~~~~~~~~The N x NE clinic called and I now have an appointment for a FREE flu shot. Every little bit helps when you don't have insurance...
Done husking the bay nuts (Umbellularia californica); about 2/3 of the weight is husk, so I've about 1 1/4 lb to be dried...
for my wooden bowl:
for my wooden bowl:
a requiem on the patient faithfulness of inanimate objects,
(something I think about a lot; my primary delight is creating just such objects)
~*~Once upon a time partway through a century long ago there was a girl with a head full of dreams and fancies. She lived in Cambridge Mass Our Fair City, only it wasn't called that then. There were lots of pretty young folks to look at, and wonderful music to hear, and curious little shops that sold almost anything that you might want (and the things the shops didn't sell you could find in the street markets in Harvard Square, or on Cambridge Common) And in some random ancestor of the oh-so-posh kitchen shops we have today, she found a wooden bowl. There were shelves and shelves of treen of all sorts, and she took this one home (well, since you asked, she paid for it and took it home, she wasn't that kind of hippie)
It was round and brown and shaped kind of like a teacup, only instead of a teacup handle, the top edge of the bowl swooped out into a nice curved handle-hole. Sized just right for a suppersworth of soup, or a nice warm bowl of winter oatmeal, and the bowl was thick enough that food would stay warm until eaten.
That bowl went cross-country on the Green Tortoise, and tied to her belt went to a renaissance fair. It moved with her all around greater Boston, and banged around the back of a step van to a Rainbow Festival. Along for the ride to Los Angeles, and North County, and all up the west coast. It served up blackberry jam at an Evergreen potluck. It sat on a shelf in Seattle, held huckleberries in a backwoods cabin in Sandpoint, then rode safely back to the damp side of the mountains in the back of a pickup truck. Just a little different than all those thrift store bowls, it found lots of new friends, just like she did, when she found the SCA.
And she moved to Acorn Cottage, and the faithful bowl lived in the kitchen. And every time she looked at it, or ate her scotch broth and barley, or steelcut oats with honey, memory of being a young thing would surface, like a wisp of sweet smoke, and she'd smile.
Yesterday, she was cleaning the kitchen, and washing the dishes, and when she went to scrub and rinse the bowl, there was a long crack down one side. And foolish foolish tears came to her eyes, and that young girl with the bifocals and the grey grey hair washed the bowl for one last time