Just Swish and Flick

I finally finished off the Christmas tree this afternoon.  Putting up an 8 foot tree with 65 years' worth of decorations (Mom started collecting in 1945) and enough lights to satisfy Vegas is never a one-day job, but more a work in progress over several.  

Simon was disappointed that I hadn't yet put on the icicles when he was here, but that is the very last step.  All the kids seem quite fascinated with the icicles and seem to think they are what 'make' the tree.  I have to agree.  

I always remember how particular Mom was about how they went on and I found myself thinking that there is a very specific hand and wrist movement I only ever use for this purpose.  Now, if I could just learn to levitate the things onto the tree, I'd be dead chuffed.

Swanning About

I was finishing my coffee and reading an entry about Diana Vreeland on Little Augury when a link took me to an article that says only the Queen can own swans in Britain.  

 

This is the first I've heard about that, not that I'm an expert on these things, mind.

So I did a bit of reading about this, including why we don't eat swans (well, it would be impressive to present to dinner guests, wouldn't it?).   I've always been quite drawn to photographing swans, they are so striking, not to mention graceful.  And big!

 

The article in the Daily Mail is more about Charlotte Townshend than swans, really, and it's not exactly a paper I would call a 'reference'.  

 

So, I went to the Royal Website:

Today, the Crown retains the right to ownership of all unmarked mute swans in open water, but The Queen only exercises her ownership on certain stretches of the Thames and its surrounding tributaries.

Turns out there is even a ceremony about it all.   Well, of course there would be...

Don't Read This Now!

Possibly the worst time in the world to discover a new time-consuming obsession is in the days with the longest to-do lists in the year, those leading up to Christmas.  So perhaps you'd best just note this for reading on Boxing Day.  I'm being silly here, I know.  It reminds me of a joke that was at Grandmother's house, a couple of wood blocks hinged together like a greeting card.  On the front it said 

Open in Case of Fire

When one, in curiosity, naturally opened it one found

Not Now, Dummy!  In Case of Fire!!!

I don't know how many times I opened the stupid thing and laughed.  My excuse for then was that I was a child.  That it still amuses me, well, there is no excuse, is there?

Anyhow, I've recently discovered three new blogs, the first, Little Augury, because of A Femme d'Un Certain Age.    Then two more, An Aesthete's Lament, and Frence Essence, via Little Augury.  Never mind the objects they hold up that one might think about buying (I don't even go there, it's just not my thing), these blogs are full of visual wealth, introductions to people from the (inter-war) period of my dreams - and others, sprinkled with words I almost know, but need to look up to learn more.  It will take me months to make my way through the back catalog of their posts and to peruse all the ideas they so lavishly present.

I suspect there are many more blogs on their respective lists equally as seductive, but I refuse to look until I've done some tidying up of my blog list, removing the ones that didn't prove that interesting to make room for new time-wasters sources of my fine arts education.

After Boxing Day... not before...

Lost the Frugal Plot

It's a small thing, but I'm meeting a friend for lunch and I can't give her her Christmas card because I've just put it in the post.  It tells me I'm down to doing the next thing on the list instead of thinking.  

Do you get that way this time of year?

Company: Having, Being

We had company this weekend!  Simon came for a visit, in part because he wasn't able to make Thanksgiving and also because he'll not be joining us on Boxing Day as usual.  He's going snowboarding instead.  He swears this is a one-off and not the thin edge of the wedge, but we'll see.  He's even planning to come back one weekend in January to make up for missing our Christmas, and to do the gift exchange, no doubt.

So, what do we do when we have company?  We go out and leave them at home alone with the TV, their computer and some leftovers!  Honestly, we'd been invited to go to Svetlana and Alexei's house since October and the leftovers were some of the frozen Thanksgiving food he missed out on, so he was happy enough.  We had a little time with him when we got home, about 10:30 and spent the next day at the Fleamarket and lunch before he set off back home.  His work takes him to Boston this week (business class, no less) and fun takes him to Andorra for snowboarding.  It's a tough life, no? 

I forgot (again) my camera, but Alexei kindly brought out his camera and then sent the results.  I wouldn't have believed it was possible to eat and talk for four hours, but apparently it is.  The food just kept coming and there was so much to talk about.  Alexei has been writing a book.  I read some of the early chapters and they were fascinating.  He's made some changes since and wants my comments.  You may roll in the floor laughing.  I can't get it across to him that my opinion is irrelevant, but hey, I'll enjoy reading whatever he sends and do my best to make useful suggestions.  I do hope he gets it published so I can share it with you.

