Tea Invitation

A dear friend invited me to her annual Christmas Tea. It was the first time meeting her circle of friends. High Tea allows girls of all ages to be princesses for an afternoon. Everything was made from scratch. The lights welcoming us inside drew us to a table decorated with the finest setting. My eyes feasted on the vignettes in every corner.

High Tea is about careful details, ritual, and reveling in all things feminine. You want to be your best and enjoy it to the fullest. Gratitude abounds because of the invitation. Ugly can't come in the door. Every woman around the table seems to become more and more gorgeous as the conversation blossoms.

My hostess's deceased mother Helen, was mentioned several times. As I asked questions, it seemed like she was the common thread among them. Her influence had effected each of one.

 One of the stories made a deep impression. Helen kept her table set for tea at all times. Her hospitality was framed in a tangible, enduring way. She was expecting you, hoping you would come and be served delicacies from her heart and hands. A magnetic woman ~ drawing other women to allow themselves the luxury of being nourished.

These are old photos of Helen's welcoming table. 

She also wrote and sent cards to friends all her life. Many of the women there not only had kept each one, but had adopted the habit themselves and were leaving their own legacy.

One precious woman had enjoyed the set table herself so many times, she has been doing the same thing in her home for years.

She drank tea from a cup she had given our hostess many years ago. It was bittersweet for she is ill. Each year she is at the Christmas Tea is a gift, like each day she wakes. Full circle.

I think we have to experience a thing before we can absorb enough to have the wherewithal to give it away. Receiving it like a sponge is the only thing to do in these cases.

We were all reluctant to leave the magic. It was uplifting. The tastes and flavors lingered on our tongues like the memory will in our hearts. One afternoon of respite. One afternoon of nourishment and nurturing. One afternoon of such a gift spills over and drips on everyone and everything around us. It multiplies. I left wanting to pass it on, pay it forward.

Little girl tea parties are as playful as big girl tea parties. As I drove home I felt blessed to have been in the room with so much collective wisdom and luster.

Thank you ever so much for inviting me Kathy. 

Loving Family Food

Overweight and morbidly obese are defining words for me. My 76 year old mother came to visit last week along with Lisa, my baby sister, and two of her youngest.

One afternoon it was so warm that the batch of sourdough bread I was making for supper had to be baked early. The neighbor kid smelled it, as did Loverby as he arrived home from work.

Hot bread doesn't have a chance. We all hovered in the kitchen where we demolished a large pan of buns slathered with butter and peach freezer jam. Appetizer course before supper. We were breadless for supper, no apologies.

The next night, mom was delighted to discover the freezer full of blackberries. She is famous for her pie.

She baked two lovely, flaky berry pies. Dessert was a french vanilla ice cream dollop on the side melting away from the warmth of the crust.......

Food feels like eating love. Swallowing, chewing, drooling love.

Fast food, prepackaged food, Costco crap, processed and refined foods don't tempt me.

Real food made with loving hands and passionate hearts, plated and served with joy; irresistable.

Family, friends and food just go together fantastically. Right? The last 'f' word is FAT. Unfortunately.

My chin has tripled and my stomach is splayed out across my thighs as I sit. I have no lap at the moment.

I am unable to walk, jog, or bend over, but perhaps I can waddle out to the garden and water?

Breaking Bread Not News

The thrift store lured me in. The siren call of my book addiction slammed the brakes on and turned the wheel. It's fun even if I leave with an empty basket. A look-see, just in case there is something I'm missing.

I saw an astonishing thing this trip. A long shelf packed with bread machines. Some years ago, everyone wanted one. Had to have one. They weren't cheap.

Bread is a passion for me. There is a sensual pleasure in making it that touches all the layers inside. If a meal includes a warm free-form loaf of bread, the experience and memory is a good one.

I have recently returned to making it after a couple years off. We forgot how satisfying it is. How it compliments even the simplest meal. We had homemade chicken soup with crusty hot bread the other night. Each of us felt nurtured and nourished by this homely combination. It was plain, but satisfying.

My sourdough starter is about fifteen years old. Before going to bed I put a dab of starter in a glass bowl with water and flour. The sponge bubbles and gurgles all night working, eating, and stretching the gluten. In the morning, I add salt and enough flour to gather a ball together. In the bowl, I knead it a few times to smooth it and let it rest till the afternoon, covered. It gets punched down and shaped into a baguette or rolls. By supper time, it is ready to bake in a hot oven.

I dream of a wood fired brick oven in the back yard, but they are quite the investment. Those who have one are fortunate in my opinion.

Lord help the person who cuts my hot crusty loaf. Breaking it open is the only way. Rough. Rustic. Sensuous bread. And curses on the poverty stricken person who would contaminate it with merely margarine. Horrors. Butter is the true companion ~ a love match.

If the previous owners of all those sad, washed up, unwanted bread machines only knew the joy and ease with which familial happiness could be had.

Snoqualmie Falls

Saturday Craig took me to Snoqualmie Falls. In the spring, the force and power plunging over the rocks plucks your soul like a metal banjo string. Your whole body feels the strum and happily hums in ripples.

We tested out Craig's new knee, taking the trail down to the river bed. It works! He is doing well and is grateful to be without chronic, acute pain.

On the trail he stopped and pointed out a small puddle with a bubbling spring feeding it from the bottom before trickling and spilling over. It was enchanting; small simple joy always is.

