Invisible Snow

Sometime soon I will resume writing more about food and including some recipes as well. I am only this past week really getting back into cooking after a whole lot of eating out while moving. In the meantime I want you to squint your eyes almost shut on the above picture and tell me if you can see the snow? Point and shoots don't capture snow very well. At least, mine don't. I'm hoping that the camera I'm buying from my crafty friend Mary (at The Craft Addict) will capture it better. I love snow. Even in April! It snowed giant flakes yesterday in the late morning.

Weird weather? Hell yes!! Last week there was one day that got almost to the 80's. Now snow.

I have no desire to live in a big city again, but if I did, there is only one city I would consider moving to: Portland, Oregon. It's so beautiful! The flowering trees alone are enough to take my breath away, but all the gardened nooks and crannies, the crazy number of bicycles and scooters in evidence everywhere makes me giddy. While I will always consider San Fransisco one of the most beautiful cities in the world, I'm sorry to say that I have put Portland on the top of the list, right next to Edinburough.

This is my mom's neighborhood. That's my mom in the purple.

The best news is that Pippa is officially free of ring worm. Penny still has a tiny speck of it but because it is so tiny the Vet has given them both clearance to be out of quarantine. As long as we don't sleep with them. So the acclimation of the pets has begun and it is a tedious process. The heartening truth is that Chick doesn't want to eat them, she wants to play with them and lick them til they're sopping with dog slobber.

Pippa is fairly tolerant of it though she's constantly trying to figure out how to avoid this dog whose tongue is bigger than she is. Penny is not at all willing to be covered in Chick's spit. I don't blame her a bit. Chick was being an adorable puppy trying to get them to play by nudging them with her paws. Unfortunately, too hard of a nudge with her paws could produce a kitten pancake so I have to force the dog to sit and mellow out. Which she does for two seconds.

The encouraging part is that neither of the kittens is so fiercely hateful of the dog that they've tried to hurt her. Penny has made a couple of gentle swipes at her nose but not put her claws out. This is encouraging because Chick was tortured by Ozark and in the end I'm pretty sure she changed her agenda from "Play with weird creature" to "Eat small orange feast". If the kittens don't torture her they may come to some kind of truce, maybe they'll even develop one of those enchanting rare relationships where the dog and the cats snuggle up together.

We have finally found out why it seems that we are surrounded by nursing homes disguised as regular homes- it's because we are surrounded by three homes for developmentally disabled adults (two of them for men only) and one hospice. For some families this might seem like a giant shadow on the dream house situation. I can't say I'm particularly excited to find out that we're surrounded by pretty iffy characters...but to be honest, I don't really think it's much different than anywhere else. At least we know what kind of issues might be found in those homes, generally speaking you can be living next to Jeffrey Dahmer and not know it until someone finds a human head in his freezer.

There are two reasons why I'm not particularly concerned:

These homes are under constant supervision by professionals, day and night.

We have a ferocious black dog who has already terrified EVERYONE in our cul de sac. No one will try to enter our property without permission.

It just seems so typical of us to find our dream home in a cul de sac where people come to die or to live under the caring iron rule of professional assistance. Anyway, it's the kind of thing we're used to. Philip's parents, the whole time he was growing up, had him and his brother spend every Thanksgiving and Christmas with the homeless people of Sausalito, the majority of whom were drug addicts or crazy people...often both at the same time.* I grew up around a lot of hippies who were pretty much fringe drifters; people who put their toes into the pools of regular life but always ended up drifting back to the outer edges of society with their pot and their guru sloguns.

It it flipping cold outside today so I think this is the time to dig into the sewing room I promised a sneak peak at my newest project but it will have to wait for one or two days as I unpack my sewing crap. I'm so excited about that room but it won't really come together until it's painted which certainly won't happen until after my trip to Scotland.

For those not yet in the know: my dad is getting married in Scotland in May. I am going to go without my boys because we can't all afford to go. Both my brother and my sister will be there and it will be the first time we've traveled anywhere together in over twenty years. I'm super excited and the only shadow over it all for me is how I don't have time to slim down and I am embarrassed to have my family see me so large. (My dad and my brother have not seen me in two years) I have decided that I must at least have some clothes for the trip that don't make me look worse than I already do and I am going to make a new coat.

I think it's time to go and make more coffee and then start dealing with the room. And the mess. Yes yes. I can't do it. What doesn't kill you may not make you stronger, but at least you're not dead.





*Not to build their character but to be good Christians. They sponsored an "open door" night at their church every Friday night where they would cook meals for the homeless and poor. This included Thanksgiving and Christmas.

The Road Home

This is the road home from Portland where I stayed the night with my mom. But this is also a very familiar landscape of the past as well. It's been my road home since I was a kid. There is something wonderful about rain hitting the windshield, tail lights reflected in the road, and lush conifers lining the roadsides. It reminds me of listening to Simon and Garfunkel, of always heading somewhere good, especially when it's leading you back to your fireside.

My MECCA: Powell's Books. I come here to worship at the foot of knowledge. I come here to inflate my thirst for new words, new worlds, new guides, and new skills. There are several floors of all of this to explore here, though I confess that I almost always spend every minute of my time on the first floor amongst the crafts, garden, and cookbooks.

Get to know your local herbal! My mom took me to her new favorite herbal shop. She took my sister here too so now it's like our family spot. It smells so good in there. The bars of bees wax look like tiny ingots of gold. There are tins for filling, jars of everything mysterious and wonderful, and oils to scent.

23 rd Street at night. My mom's neighborhood.

I realized that I have a motto to go with this new year of ours: Every Little Bit Counts. I've been applying it to every corner of my life and mind. It's been crawling all over my posts too. I just didn't realize it until last night. It's kind of nice to have a motto.

Some of you probably already know that what I think of Royal people (of any country) is extremely uncomplimentary and generally points mean fingers at a heritage that has become so narrow that it has been known to suffer some classic inbreeding problems and generally accuses members of Royal families of being pretty useless. In general I will probably always cherish this view point. However, I think it shows some ability on my part to overcome my prejudices that I can honestly say that there is one unlikely member of the British Royal family that I have come to admire.

