last week, at the berry patch (third visit this year), i picked marionberries the size of my thumb, and a big bucket of blues, and ran home to make the pie i wrote about last year. i was impatient to get it into the oven, and didn’t even wash the berries first. but they’re organic, so… i think it’s alright. (isn’t it?) don’t call the health department; the evidence has left the building.
we have a child living in this little house for a while, people. she’s great, but it turns out that a 12 year old girl can pretty much do a pie in with great efficiency, so another will be made shortly (& after bedtime).the pie is a marker of time, i guess; looks to be nearly a year since i started this blog. so much has happened in one year, big things, small things. the hard and the soft. most things don’t go down as easy as pie, but i’ll tell you one thing: i am happy, so happy, to be alive, stained fingers and all, to roll out one more crust and feed the ones i love, to have ones to love, to have enough of everything and then some. at least two slices worth of life, i’d say. thanks for hanging in, folks. i like you.
i took my pops to maine last month. we walked over to the lighthouse and laughed about that giant lobster, like always. we watched the tide roll in and out, the sun come and go, the clouds move in. we were there. it’s true.
another truth is he doesn’t remember any of it. he’s angry with me, for promising to take him to maine and then never coming for him. so i had these pictures printed, and wrote a stack of little letters, to remind him. a letter & two pictures a day; they might help with something… kindness, at the least, in the face of all this rage. the only thing i could think up to give: sweet words.
there is a day coming when he won’t know me anymore. i sense it’s not far off. letters and pictures won’t stop that train, but i’m trying to lean my back into some grace for the waiting.
“dogs are good people,” is what he said just before i snapped that one up there. yes, there it was, the soft pelt of his tender heart, the wisdom of loving what we can’t hold onto.
there’s so much more to say about all of this, but i don’t know what it is.
like most good things, it starts outdoors… making jam, that is. it starts with friends, with a drive to the country island just outside the city, with waxy cardboard boxes and wagons and acres of farmland to walk through.
you will be thinking only of where you are just then, and who you’re with, and what you love, which is most of all this instant.
the making is for later, with barefoot kinfolk in a steamy kitchen, stirring, sipping minty tea with muddled fruit.
summer. summer summer summer! here we are.
i’ve saved it in those jars, for proof.
i don’t enjoy the term “toiletry bag,” maybe because i don’t want to be reminded of toilet anything while i’m brushing my teeth. what do you all call these things? please do share, i’m looking for alternative suggestions. “dopp kit” seems too manly, but i’m not a big “cosmetics” lady, either.
my last bag for toothbrushes, etc. was also handmade, gifted to me by my housemother in pau, france while i was studying abroad. i can’t remember her name, which is driving me crazy. i do remember she was beautiful, she loved camembert cheese, and men, she wore chanel perfume and plunging necklines. her daughter, nathalie, was rebellious and wonderful. i have a memory bubbling up involving a roundabout, high speeds, a small grey fiat. karaoke. a soccer team. her mother made me a toiletry bag.
i made this bag out of leftover cloth i had lying around, and think it’s pretty rad. [portland crafters: there are currently hell of zippers over at scrap (mostly giant jackety ones). ten for two bucks!] i’ve been sewing a lot. but the sun is out, now. off to the garden.
batches and batches of preserves around here. one hot kitchen. jam that tastes as bright as it looks, to carry us through for one more year.
of turning up this (very red) golden-framed, needlepoint dog of uncanny resemblance, at a second estate sale, just weeks after finding this one?
i might well live to regret it, but i couldn’t leave it behind. the same frame, people! xo