Of Light and Water

 

The ocean on a stormy day. Waves rolling and crashing. Green water. Foamy white spray that flies through the air and kisses my face with salt.  

Debris litters the beaches. Telephone-pole sized logs tossed like toothpicks in the powerful water. Not a good time to go swimming or surfing, although a few hardy wind surfers were out.

Cora stopped by with her dinosaur-bubble-blower. It runs on batteries and produces a forest of bubbles with no effort. Something new to me. Her enthusiasm motivated me to pull on a jacket and boots and join her. 

In place of a bubble-blower, I took my camera, captivated by the beautiful light-reflecting bubbles landing everywhere. 

Mosses caught the light. These days, light is fleeting and we notice every bit of sunshine. 

On another morning, a slant of light illuminated a tea cup and plant. 

It's been a very quiet week as I recover from the ear infection. Who knew it would take so long? Lots of rest, to be sure, but I am trying to accomplish one or two tasks each day. Today I baked fruitcake. I don't eat it, but those I love enjoy it. It was a two-day affair with preparing the fruit yesterday and soaking it in rum before making up the cake itself today. 

Thank you for your kind words and recovery wishes. Progress is being made. A few more days of antibiotics and by then, I hope all is cleared up. 

Checking In

 

There are a few artists I follow on Instagram - Lucy Grossmith is one of them. I love her magical depictions of the natural world, full of intricate detail and whimsy. The fly agaric mushrooms look like I could reach out and feel the nobbly bits. And the fox - so alert and skittish, ready to dash away if I make the wrong move. 

There have been no interactions with nature around here this week. 

My simple cold, which was easing, suddenly took another form - a dreadful inner ear infection along with aches and chills. Wobbly balance. Hearing out of one ear while things echo in the other is not recommended. I finally went to the doctor and began antibiotics yesterday. Marginally better today. 

There have been no walks, no photos, nothing cooked, nothing created. I've lain around, snoozing, content under a blanket on the couch with a hot rice bag to keep me cozy. As I told a friend, this is what happens when one spends time with cute little petri dishes - aka grandchildren. The cold has traveled through the family, but I am special - no one else got an infection. Sigh. 

I've managed a couple of books, very light ones, and a few blogs. I hope to get around to more of those this week. My wonderful husband brought me tea with honey, took care of meals (with a little direction), and made me laugh when I could. 

I'm looking forward to this new week with renewed energy, although I'll be taking it slowly. We have an event to attend on Wednesday evening and I want to be in good form for that. 

Home Pursuits

 

In the mornings, we sit and let the birds entertain us while we eat breakfast. A pair of Downy Woodpeckers come one at a time, rarely together. The female shares the suet block with a couple of Dark-eyed Juncos. There wasn't much left in the suet block and it was soon replaced. 

After a couple of days of lying around not feeling well due to a cold, yesterday I planted a few bulbs in pots. I tucked mesh over them, fastening it down well, for the squirrels love to dig up the bulbs and haul them away for their winter use. The cold is on its way out and I'm feeling fine. 

I was thinking about food when not feeling well, and since I love onions, I thought up and then cooked this Onion Mushroom Gratin to have with plain chicken.  It's a comforting dish, reminiscent of French Onion Soup, of which I am also fond. 

This morning young Cora and I went for a little walk. It's brisk out there and windy. We have a "bomb cyclone" just offshore and it's creating quite the storm. All of these weather terms - polar vortex, atmospheric river, bomb cyclone - are ones that seem to have just moved into weather reports, or perhaps I just never noticed before. 

The wood ducks are vastly outnumbered by the mallards on the ponds, and Cora eagerly looks for them, and can spot both males and females among the others. 

A bit of colour remains in the woods, but leaves were flying today and soon the branches will be bare. 

Squirrels are determined creatures. This one climbed up the most flimsy branches in search of Hawthorn Berries. See how he uses his tail for balance? 

Steel-coloured water, cold and forbidding. Bare branches. Wind gusting. It's almost winter and it feels like it! 

First Frost

 

I drew back the curtain this morning to see roofs covered in white. A pale clear sky. Our first frost. Knowing the temperature would soon rise, I went out with my camera to see what I could see. Borage buds like tiny porcupines. Crisp dahlias that turned black later in the day. 

Ice lace following the curves of hydrangea petals. My breath, white as a cloud that drifted into nothingness. Roses drooping.

Grass crunching underfoot, each green blade veiled in pale ice. 

Later, after the frost melted, it was a gloriously sunny day. The acer maple has put down a colorful carpet. Energized by the sun I ran errands, bought groceries, and noticed the flurry of Christmas lights and decorations appearing in stores. 

On a couple of Scandinavian blogs I frequent the term 'Novent' has turned up. It's a combination of November and Advent - a time to bring out candles and lights, and for some, Christmas decorations. It's far too early for the latter, in my opinion, but I'm all for making things cozy and warm in this month. Since the time change a couple of weeks ago, evenings start earlier and earlier. Lighting candles and soft lamps pulls me into pools of light to read or stitch. Or to plan for Christmas, one of my favourite times of the year. Baking and sewing, a bit of shopping, and making arrangements for a couple of special events. 