 

As you might guess, they are Russian émigrés, first to Germany, then to England.  Funny enough, they came to England the same year I did and bought their house the same year I did.  I used to work with Svetlana and we've managed to keep in touch.  I've been to their house for dinner once before.  Bill was in bed with the flu, but I abandoned him just as quick as I ditched Simon.  I still remember the lamb roast, marinated in wine for 24 hours after having onion quarters and garlic cloves stuffed in small cuts in the meat.  I'm not a fan of lamb as a rule, but I'd eat their lamb anytime they wished.  

 

When we first arrived at their house, Svetlana anxiously asked if we liked duck.  I replied, "We like food" which is close enough to the mark.  I love duck; I just don't ever try to cook it.  Oh, but we didn't just have duck, we sat down to a table with hors d'œuvres:  radishes, cherry tomatoes, pickles and sun dried tomatoes in olive oil.  Also, tomatoes stuffed with feta cheese and dill weed.  Ratatouille.  Large green olives.  A plate of dill weed stalks.  A tray of nuts.  Smoked salmon and a basket of sour dough and rye bread slices (I adore rye bread, the smell reminds me of Grandma and Grandpa.  They only ever had 'brown' bread there.)

We made a start.  Then came out the duck, stuffed with prunes and apples.  Alexei said they would normally have duck with buckwheat, a traditional Russian food, but they didn't think we'd like it.  We'll just have to go back for the buckwheat another time.  Vegetable salad, very much like I would make, dressed with dill weed, which we also learned was a very Russian thing.  Roasted potatoes.  Did I mention three kinds of red wine and Japanese single malt whiskey?  (Because we Russians like that sort of thing).  When Svetlana removed the plate of dill weed I realised we'd neglected it.  I didn't know what one did with it.  She said, just eat it, so I did.  It was lovely and minty.  We need to grow some.

For dessert we had cherry strudel, German chocolates and German Jaffa cakes.  I think Bill called them German because they came from a German owned shop.  I could only manage the cherry strudel; well, I managed two helpings.

Honestly, there are no meals better than this.  Not only was the food amazing, but we were having a great time talking about everything from genealogy to raising chickens.  One of the most astonishing things for Bill was when Svetlana mentioned she was born and lived her very early life in Tashkent, though I believe their remaining family now are mostly in or near Moscow.  I'd no idea where Tashkent was, but Bill did.  He hasn't yet stopped saying, "I know someone from Tashkent!"  He showed it to me on the map.  Then I was impressed, too.

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We're hard at work trying to figure out how to return their hospitality.  We only live three Metro stops - a scant 2 miles - apart, so we'd be daft not to continue exchanging meals and ideas.    I know entertaining is not about impressing people, so we won't be presenting a pig with an apple in its mouth or anything, but we definitely need to raise our game.

Any suggestions?

Every 8-14 Years is Probably OK

I think I mentioned not long ago that the last film I went to see in a theatre was Chicago.  If you never saw it, I can recommend it.  I went with Bill's sister, Jane when she was visiting from Australia.


The last film Bill went to see was with me was Twister back in 1996.  It was our first date.  For that alone, it should be my favourite movie ever.  After all, tornadoes are part and parcel of the first 30 years of my life, I really like Helen Hunt, my Uncle Pat worked on the film, it was made at least partly in my home state...but no.  Let's just say they lost me either at the flying cow or the part where they hung on under a bridge in spite of being blown horizontal. 


However, I thought it worth reporting that Bill and I went to our 2nd film at the theatre just today.  We saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part I.  We watched all the videos at home to lead up to this point.  We did the full whack at the theatre, cokes (actually, disgusting Pepsi) and popcorn included.  I managed to hold off on the drink a bit so as not to have to have any comfort breaks.  I didn't want to miss one single expensive moment.  

The link above is to the trailer for the film.  I had to laugh when I saw the words  "The Motion Picture Event of a Generation".  Which generation would that be?  I saw no one under 50 in the movie theatre this afternoon.  Mind, we deliberately went on a week day to avoid the children.  We would have gone last Friday, but then schools were let out because of the snow, so we stayed home.  It was worth the wait.


Bill even said he would go back and watch Part 2.  So maybe it's the Motion Picture Event of his Generation, eh?

Talking and Ruminating

This is still another chapter topic from Simple Pleasures.  