Prince Charles. Seriously, there could not be a weirder person for me to admire, yet I do. The man has actually made himself useful and is doing work that any person could be proud of and is (in my non-British opinion) doing a good service for his country that I could only wish the leader of my own country would do.

He is championing organic practices of gardeners and farmers and has been working to get historical kitchen gardens in Britain rebuilt and put on display. Not only that, he was instrumental in getting the sale and use of GMOs banned in his country until there is more proof that they are not harmful to people and the environment.

I realize that Prince Charles isn't spending most of his time mucking about in the dirt and I realize that he will never truly be one of us regular people, but it is known that he is passionate about gardening and I just can't help myself, I like him. I have my opinions about how he and his ex (dead) wife conducted their marriage, and it is easy to believe that all the Royals of the world are just titular heads of their respective countries at this point in history, but I think it's too facile to let that be the only thing we judge them by.

I like him. So it was extremely hard not to buy his book about organic gardening. I was terribly bummed that I didn't get to see him when he visited Pt. Reyes California to talk about organic gardening...some people are so lucky! The next best thing would be to get his book. I don't need to know how to garden organically, I've already got references for that, but I want to read all his quotes. I really want to read everything he has to say. Yes I do.

Totally bizarre.

I didn't buy it though because I already had a stack of preserving books I've been wanting for a long time. Prince Charles' book cost forty dollars, so I'll just have to wait. It will be on my wish list though.

Which just keeps cracking me up.

I wonder if I could get an autographed copy?

Crafty Wonderland Super Colossal Sale

Beautiful old building used by Norse people in Portland. I'm part Norwegian. Somehow I think I'm just not Norse enough to hang out there socially.

This line of people looks innocuous enough until you walk around the corner of the building and observe that the line extends all the way down one whole city block. There was a perpetual line of people waiting to get in for over five hours. As though it was some crazy hip night club and not a craft show.

Four feet is kind of short for a person, it's breathlessly inadequate for a booth size for two crafters (Lisa E. and I shared a booth) let alone one. The lone crafter next to us was feeling claustrophobic too.

A non stop sea of people all day long. I have never been to a craft fair, as a vendor or as a shopper, that was this packed. The word sardines comes to mind. Luckily, most of the people at the show were not stinky.

Some highlights of our craft show experience:

• It was insanely packed in Norse Hall all day long. Next year, either the venue needs to be twice the size it was this year (but not with twice the vendors), or there need to be half the vendors so that the vendors can actually breath. It was unhealthy packed in there. Which is great for business to a certain degree except that when I took a break to look around, I gave up trying to look at crafts after about ten minutes because being jostled by way-too-cool citizens is not my idea of a nice shopping experience.

• The music was mostly good with some Clash, some Johnny Cash, and some music I'm not nearly hip enough to have recognized. But the Christmas music that was played periodically was obnoxious. Most notably queasy making was the awful rendition of "All I want for Christmas" which I always loath in the best of circumstances...this version went on forever with more missing tooth noises than any other version I've ever been forced to endure. Why anyone thinks it's cute is a mystery to me.

• The quality of the vendors present was really high, from what little I was actually able to observe. The ladies that put on the show really know how to pick interesting and different work.

• Portlanders have an endless amount of money to spend on really bad haircuts and jewelry, but not so much money to spend on other things. I'm glad my friends have repeatedly talked me out of cutting myself some short bangs. There were so many super short bangs present and 99% of the people sporting them looked dreadful with them. If you have a really long narrow face it is an especially unfortunate look. It was either uber-short bangs or the crazy shag cut that predominated the floor.

• There were some gorgeous coats there. Also, there were some of the most gorgeous and stylish plus-size ladies I've ever seen and they shamed me, yes they did. I am a fat old hag with a frumpy wardrobe while these specimens of gorgeousness were like amazonian queens who refuse to be put down by the barbies in the world. I am humbled. I now know that there is no reason why I should not wear a cape or a fabulous classic tweed coat, so long as I wear some make up with it and carry myself like I am dynamite.

• There was one lady present who was so glaringly out of place I couldn't stop staring at her. She looked like Donatella Versace with less collagen in her lips (Donatella's lips may have no collagen in them, but they look like they do), she looked so completely Southern California. I knew, in a vague way, that there is a huge difference between Portland style and LA style, but never was it made so clear. I vastly prefer the Portland style, short bangs and all. (The lady in question didn't deserve to be stared at by me, by the way, she flashed me a very sweet smile on more than one occasion which I returned in kind.)

• People LOVED the bath bombs. I brought forty eight of them and sold at least 36 of them. The grapefruit-ginger were completely sold out. One particularly nice (very bearded) man returned to our booth to smell them a couple of times, bought one, then returned a half an hour later to buy another one.

• People also LOVED the pot holders. I almost immediately sold out of the pin-up ones. I sold a lot of pot holders. No one bought any aprons. No one bought any of Lisa's gorgeous felted purses. But apparently Portland has been short of pot holders until I came along.

• My humor just might be too edgy for everyone besides prison inmates. Philip finally printed my "needle junkie" knitting needle t-shirts and I sold only one. One lady commented that she thought it was too real looking, too "real life" for Portland. This reminds me of the fact that when I was a teenager living in Ashland (southern Oregon) I only knew Portland as the great big heroine capital of the state. Other teens would visit and tell tales of all the drug using going on up there, especially the heroine. I have been thinking that Portland would be the perfect place for my t-shirts, but now I'm not sure if any place is the best place for them. Now I'm wondering if me and my humor should be canned.