At the bottom of the river bed it was clear how high the mist was bouncing up. We welcomed the fine spray.

We met two guys who were finishing a photo shoot at the base of the falls. Craig helped them get the gear over the railing to the trail. The young man showed me part of a video he was working on. The shots were stunning; he was happy with what he had accomplished, but had no idea how amazing it really was. It was refreshing. He was doing what he loved because he loved it. The interchange was a gift. Serendipitous. Artists creating are a treat to come across.

Hiking up the steep grade, Craig had to wait for me to catch my breath. I've been lounging way too much this winter! A mountain climber/telemark athlete whizzed by without breaking a sweat or panting,
right when I was clutching a fence post and gasping asthmatically. He cheerfully told me to take smaller steps locking my knees each time.

Surprise! It worked better. We made it to the top and peeked over one more time to take home some more vibe.

Shock the Pink Lady

Who will show them how to pull a bleeding heart blossom apart to expose the shocked pink lady taking a bath?

How will they know to pick a dandelion and smear a friend's chin with butter? 

Will they shell a pea? Pick daisies? 

If they don't get to help plant a garden, how will they understand the natural law of sowing and reaping?

Who will make a daisy chain for them? A flower crown? A May basket? 

Will they learn how to make a hollyhock lady with crinoline skirts? 

Will they ever see a cow milked or butter made? 

Will they be able to hold a chick or gather warm eggs? 

Who will build a driftwood fire that makes rainbows in the dark? 

Will they taste a s'mores roasted on a campfire? 

Will anyone take them tent camping? 

Who will let them iron hankies?  Give them leftover pie crust to make tarts? Let them have a hunk of bread dough to knead and watch rise? 

How will they learn to sew a button on? Make jewel toned jelly? Gravy? 

Will anyone lay with them and beg for falling stars? Show them cloud pictures? 

Will they understand wheat, milk, and meat isn't bad for us, it's how we alter it that makes it so?

Will they see animals mating, the miracle of birth, and the pure sweetness of nursing young?

Will they know what words like yeast, yoke, plow, harvest, reins, and honeycomb mean? 

Will anyone care that the swallows return every year and there are places where monarch butterflies stop to rest each migration? 

People want to save the world - keep it green they say. Might as well just color it a virtual green for us children who are only virtually experiencing it. Spectating instead of participating. 

X-box, Wii, Farmville, Bejeweled Blitz, FB, Twitter, Smart phones, Laptops, and every other electronic thing is powerfully stimulating and at times addicting. Even useful! 

But soul satisfying? Refreshing? Restorative? Playful? Intimate? Satisfying? 

Play Money

Gold and silver coins. Paper money. Currency. Tradeable. Exchangeable. Highly sought. Killed for. Fought for. Greed and jealousy stick to it sometimes.

I have found another kind of currency. It may fill pockets, but always hearts. 

I count my days with this other kind of currency.  Play money for the game of life from the Banker.

Monday was a three eagle day. Tuesday looked up twice towards falling stars. Wednesday was filled with seal conversation. Thursday rained pennies from heaven. Friday startled me with a double rainbow. Saturday tripped over heart shaped rocks. Sunday gave me a swing, the hammock of His hand.

Each trip has currency. On our last trip to Hawaii, I heard the mountains roar and spit fire, melting the sea. Once in Mexico I heard the rocks sing. My eyes have taken in grandeur that my heart didn't have the capacity to fully enjoy - yet. My body has felt love that was so deep, I felt taken from earth.

This kind of currency helps me keep afloat when the load seems extra heavy. As I pick up the pack for the day, I remember all the pockets of my heart are stuffed, not with heavy weight, but helium hope. Lifters. Baby joeys wriggling away in my kanga pouch. Every now and again a foot or a head pops out so I remember life is wonderful and I am grateful. I am the recipient of great goodness. Pregnant with it. A carrier.

Yet again, I come both boldly and shyly to ask for more  ~ "Open up the vaults of heaven". Greedy. Needy.

Birthday Book by Sue

Susan made this wonderful chipboard book for my birthday. 

I want to share the loveliness. 

She is an artist. Also a poet, although she doesn't know this yet. 

We have been friends since we were nineteen. We are both 50 now.

We are complete opposites in every way; this is good. 

We are committed to being girlfriends forever. 

Surely Goodness

The sun was out framing the bluest sky yesterday. Craig walked in the door to a pile of jackets and blankets ~ Maggie and me waiting to pounce on him or pummel him into saying yes ~ before he knew what he was saying yes to.

He said yes to the invitation; make it to the bluff under the Deception Pass bridge before the sun set. We stopped at a little cafe and ordered a picnic in boxes.

We kissed.

We layed our blankets on the velvet moss with wild flowers blooming all around us. Far below us the tide was coming in,  as the sun was going down.

We kissed.

Sure enough, my big daddy sea lion showed up to entertain us. A few calloused, fishing boats shot through the current under the bridge. The captain waved.

We kissed.

The sunset was stunning over the Sound.

We kissed.

I saw 2 shooting stars before the night was over; blessed indeed.

We kissed goodnight with full hearts and souls, dripping with goodness. Simple goodness. Free goodness.

We heard a conversation drifting down from the bridge, "Honey look, we could do that - come with some bread, cheese, wine and bring the dog."

It made me wonder if they'll do it. I hope so - and soon. Free memories like this can't be bought. They can only be had.

Have one on me.