The rain is lashing outside my window. It is a serious rain that comes with thunder and lightening. I am glad to be inside with my cats and a fireplace that knows when to turn itself on to keep the house cozy.
This week I have been feeling and acting like a fifties housewife. Baking scones was a good idea. Some with a recipe calling for prosciutto and gruyere cheese.
I don’t think they were worth the extra cost of those two ingredients so made another batch substituting cut up party salami type slices left from my house warming, parmesan and tossed in loads of chopped spinach. These were very delicious!
When I took the scones in for the boys yesterday, some appreciated them while others took one look at the “green” and passed.
I did learn one thing to do when baking scones: Once they are on the baking sheet and ready to go into the oven, put them in the freezer for half an hour first. It gets the butter really cold again and assists in the flakiness of the bake. I also learned that there is usually plenty in the way of ingredients in the refrigerator to make savoury scones.
Then I got on with the sewing.
I will finish this shirt tomorrow. It takes a lot of concentration and a seam ripper to complete. It is not just a front and back but a left and right front and back. And a careful look when having to put finished hems in before pieces are put together. But I have made all the mistakes I need to get this one done. At least I hope so. Maybe I should stop sewing and be satisfied with the jersey jogging suits so many old girls turn to. But clingy knits are not what I would wear anywhere but to bed. I shall stay in the fight to make my own clothes.
Once I was almost tossed out of a large department store by asking the sales woman if they really expected women of all ages and sizes to be satisfied with the same ugly knit blouses in orange and green stripes. “Are women really all walking around in these clothes because it is what you are offering?” “Where is the woven cotton and linen?” “In the men’s department>” I was told. So I headed to the men’s department and bought a big shirt in something that felt right.
Anyway this week I was a sewer.
Saw this on my walk and was reminded how difficult the English language can be to learn.
It was my first walk to the river in almost two weeks. It felt good to be out on such a sunny day and hear the rushing water from so much rain lately.
I like sitting in my studio and looking off to my left.
It is a cozy corner of things collected and mostly kept within touching distance. So many things to write about.
Writing. Did you know that cursive writing will not be taught anymore? How will people take notes? How will they jot down the fragments of conversations heard in the morning diner? How will things stay in their minds if they are not writing it down as it happens and feeling the connection from ear to head to arm to hand to pen and then appearing like magic on a paper.
I have notebooks, cocktail napkins, receipts with words that mattered and were of interest and import at the time. Some fed into artworks, some into poetry or short stories and still more jog the memory of some special moment in time. What happens if we stop writing? Some would say, well you can still print. But it is not the same. Having to lift the pen after each letter loses track and can’t keep up. It is one more thing my generation in particular is seeing fade into history.
My lunch companion of the same age mentioned how she hated seeing the gas station attendants stop coming out to fill the tank, wash the windshield and ask how you were. Now we pump our own. Which is fine. I can do that. More customers can be taken care of at the same time. I understand. But sometime I might just push the button asking for help and when he comes out of his tiny glassed in cubicle, I might just say “Hi” with pen and paper in hand and ask how his day is going.
But on a high note, the other day the neck pieces I ordered from a friend in Tasmania arrived. And with them came a stash of gifts.
A painting she did of Eucalyptus leaves, some cards and bits and pieces she and the owner of Wafu Works bundled up for me. It is my favorite place to poke about in. A tiny Japanese store of odd bits of tools, cloth and threads. These are all old pieces of cloth that are so much fun to sew into. And that little bone fold pressing tool. How lovely! And a tiny red box for tiny things. And assorted sewing threads. Treasures to be sure! I will tuck them into a drawer here at the work table for something special later. Thank you Jude and Jan.
Rain is still bucketing down. Cats want my attention.