• Everyone, everywhere are having babies. Babies are EVERYWHERE. I can see how overpopulating the earth may just be a real issue. It isn't just the Catholics. It isn't just the poor uneducated people in third world countries- in Oregon it's EVERYONE. No judgments here people, just an observation. I've never seen so many kids and babies at a single craft fair.*

I cannot count on my fingers how many people have told me that Portland is the best place for my products. That on 23rd street I would sell out! That on Mississippi street I would totally ROCK! That anywhere in Portland my stuff would sell like crazy. All the time I had my store people would tell me that. (not just you, Angela, LOTS of people). I have been thinking that that must be true. People will get me in Portland...in my mind I kept thinking that if only I could do a craft fair in Portland I would do really well. Dustpan Alley would just take off... I no longer believe that. I had the edgiest crowd of what I thought would be my target customers, hundreds of them, and I didn't sell a single apron and only one edgy knitting shirt. There is only one place my aprons have ever sold so well that it was uncomfortable keeping up with the demand: my own store in my own little uncool town. You know what's weird? People would visit from Portland and buy them, but when I take them to the people in Portland, they don't buy them. ?????

But it doesn't matter anyway. None of that matters. Because I am not going to pursue a life of crafting for a living. I will make some stuff, I will hopefully sell some stuff but it is so amazingly clear that the life of a professional crafter is not for me. I hate doing craft fairs. I hate staying up until two am to sew things that people don't actually want to buy. Hell, I don't like staying up until two am to sew things that people do want to buy.

I may have made enough money this month to avoid having to get a job next month, which is great since no one is hiring in January anyway. So I'm amazingly thankful for the money people have spent on my stuff this month. I'm not at all ungrateful. But I've also never been so damn tired in my life. Except for when Max was eighteen months old and doing the dishes felt like running a marathon.

Which leads me to the other realization I've had this week which I've mentioned in passing: I am in the middle of a low level persistent depression and I can now tell for sure that my medication isn't working how it should be. Every minute I haven't been sewing this month I have spent lying on my bed willing myself to get up and go to the craft room to make something, or to do the dishes, or some laundry, or SOMETHING other than laying on the bed looking at the ceiling feeling listless and bone tired. Returning phone calls requires a half an hour pep talk first, then another half an hour to recover my energy after it has been sapped by talking to another human being. I can't bring myself to sit down and sort through the bills which means that everything will be late this month.

I am not feeling sad though. Depression does not always mean feeling sad. One of the hallmarks of depression is listlessness and a lack of energy. Sometimes when depressed people talk about not being able to get out of bed in the morning, they don't mean "because I am so sad" but "because my body feels like a carcass full of lead."

Anyway, I promise myself to address this just as soon as this week is over and I'm looking at Christmas and the Holiday Market from behind me. To my friends and family: there will probably be a great shortage of cards and packages this year. So sorry. I will let them know by e-mail just as soon as I can work up the energy to do it...



*In California it isn't nearly so unusual to have just one kid, but now that I think about it, I don't know a single other family here in Oregon with just one kid who isn't planning on having more. In fact, here in Oregon, it's even kind of weird to just have two kids. In this state it seems that most people have, or are planning to have, or would have if they could have, at least three children or more. I have met more people here who have three or more children than I've met in all my years in California. I'm not saying it's better or worse or bad or good, just interesting how different it is here. In California, the people who had more than two kids were kind of viewed as freaks. Here in Oregon, I'm the freak.**

**Let's be honest, I'm the freak everywhere I go.

The Homestead Inventory
The winter's coming, is farm girl Mathilda* ready?

One not-naked urban homesteader wrapped in a newly "finished" quilt top.

A more practical view of the quilt top.

One newly stocked pantry. It is very unfortunate that a cat who was a guest in our house decided that the concrete floor in this pantry was much more luxurious to pee on than her litter box. It's not near the food, don't worry. It takes the glamor of my pantry down a notch or two but hopefully with some Mrs. Meyer's cleaner I will be able to muscle out the unsavory odor.

Here is what you will find on these shelves:

36 quarts vanilla pears
26 quarts diced tomatoes
12.5 quarts stewed tomatoes
16.5 quarts tomato sauce
21 pints 2-bean marinated salad
21 pints salsa
9.5 quarts peaches
6.5 pints apple sauce
9 pints marinated green bean salad
10.5 pints blueberry sauce
6 pints silvanberry sauce
9 pints piccalilli
15 pints dilly beans
8 pints bread and butter pickles
12 quarts dill pickles
11 quarts dill pickles from homegrown cucumbers
10 pints jardiniere
8 pints pickled eggplant
14.5 pints pickled beets
11 half pints peach peach preserves
10 half pints blueberry jam
6 half pints silvanberry jam
7 half pints blackberry jam (this is from last year)
3 half pints sour cherry jam

From the freezer:

9 packages soup
20 packages ratatouille
3 packages tomato sauce
8 packages grilled eggplant
10 packages grilled hot peppers
7 packages oven roasted tomatoes
4 packages green beans
4 packages zucchini
5 packages zucchini fritters
28 packages pesto

Is it enough? Will we be forced to eat the pile of rotting wood we're cultivating in the back yard? Would we fail the frontier house test? (Duh, of course we would, we keep a television in our fire place)

You know what I love about Philip? He has an amazing ability to keep his priorities in order. I also love his enthusiasm for all the activities I get into such as food preserving and this whole eating local challenge thing. I have been doing all the research so far on where we will find our sustenance and our comforts.

Then the night before last he comes rushing into our bedroom where I was watching old episodes of ER and says he's been looking for a local source for whiskey!! (The exclamation points are his, not mine.) He happens to love whiskey, not a treat he gets to enjoy very often due to the somewhat hefty nature of the price tag. Can you believe that? How fabulous is this state we live in that he can buy locally made whiskey?

It's entirely possible that the local junk is really disgusting, but he'll have to report to me on that one because the smell of all whiskey makes my stomach want to crawl up my throat and find out what fresh air is like. I know it can't have a peaty essence seeing as we have no peat here. My mom was wondering if anyone around here produces vodka. Sure enough, Philip found a vodka that is made in Portland. It fills me with pride that when the chips are getting weird, my man will always find festive beverages to imbibe before they actually go down.