And then tonight, the last supermoon of the year called the Beaver Moon or the Frost Moon. How fitting that we just had our first frost. 

We were driving early in the evening, the full moon shining above us. I thought of Alfred Noyes' poem: 

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed among cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highway man came riding - 

        Riding - riding

The highway man came riding, up to the old inn door.

I get the shivers just thinking about the poem. It was a perfect night for it. Was the moon a "ghostly galleon" in your corner of the world?

November Walks

 

Days of grey gloom with dashes of gold. That sums up November so far. On a grey morning we walked along the waterfront. Flat sea. Horizon indistinct. Islands mere blobs in the fog. 

Still and serene. Calming. And so lovely to be out walking, our faces feeling the clear crisp air and our ears just a wee bit tingly with cold. Above is where we launch our boat in the summertime. One dock has been removed for the winter, and the other is used by hardy year-round boaters.

The beach is strewn with driftwood and long strands of bull kelp lying in tangled heaps. 

A heron stands, shoulders hunched, watching and waiting. 

Another weekend walk, this time in an urban setting. Golden leaves scatter freely, swept from branches eager to let go of their foliage. On one side, ducks and gulls and lapping waves, on the other, high rise apartment buildings and urban parks. 

A faintly pink sky warns of impending twilight. The barren tree warns of wintry weather ahead.

Harlequin Ducks paddle in a small cove, dipping their heads in and out of the water, feeding on something unseen from shore. 

Tonight the wind is howling around the corners of the house. Ferries have been cancelled. We are snug indoors by the fire. Lights have flickered ominously. November is here. 

Of Books and Flowers

 

Books. How I love settling down with a good book. Occasionally I bring home a stack of books from the library and find them so-so. This stack was a winner. Okay, so The Christie Curse is not as engaging as the rest, but all in all, a fine stack of reading material. 

A Place to Hang the Moon by Kate Albus is a young adult novel, but so very lovely that I am planning to get my own copy. The author was inspired by the Pevensie children in Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, and she created her own story of three children sent to the countryside from London in WWII. Here's a line that I thought charming, "The first words of a new book are so delicious - like the first taste of a cookie fresh from the oven and not yet properly cooled."

An Astronomer in Love by Antoine Laurain moves between modern day Paris and 1760 when Guillaume le Gentil sails from France to witness the astronomical event of the transit of Venus. Hopes are dashed, hopes are fulfilled in this story of finding love and making one's dreams come true. 

Lost Lake by Sarah Addison Allen tells of secret longings, mistakes made, and changes effected all with a bit of magic realism. She writes of food in a way that makes me want to head to the kitchen and start cooking. Here's an example: "Lisette loved the flavors of old, simple recipes, ones made so often that their edges were worn down and they tasted soft and sure of themselves."

The Lost Bookshop by Evie Woods has even more magic in it, telling the tales of book and library lovers in the past century, and the cost of following one's dreams. 

Our week's weather has alternated sun and cloud with very little rain. That is about to change as rainclouds gather and are expected to drench us this evening. In anticipation of the wet, I cut what is very likely the last bouquet of dahlias, now paler than they were in the heat of summer. 

For dinner one evening I made a chicken and braised cabbage dish with a delicious mustard cream sauce. Warm comfort food. I found the recipe at the Modern Proper's Instagram site, but couldn't find it on their website.

This weekend I'll be turning the pages of what I fully expect to be a delicious new book - Louise Penny's latest, The Grey Wolf. The book arrived last week, but I disciplined myself to finish reading the stack from the library before beginning. Now I can indulge myself. Doesn't a good book sound like a treat on what's promising to be a rainy weekend?

Now November

 

Muted morning light. The sound of rain trickling in the eavestrough. Branches swaying. Leaves sodden on the ground. It's November. Time for coziness and indoor pursuits. 

Yesterday birds of all kinds swirled around the garden. American Robins, Black-eyed Juncos, Golden-crowned Sparrows, and Chestnut-backed Chickadees. Through the hedge and into the leafless birch tree. It's as if they were saying something. 

"It's time to bring out the bird feeders," we said. And so he did. The birds alighted on the feeder one after another. 

Now, just a few minutes after writing the above, the clouds have blown away and blue sky is all I see. Trees are tossing madly. Autumn can be as capricious as Spring. 

Pink Fuschias, paler than they were earlier in the summer, still bloom like dangling earrings, but show their age in rain-speckled marks on their soft tissue. 

It's time for warming meals with roasted vegetables. Butternut squash, sweet potatoes, onions, and a few tomatoes combine with cumin, sumac, garlic, and a hint of cinnamon for a satisfying dish. Herbs and spices can be changed to taste. Add cubed Halloumi cheese for a vegetarian main dish. Versatile and easy. 

Now I'm off to the day's duties. A bit of this and that. I'll be glancing at the sky throughout the day, wondering if the weather will continue as changeable as it was this morning.