Sweet Lassi

The weather is heating up, snow in the foothills last week; wilty flowers this week. Sweet Lassis were on the morning menu. A cup and a half of good, plain yogurt, raw sugar, rose water, ice and water. Blend it all together until frothy. Nice way to cool off in the spring or summer. I hope it is thawing out a bit in your neck of the woods. Xoxo

Happy Love

Before And After

This metal chair is on it's last legs. What better place than the Circus Garden? This is what I have been calling the Garden the last few weeks. The furniture is mostly free and found, and then repainted. I have always wanted one of these chairs. I LOVE them. My grandmother sat in a sky blue one everyday until her death. I just didn't want to buy one. I wanted to find one. Then, one day, I spotted it. Right next to the trashcan. Could it be? Really? Hit the brakes. Hop out, check for GIANT spiders, and throw it in the backseat. Free. $12 for the paint, but I only used one and half cans, so....here it is. I love her. Cherry. Chairy. Cheery?

Rain

The day is cold, and dark, and dreary

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Cornish

Not the hen. The town. It is the name of the town in which Mr. J.D. Salinger lived for most of his life. I had no idea it was an artist colony? Maxfield Parrish lived there for a time. Sigh. Cornish. Hmm.

Looking East

This is the view from the cottage, looking east. For most of the day, it is a wash of bright light and harsh sun. In the evening, the sunset in the opposite sky shoots thin ribbons of pink this way. But...in the morning. At dawn, there is this. Be still my heart.

Train Whistle

After a brief absence, the rain comes again. I can smell it in the air. It is close, very close. And, as much as I welcome that sweet water, I can't help but remember this day, not too long ago. Along the shore, late December. Our shoes were off, sweaters tied around our waists and the warm winter sun kissed our heads and arms and dried our toes.

I heard the whistle first. That long, lonely drone that beckons you to stop and recall all of the exotic places you have roamed. Whenever I hear a train whistle, I remember Kerala.

When my daughter was a year old, we boarded a long flight across many bodies of water, to India. We lived initially in the small village of Vrindavan, the childhood home of Little Lord Krsna. We shopped in the market place, trying to protect our vegetables from the rascally monkeys. We bathed in the Yamuna River and carried back loads of sand for scrubbing our pots. It was a simple time, filled with the fragrant smells of a small village, incense, ghee lamps and open fires. Mantras and songs blared over loud speakers, the air was ripe with scent and movement.

After a time, I became cocky and confident that I could eat just about anything. Pride goes before a fall...My digestion just turned off. Like a switch. No need to go into detail, suffice it to say, that after a few weeks of this nonsense, I could see my bones through my skin. Feeling better after a home visit from a physician which included an injection of "I have no idea," he suggested a trip to South India. For healing. Like going to Bath.

We made contact with friends and jumped on a train. For three and a half days. An Indian train, mind you. Not this shiny Amtrak train...Don't get me wrong. I LOVED every single moment. The large hole in the eastern lavatory that emptied directly onto the track, the delicious idli and samosa and coconut chutney from the train station peddlers, the night I awoke only to glance out the window to see the train speeding through the swampy Indian countryside, pink, white and wine colored lotus flowers as far as the eye could see...

Oh yes. When I hear a train whistle, this is just one of the places I go...

In The Garden & The Three R's

Between rain and thunderstorms, I have managed to get the lettuces in the ground. We have had crisp Romaine with our lentils and brown rice several times now. The kale continues to grow and gift us with fresh, chewy greens. In a few weeks, the spinach and chard should be ready to harvest. I cannot express the joy I receive when I am able to pick all of our herbs, greens and chilies from our patch of earth.

This lovely box was crafted by a young boy and his mother in the garden. The wood came from a small table I purchased at the thrift store for $2! It held icy glasses of mint tea, steaming mugs of Caramel Rooibos Tea with Brown Rice Syrup and lots of half and half for many a season. Yet, alas, the weather got the best of it. We dismantled it and it was transformed into a seedling carrier. Reduce. Reuse. Recycle.

It really is THAT easy.