Today as I was running my errands I saw a man in an official vehicle with a hair-do I really wanted to talk to him about. I thought as I passed him: Dude! I hate your pony tail so much it's making my brain hurt! I wonder if someone else felt the same way about mine?

Has anyone else been baking bread? I haven't baked any bread since the dog hair fiasco last year. Reading about wheat has made me itchy for some home made loaves. This weather also makes me wish bread was baking in my oven. I just hope I can make a decent loaf in my electric oven.

Time to go make food. Or curl up in a blanket and read. Oh yeah...with something festive in a cup. That reminds me, if anyone has any fantastic tried and true recipes for mustard or liqueurs, please share.





*not my real name.

At The Starting Gate...
Day one of my local/seasonal eating challenge.

Pink Banana Squash from the garden.

This is the first day of my year of eating seasonally and locally. There have been some more discoveries in the last couple of days which have seemingly complicated my challenge. While there is a plethora of dairy activity here in Oregon, most of the stores around here sell milk that comes from Washington. ??? Philip tells me I will have to go to Safeway or Harvest Fresh to find the one company he knows of that makes milk locally. Which I know is going to be expensive because both those stores have inflated prices. It's kind of funny because we have, less than a half a mile from our house, a huge creamery. They make butter. So a ton of cream goes through there but you can't buy milk from them.

I have a tremendous urge to make some roasted tomato soup. Tomatoes are almost finished here because of the rains and cold weather which causes tomatoes to split and then rot. I am trying to convince Lisa K. to take me to Bernards farm today for one last bucket of tomatoes. I'm trying to lure her because she desperately wants me to make some delicious eggplant sandwiches for her but I've explained that the only local source for eggplant is at Bernards. I feel like I might wither and die if I can't have (and freeze) some tomato soup. OK, that's a bit dramatic, I admit. Lisa K. feels that being dragged to one farm on her vacation is quite enough. I told her that if she wants to avoid farms, she needs to plan her visits to me between November and May. How can anyone not love visiting farms????????

Alright, alright...I know. It would be the same as if she took me to a boating convention. Or a scuba diving club. I get that we're all different. Lots of people don't find farm visiting all that exciting and can't for the life of them understand why I would. Takes all types.

I'll have to provide a very strong lure. I can't take my scooter out there in this stormy weather. I do ride it in the rain, but I won't take it on a fast highway in these conditions. Tomato soup...tomato soup...can't you feel the warm sunshine of it in your body just thinking about it?

So, about citrus. I can live without oranges or tangerines for one year. But lemons? This is not something I have thought a lot about. I'm thinking about it now because I don't think there's a local source for them. Growing lemons here is possible, but most people don't because they require serious winter protection. What I realized is that all the teas I make in the winter to help stave off colds or to soothe myself when I've already got them require lemon. I don't think they would be quite as effective without the lemon. If I can find a local source then I need to get a GIANT bag of lemons and freeze them in ice cube trays. This is what I'll do. So if anyone around here knows of a local source for lemons...please speak up.

All day yesterday I was thinking about a drink my mom used to make us sometimes as kids. I have to admit that she made us fast once a week and this was supposed to sustain us. She used to heat up lemonade and sprinkle cayenne pepper into it. Very warming. I mean, this can kick the pants off of a cold. All day yesterday I was kind of wishing I had some.

If not? Well, this is one of those things experiments like this teach us, right? Taking on a challenge like this helps us really understand just how much we've come to depend on oil to fulfill our every desire. What I try to think of is how it was for people back when only things that could really travel dusty bumpy roads well, for months at a time, would be available from outside your area. Spices, for example. We often think that our quality of life depends on being able to get our hands on absolutely everything from everywhere. Modern shipping did improve our lives quite a bit, especially for areas with extremely short growing seasons. But I think many of us, myself included, have failed to recognize that the overall price for this kind of global grocery store is much greater than any of us thought it could be, and the consequences are pretty dire.

Oil spills from ocean liners, pollution from airplanes which carry much of our exotic produce to us in the winter, pollution from trucks, and decreased quality of goods due to picking them unripe, or growing varieties strictly for their traveling abilities... all of this means that every one's quality of life is actually deteriorating. Not enough clean air and water are very serious problems. So, if I look at it like this, and turn my appetite to the things that grow well here, where I am, I think I will be able to adjust to a more locally focused life.

I think I should mention here, though, that I fully intend to plant lemon trees in my yard this year. I don't have room in my house to bring them inside in the winter, but I think they should be alright if I make really large coverings for them for the coldest parts of the season. I've seen such coverings in Northern California where it does actually get as cold as it does here, sometimes, killing off unprotected citrus plants.

A couple of nights ago I finally watched "Babette's Feast" which many MANY people have told me I would love. It's foreign so I did have my reservations. Foreign films are often quite depressing, except for British films. I have to say that everyone who recommended it was right. I loved it. I loved the bleak landscape* in it (I told Philip that I would like to take a little retreat to that pretend village, for a little alone time) but in spite of a bleak landscape it wasn't at all depressing. I loved the food preparations in it. It was marvelous. I will admit that it really made me wish I was knitting again so I can knit myself some cozy shawls. However, we all have to draw the line somewhere. Maybe in another year or two I can take it up again. Oh, but I can make myself a wool cape!! I want to wear puritan style clothes from the eighteen hundreds. Yes I do. Watching that film made me realize that I need to get a new pair of boots.

Boot love.

Portland is such a lovely city. It was raining most of the time we were there and I thought it was such an inviting place to be in such weather. It did make me think of you Violette Crumble! I was thinking about how the grey rainy weather gets to you and I was thinking about how you are in a better overall climate for your spirit now. Still, I was thinking about how you lived there for quite a while and I wished I could have met up with you.

I need to go get dressed so I can package up all of the orders that need to ship out today. Then I need to go and pluck all the winter squashes from my yard that are laying around in mud now. Then I will bend my mind to the job of convincing Lisa K. that it's in her best interests to take me to the farm.