Apparently, there is a difference between conversation and discussion.  One is for  fun, the other for business.  I think I may still have more business discussions than conversations, in spite of being retired, which is a little strange.  Perhaps it's due to a somewhat solitary life, part of which is filled with committee-related e-mails (but then I think they are also fun).  Bill and I tend to 'discuss' the 'business' of running the house, having guests, Christmas plans, activities at weekends; I've no complaints about this whatsoever.  We have 'conversations', too,  generally when one of us comes across a new idea to share.  This is a good reason to have some separateness, if only to have something interesting to say to one another.  Otherwise we companionably read our books.

Another author writes about gossips vs. people of rigidly upstanding character (she calls them 'prigs') and is very clear that she votes for gossip.  It bonds friendships, has a element of trust, is a form of generous sharing and is just more fun.  She does set the boundary that it cannot be used for self-advancement, but I'm not sure what she means by this.  Personally, I divide gossip into 'malicious' and 'news about people who interest me.'  I have occasionally met a person who practically salivates when relating ugly stories about people they envy or hate.  I think these characters  are a bit scary and I cross the road to avoid meeting them, so to speak.  Then there is my question about 'How are John and Mary doing?' put to a common friend.  Last I heard their marriage was on rocky ground, for example.  I'm not looking for bad news to enjoy, I'd be thrilled to know they had patched things up.  I care about these people and I'm out of touch; I want information.  I will admit there are people in the world about whom bad news gives me no pain.  I just hope that I manage to mask my satisfaction sufficiently that folks won't cross the road.

If one has an excellent grasp of grammar, one can take pleasure in correcting others.  Spelling mistakes are another similar entertainment of one of the writers in this book.  I can only hope he has found his calling as a teacher or a proofreader and hasn't time to read this blog.  Why the editor chose to insert his essay into this chapter, I'm not quite certain; perhaps he was too intimidated to omit it altogether.

Then the authors seem to change the subject from talking to chewing thinking.  One writer told how excited she was anytime a business colleague cancelled a working lunch at short notice. It gave her time to think her own thoughts.  I did plenty of working lunches, though usually because of a day-long meeting ... .  Can I tell you how wonderful it is to be retired?

Note: she's not pregant, it was the fashion.  Can we have that fashion back, please, only without the head gear?

Another writer's piece is titled 'Portrait of a Marriage', which if Googled takes you to an altogether different, though fascinating, topic.  She's referring instead to the Arnolfini Portrait, on which many people seem to chew, and drawing comparisons with her own recent marriage.  [Note to self: read more about 'dagging'.]  The real point of her piece seems to be how pleasurable a place is The National Gallery, where she visits this painting like an old friend.  I can understand this, though the most permanant exhibit I've discovered at the Laing is the stained glass window; perhaps I should make friends with more of the pieces there.  My favourite place to ruminate is either right here at my computer or sitting with coffee in front of the fire with pen and a notebook.

'Wandering Lonely as a Cloud' clarifies that this is a pleasant occupation:  solitude is good.  No one ever needed to explain that to this only child.  Then someone talks about Meditation.  He approaches it in a very serious way, going to a School of Meditation and taking up yoga in India.  I like to think of meditation as 'sustained application of the mind to the contemplation of a spiritual truth' which can take place whilst sitting in an ordinary chair in your ordinary clothes, but each to his own.

The last author, of the Gratitude Diaries, tells how in a time of trouble a friend gave her a diary and set her the task of finding five things for which she was grateful, on a daily basis.  She's done this for many years now and her children will inherit the accumulation.  She noted that some of her previous entries would provoke curiosity, as she'd made single sentence entries, and that whilst it would make clear what in life brought her the most satisfaction, the journals weren't likely to be that interesting.  She clearly kept the diaries for her own benefit.  Sort of like this blog, then.  

Reminding myself of my blessings when I'm unhappy doesn't necessarily remove the unhappiness, in my experience.  Rather the blessings make my unhappiness seem less important and pull me above the present circumstance, if I'll just apply myself.   I hope her children appreciate their inheritance.

On the whole this chapter struck me as outlining some of the pleasures of company and some of the pleasures of solitude.  I revel in my solitude and will no doubt have to make some adjustments when Bill finishes work, but we have contentedly occupied different parts of the house in the past and I expect that will continue to some extent.  I'm particular about whose company I keep, so when I do meet up with friends, I really enjoy myself and we have lots to talk about.

Do you find simple pleasure in talking and in ruminating?