronger food coloring.

(That crock in the background is said to hold Russian pickles curing in brine.)

After the service, when we have gathered in the fellowship hall to break the fast together, we will two-by two hit our eggs against one another, to see who can keep his egg whole while cracking his opponent's. After all the elimination trials, one person will emerge as the winner. Whether they win something besides admiration, I can't say.

The Bridegroom

"Behold, the Bridegroom comes in the middle of the night, and behold, blessed is that servant whom He shall find watching...."

This is the theme of the Bridgegroom Matins of Holy Week, which my church serves at 6:30 these first three mornings. Very sweet. After Palm Sunday the church is full of palm branches and calla lilies. Dawn hasn't broken yet, and in the dim light the lilies in their whiteness
decorate the temple, as do the Eritrean ladies in their white gauze that flows with them in their worship ballet of bows and prostrations.


On the home front, the Cécile Brunner roses are opening! They are sweet as well, and give glory to God.

Beloved Jars

Let's see if I can write a blog post that is actually about something that happened today...a cold and rainy day on which we actually got a fire going. In April! Yes, those are Christmas lights in the picture. Until Spring has settled in more securely I will continue to enjoy them shining against the dark and dressing up my bare window.

But the most satisfying part of the day was cleaning out the container cupboard. You'd think I grew up in the Depression, the way I save every jar and yogurt container until they are overflowing their space. No, it's really because in the first decades of married life, I was always cooking army-sized quantities of soup or rice or whatever, and at times I actually used up most of those receptacles to squirrel away batches of Comfort Soup or pasta sauce against the days when we were too busy to cook.

During that period we also ate a lot of peanut butter, which resulted in me collecting these most practical glass jars, now true Collectors' Items, I'm sure, because in this size, most food items these days are sold in plastic. Adams Peanut Butter was sold in approximately 2-quart jars that are more slender, and therefore fit better in the refrigerator, than what I have been able to buy as dedicated food storage containers. They were perfect, in the Old Days, for storing in the fridge enough soup for a large family. Or for cooling the stock before taking off the fat.

I've had them well over 20 years, and the lids aren't even rusty. As you can see, I have begun using them to store dry foodstuffs. My kitchen is always evolving. But now, if these break or get lost, the younger generation can look here for a memory jog.