An Update: My Back Went Out. Shit.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Part of the reason it is so difficult to figure out what films I would like is that what depresses me is not easy to know. A bleak landscape actually makes me feel scoured clean, it makes me feel weirdly happy. Like rocky cold beaches or rugged unfriendly looking hills. What depresses me most are bad relationships between people. Or people who are small minded and mean. Or people who have lost all hope. I find relationships difficult to watch. But give me a cold grey windy rainy landscape and I come alive. Oh it feels so good!

When The Skies Weep With You

A lot of my titles come to me the way poetry used to. In fact, I think that instead of writing poetry now, I channel all those disconnected sentences that might begin or end a poem and I just put them at the top. Sometimes it's the titles that I put on a post that direct the flow of thoughts. If I don't know where to start, it gives me a place. I was thinking I might someday sit down with my headphones on, and a list of all my post titles, and just see if I can't continue all those floating threads into more developed poems.

The truth is, if the sky is weeping, it weeps without me today. I looked out my bedroom window and felt so calm and happy to see the maple tree bending with the force of wind and rain. I was planning on making a wet trip to Bernards farm to pick some tomatoes to make a huge batch of roasted tomato soup. Isn't this the perfect day for it? Instead I realized that today is the deadline for applying to be included in the Crafty Wonderland Holiday Craft Show. Since no mail runs on Sunday, and even if it did, it surly wouldn't get there today anyway, a trip to Portland is called for. I am going to take my application to the address given and hope to god there's a mailbox I can slip my application into. It's worth a shot, anyway.

We get to drop Max off at Lisa E.'s house so he can play with his friend Rex who he's been missing quite a bit lately. Lisa K. has decided to just stay home today and read. So Philip and I will go out to lunch together in Portland without our child (a very rare event) and pick up some tomatoes at the farmer's market which we hear is open both Saturday and Sunday today and then make tomato soup at Lisa E.'s house. It really sounds like a great day to me.

My original plan was to simply make food here at home. Lay low. Enjoy the rainy view. But sometimes a day shapes up how it wants to regardless of your original thoughts. That's fine with me. A rainy adventure sounds great. I finished the apron that was ordered and will be able to ship out four orders on Monday. That will feel good. Why not run off for some fun?

The Last Ten Days In Pictures

(Plus: lyrics to live by)

One of my old friends in the Portland Rose Garden "Frederick Mistral". His scent is a heady old rose scent, his leaves are healthy and relatively disease free, his growth is prolific. He likes to get very tall. He is generous with his blooms all season. I will be planting one of this rose in my new garden and if you're looking for a great rose with rich scent, I highly recommend this one.

The rose garden is so sprawling, so large, it is difficult to capture it's scope with a camera, at least a camera like mine. I didn't see the whole thing on our visit. I'm hoping to go once more this season which must be about to end.

Now I'm not positive (because a couple of days have passed already) but I think this is a rose called "Karen Blixen" that I've never grown. She doesn't have a stunning scent, but the blooms are really elegant and arching (weak necks) which is not ideal if you like erect stems, but when arranging bouquets in old teapots, which I like to do, arching stems make for a better arrangement.

My mom giving the ol' sniff test. Like most of them, this one failed. So sad. So unnecessary. It's time that all rose breeding programs included a direction in scent. There are enough mild and scentless roses to please those who prefer them (or who are allergic to strong scent). I love that David Austin makes that a priority, though what he likes about the "musk" scents he sometimes comes up with is a huge mystery to me. But his rose "Abraham Darby" is brilliant with it's rich warm rose scent and it's prolific growth and gorgeous form. Sorry, I'm getting carried away aren't I?

Lots of eggplant fun in the past week. Not everything I made turned out as good as could be hoped. These did though. Simple round slices of eggplant grilled to perfection on the BBQ after being brushed with a rosemary marinade.

These stuffed round eggplants turned out pretty good, the stuffing which consisted of the insides of the eggplant sauteed with sliced stale bread, dried thyme, fresh tomatoes, onion, butter, olive oil, and lemon zest turned out superb...but the stuffing was so good that we kind of didn't enjoy eating the plain eggplant it was stuffed into. So as pretty as these are, I am going to do this again as an eggplant casserole or as a stuffing for something else such as big zucchinis or tomatoes.

The commissioned project I did to cover my friend Sylla's chair cushions. This is the before picture. I don't blame her for wanting to have them covered.

Especially in this wonderful bark cloth!! This was a very satisfying project. I did have to redo one of the zippers which sucked, but that's the way it goes. Better to redo it and preserve my professional reputation than to let anyone think I do shoddy work.

She was pleased with the results too which is the most important thing.

And lastly, this was a superfine summer meal we had. Freshly picked corn on the cob with a nine dollar sandwich made with bread from our local bakery "Red Fox Bakery", and grilled eggplant, pesto, tomatoes, and mozzarella cheese. Oh my. So good. It's making me hungry right now.

It's such a relief to have pictures again. The main computer is still not fixed. The motherboard was fried and can't be easily fixed because it's a Dell and they have all kinds of proprietary issues. We've been debating how to proceed. We could have another computer built more cheaply, to replace this one, but we are leaning towards fixing what we have because this is a chance to not throw something away. Something I want to be more careful about in my life. It's so tempting to just start over with a computer, it can be cheaper, but overall, if we can just fix up what we have and throw away only 25% of it (the motherboard and the case for the hard drive both must be replaced apparently) then we're keeping more out of the landfill.

Anyway, Philip installed my camera software onto the laptop and now I can move on. I can update my Etsy shop, and just as soon as I recall what my password is for my flickr account I can update that too. It's such a relief. I know, I already said that.

IT'S SUCH A RELIEF!

So I folded six loads of laundry, even though I only washed four yesterday. That's because I had to fold the loads that had been sitting around collecting dust for days before even starting. All I got through were my back log of sheets and towels. I have a lot of raggy towels I use for canning and drying the dog and other fun things like that. The hamper was full of them. Every sheet and comforter cover and towel in the house was in the hamper. So I have a whole extra day of laundry doing to do if I want to be completely caught up. Here's the thing: we have only a family of three and I can never keep up with my own laundry, how the hell do you larger families face such gargantuan piles of it? I know that I am a weak-ass when it comes to laundry so I'm hardly a person whose laundry skills you want to compare yourself to. Laundry has always been my downfall and I'm mostly alright with that.

It doesn't mean I don't keep trying though. I'm an excellent housewife in most ways, but we all have to have our dark areas, right? Except for you perfect people out there. Don't talk to me.

I had a nightmare last night. It was not one of the worst, thank goodness. I don't remember much of it except that there was a very bad man who must have had some keen evil powers because he was monitoring myself and two other women through a television we couldn't turn off. One of the women was pregnant and eating something spinachy. But then we were all three eating something spinachy. Then the bad man was in the room with us and I was hiding. That's all I remember. Spinach-baby-badman. Aren't nightmares fascinating?

Oh wait, and I costumed a bunch of people for some strange event but my old costuming partner Autumn was there and was scoffing at me and my work and it was all very stressful since I apparently have quite the inferiority complex. It was all somehow connected with my mom living in an apartment in the city.

My knee hurts today which is annoying. It's always got to be something, doesn't it? I can't decide if it would be wise to skip the gym today or not. I don't want to hurt my knee more but I need to not lose any momentum with the gym thing. I feel like I should not strain it today, that's what my gut says. At least my burn is scabbed up and healing well. (I hope you're not eating your breakfast right now.)

On the agenda: laundry, pesto making for the freezer, and salsa canning. Which means a trip out to my favorite farm. Which means locating the back road so I can avoid taking Highway 18 on my scooter except for about a quarter mile.

Do you ever think about all the ghosts that walk the highways? I was just suddenly remembering the old lady who died in a violent crash on that same stretch of highway last week. We were on the highway not long after the crash happened and had to take a detour to the farm because of it. Lisa E. and I were both pretty sure we saw fire on the road just before turning off. On our way back we saw the white car that was wrecked in the ditch, smashed like an insignificant pumpkin. What's amazing is that the old man who was driving it lived. But what an awful day. And to make it so far in life with a person, to be old together and then lose one of the pair in such a violent way. I can't help but wonder if the old man hasn't died now too? It's not uncommon for old folks to follow loved ones into the grave not long after being left solo.

It happened to Johnny Cash. When we heard that June had died, Philip and I both said we wouldn't be surprised if he followed her in the near future. Not three months later and he was dead too.

I don't know that I believe in ghosts, in a haunting kind of way. I guess I kind of do. Or at least I believe that spirits linger. Or at least leave some imprint or memory of themselves behind. I've felt them before. Maybe they were actually the spirits themselves, but I tend to think that what I have felt is the residue of their existence. Like a three dimensional photo. Sometimes I get the shivers walking through such imprints. I was just thinking about how many lives are lost on American freeways every single day. It's a phenomenal number. It's eerie to see how many crosses are set up to remember them on the sides of the road. I used to be haunted by those, especially because one of the first ones I saw was to commemorate a girl who went missing (last seen at that spot on the freeway that is marked in Rio Grand California) and (I think) later turned up dead.

So I wonder, if you were to clear all the cars from a stretch of freeway and achieve total silence, could you hear the spirits there? Would they be weeping? Screaming? Sometimes, (and this is one of those instances where it would be totally appropriate to remember that I am a freak), I feel like it's one of my main jobs in life to remember the dead. To speak for the voiceless. I see dead animals on the road, or crosses commemorating human life cut off, and I find myself speaking to them in a kind of mental undertone. Making a note that here was life. Here was the end of something beautiful. Remembered. It can be overwhelming though when in my head I start taking count of all the dead in the world. I write them letters. I send them notes.

My head is like a mailbox for the dead.

I haven't really said these things out loud before. Not in detail. You can totally understand how come one of my most frequent fantasies is to take a ten year vow of complete silence? Anyone who knows me knows that this would be absolutely IMPOSSIBLE. Which is perhaps why it is a particularly compelling fantasy. Isn't it always what is most unreachable that we reach for in our dream world? The flat chested poor girl wants triple D breasts, right? The nerdy guy who can't speak to girls wants to be the next James Bond, am I wrong?

This all reminds me of the music I was listening to while cleaning yesterday. My play list started with "The Buena Vista Social Club" soundtrack, then I listened to "Ziggy Stardust", and finished the event off with Roy Acuff singing one of my favorite all time songs "The Wreck On The Highway" which is all about whiskey and blood running together. It's also religious. Even though I am not religious, I love a lot of religious music. Mahalia Jackson is a favorite, as are the old classical pieces written for the church or in celebration of Jesus like Handel's "Messiah". Another of my favorite songs is "Were You There" by Johnny Cash which is all about being nailed to the cross and being shoved into a cave to die, you know how Jesus was entombed and then rose and all that jazzy jazz? These are very violent songs.

On a side note, I have been a huge Bowie fan since I was 13 years old when my mom insisted that I would love this guy. She bought his latest album "Modern Dance" on a trip we had made to Mill Valley and we listened to it all the way back up to Ashland Oregon where we were living at the time. She told me when he would be appearing on MTV, which was relatively new at the time, and made sure I was up to see it. I totally fell for him and his music was the main soundtrack to my life for years. As I was listening to him yesterday I was amazed at just how many of his lyrics are completely loony. Yet I totally get them as do so many people. He evokes a feeling, he communicates something with drug addled words that somehow makes sense. How does he do that?

"You're squawking like a pink monkey bird" can only come from either a crazy person, or a crazy person on drugs. We know the answer to that one by now. It kept making me laugh, hearing these lyrics that I took so seriously when I was younger. His was a voice that spoke my language. Yet, I had never been exposed to, and would be surprised at being exposed to a pink monkey bird even now. I'm going to look that up...

Yeah, I think Bowie made that one up.

I will leave you with this sage piece of advice gleaned from the Ziggy Stardust album:

"Don't let the milk float ride your mind."

That's what I always say.

The Rose Geek Tour Of The Portland Rose Garden

My mom and I made it to the rose garden in Portland yesterday and it was perhaps the most perfect day on earth for it. It was warm but not boiling and absolutely everyone was out in the park. Going to this rose garden was like traveling to my mecca. I don't care how boring and over-popular you think roses are, once you start growing them it's difficult not to fall under their heady spell.

Here are some highlights of the visit:

• As we entered the parking lot, a narrow long affair, we passed by a large wedding party where the bride and groom were walking very formally together while her train was being held and everyone shuffled importantly around them. I almost yelled out the window "Vegas is the answer to all your troubles my friends!!" which is ironic since I think the only thing Vegas is good for is eloping in. But before I could shout out the window I was distracted by some white head scarves many of the women were wearing-my religious gear alarm went off...they didn't really go with the outfits and many of the women were wearing them...I guessed the family and couple to be Greek. We passed too quickly for me to hop out and interrogate the wedding party. Besides, I'm much too shy.

• The rose gardens were filled with people. I don't know what I expected, but in California, whenever my friend Sharon and I would go to Ray Reddel's test garden we were the only people there. I guess I just didn't think rose gardens were that popular. However, my mom and I stuck out like sore thumbs because we insisted on smelling all the roses. Very few other people bothered to sniff. We would rush over to some promising specimen with arms waving and excited exclamations "Oh look at this one...!" we'd lean in to sniff and then back away in horror "Oh God! Why does this rose smell like rot?!" 99% of the roses there have little or no scent. This is a HUGE oversight on the garden planner's part and makes me realize that I should have helped to plan it.

• The wedding party we had passed in the parking lot descended on the rose gardens, all white froth and black tails. I don't blame them for wanting to start their married bliss amongst the glory of all those blooming flowers. At the same time, I'm not particularly sentimental and weddings aren't all that exciting to me. A lot of fuss. Their fuss interfered with my enjoyment as they blocked many paths and specimens I wished to sniff. Plus, I didn't like the bride's dress much and one of the babies in their wedding party loudly objected to being forced to sit in the bright sun while about five hundred of the same wedding shots were taken. Gee, I wonder why? Yet no one bothered to walk the poor baby out of the blaring sun and away from the tedium of wedding photography. That baby objected piercingly for about forty five minutes.
  

• We found a shady bench to rest on for a spell and I got to chat with some old people. Something I particularly enjoy. When we walked away I couldn't help but hope that someone will enjoy talking to me when I'm old.

• Just as I thought we were free of weddings I bumped into another photo session in progress for a whole different much quieter wedding. Still, all that white froth. Brides still really love white. I got married in red. I think it would have been bad luck for me to get married in white.

• A whole lot of rose geekery ensued. I couldn't help myself. I was able to identify many of my favorite roses by sight which was so much fun and annoyingly self satisfying. I saw a pink rose that looked familiar by it's towering growth and prolifically blooming medium sized blooms and when my nose was lowered into it's orb of scent I almost died with pleasure, I excitedly told my mom I thought it must be "Frederick Mistral" and sure enough, it was. Finding roses you have grown and loved is like finding old friends out in the world. This is for you Sharon: the very last rose we found before we left was your old discovery "Jardin De Bagatelle". She's as wonderful and as intoxicating as ever.

• Apparently we were on the same time table as the Greek wedding party who left loudly honking their horns as we were walking to our car. My mom said towards the caravan "Oh, you'll find out soon enough..." and a lady behind us cracked up laughing.

I must go back before the end of the season. I must go back because it was so soothing and beautiful and absolutely the perfect place to spend time as though I have all the time in the world. I do think Portland is one of the best cities in the world, and I've seen a few. Now it's Sunday morning and I am dying to get a few garden projects finished, like training my climbing noisette rose "Kaiserin Frederich", and staking my drooping buddleia as well as clipping thyme to dry. Max is with Grandma in the city. We don't get a lot of Max free breaks so I plan to enjoy our morning. Also, we signed our refi papers on Friday and if nothing happens to curse us and ruin our lives, it should fund this week and we'll be able to pay off the credit cards!

Life is good today.

Stumptown And Potatoes

Portland is called many things: PDX, The City Of Roses, and Stump Town.

STUMP TOWN?

I realize this is probably a reference to it's logging connections...but what it makes me think of is a city full of amputees. Every time I hear that name I see armless and legless people struggling to navigate city life with no limbs. A city as cool as Portland could, indeed, be filled with as many amputees as would enjoy living there and I still would refuse to call it by that name. It's blunt, inelegant, chopped, foreshortened, whacked, short, hefty, and completely retarded.

I'm sorry, I have had the barely controllable urge to use that word lately. I think because it's so completely socially incorrect to do so which makes it kind of more attractive. I am not using it in reference to a person though, so surely no one can object?

So let me ask you, (especially YOU Anonymous*), if you were interviewing a potato farmer who uses "conventional" farming methods (meaning pesticides) and they explained to you the complicated regimen of spraying they used before, and during the growing season...sprays so toxic that the farmhands must stay off the fields for at least five days...and you asked that farmer if he and his family felt comfortable eating those potatoes and that farmer told you he doesn't let his family eat the potatoes he grows for commerce but has a separate ORGANIC garden for his own family...what would you think? Would you feel comfortable eating potatoes grown in such a way that the farmer himself won't let his family touch them?

You know, when one refers to pesticides, it covers a wide range of compounds. I have to say I don't actually think all pesticides are evil. I have used Neem and BT in my own garden and felt totally comfortable using them when I felt it was really necessary. Although, most years in my garden I don't use a single spray, whether considered safe or not. However, I think most pesticides are damaging to the environment when used commercially because they use such huge quantities of it for the duration of the growing season. It's not a secret that a lot of beneficial insects are being killed because of this. We need those bugs. We need the bees. We need the worms. We need the flies, believe it or not. We need the spiders.

I don't buy strictly organic. I'm not an organic Nazi. I think it's always the better choice if you can get it, or afford it, but I am perfectly happy buying produce from farms that use natural plant based pesticides only when necessary. A lot of smaller farms that aren't certified organic are practicing mostly organic methods of growing. I will always buy from a local small farm that uses only some sprays than buy from any huge commercial farm whether organic or not.

However, this week was the first time in three years that I have bought potatoes that aren't organic. They are one of the most heavily treated vegetables and the most likely to contain traces of the chemicals used (according to some of the farmers that grow them. Read Michael Pollan's book "The Botany Of Desire" to read his interviews with both organic and conventional potato farmers). I plan to find out who exactly grows Farmer John's potatoes and ask that grower directly how they grown them.

This reminds me about GMO's. This is a question everyone should be asking too. I admit I'm afraid to ask my favorite farm (Bernard's) if they use any patented genetically modified seeds. Unlike the issue of organic versus conventional, I do truly believe that GMOs are something everyone should ban from their diets. Refuse to buy them. Demand labeling. I don't know what the environmental impact could potentially be, and neither do the companies that make them. That is unconscionable. Why doesn't that concern more people? We should not be spreading them around the world until they have been studied for years in very contained areas. Yet they are already everywhere.

Remember when DDT was first introduced? (In 1939 in case you were wondering.) Obviously I don't personally remember this. What I do know is that people thought it was a miracle and people thought it was totally safe. We used it widely until the 1970's when it was banned. Why was it banned? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU DO WITH PURE EVIL. OK, seriously, I was just reading a report about it here. My point is that everyone was willing to believe it was a miracle and it had to accumulate in people's bodies, kill off lots of birds, and contaminate fish before they would believe it wasn't such a great idea.

You know what's scary? DDT doesn't really go away. It's still in all the bodies it has contaminated. It flows from mother to child through breast milk. It isn't water soluble. It accumulates in our bodies. We are still polluted with it years after it's been banned. And we sold one of our last factories to Indonesia where DDT is still being made and used, so we've spread the goodness around for everyone.

I don't claim to be an expert on GMOs or pesticides. But there is evidence everywhere that all of these compounds and modified plants are hurting our environment and through our environment, ourselves. Why is it so hard to convince people to care?

You know how we have so much cancer in the world? You know how so many people are suffering from new and resistant diseases and how there are more and more infertile people in our country? You know how everyone is raising their fists to the skies and crying out "Why is this happening?! How can this be?!" I'm not one of them. It is so obvious why so many people are infertile. Why so many people are getting cancer. Why so many species are just vanishing faster than we can study them. Why we have so little clean water. Why the bees are dying. The answers are right in front of us. The answers are in our pocketbooks, our banks, our homes. The answers are everywhere. There's no mystery why there are so many of these problems, and there's no mystery who's responsible.

I care passionately about these issues. Obviously. I want us all to be able to have children if we want them (but not four or five...that's another environmental issue**). I want all of us to be able to grow old without getting cancer. I want all of our children to benefit from fresh air and clean water. How can anyone not want these things?

Dammit, how come I don't have superpowers? I would only use them for good, I promise. I know you're all tired of pesticide talk. I often wish I could just deal with these problems by myself. It's an inconvenience to have to try to get everyone worked up over these issues that affect us all. Those of you who don't care already will care down the road when the proof becomes tragically irrefutable. Of course, most of my friends and acquaintances DO care about these issues as much or more than myself. So if everyone reading this is already in the same camp with me, tell me what I can do to help other people see why they should demand better for themselves and our environment? What can I do to help besides making changes in my own habits and choices?

Today we are going to Portland. Philip and Max are getting together with our friend Clinton to play in the fountains at a park in the Pearl District, and my mom and I are going to visit the rose test garden which is one of the largest in the country.

*If you're a friend of mine giving me a tease, all I can say is: you asked for it.

**It is not my personal wish that people keep their families smaller. Over-population is a very real environmental concern. I mention it because it will only become more of an issue over time. I think it's heart breaking that so many couples who want kids aren't able to have any, but I also think those people lucky enough to be fertile need to think carefully about the impact the number of children they have might have on all of our resources. I know someone out there will still want to string me up for mentioning that. No one's ever supposed to say that stuff out loud.

Under-tattooed At The Lovli Craft Fair

On the left is Pearly Grey Designs owner Jen Nowak-Miller who designs and makes accessories for stylish babes using lots of retro fabrics. My favorite item? The onesie with the skull on it. How I wish I had found her six years ago when Max was born. I did my best by dying a bunch of onesies and knitted caps black, but skulls on babies? WAY TOO COOL.

On the right is Alisa Timmerman of Zeldaloo Studios who designs and makes all kinds of wonderful stuffies including a mermaid who is so soft it kind of feels dirty to touch her because then you can't get your hands off her tail. Alisa is closing her own brick and mortar store, just like I am, to concentrate on her designing and creating.

Have I mentioned lately how hard it is to run a store?

This is Shannon Conrad or rubygirl. I didn't intend to take a picture that makes it look like she's wearing a big light bulb, but I'm somewhat shy about taking people's pictures in a public venue which is why I'm not a star journalist, so I find it hard to ask them to scoot around posing until I get the perfect shot. I'm sorry Shannon, but I still think this is a good picture of you.

Shannon's jewelry is amazing. I wanted to buy several pieces but didn't because I feel weird about buying jewelry at a time when I'm not sure how we're going to make a living next month. But her jewelry is a wonderful mixture of delicate craftsmanship, bold design, and vintage touches. I want to drip with it. (How do I keep managing to sound so disgusting today?)

This is my mom with her new Rachel Wyatt painting, and that's Rachel Wyatt herself agreeing to pose here so I can fumble with a camera and interrupt their happy conversation.

Here is everyone packing up to go home. We loved this little craft fair.

Some notes on our visit:

• Attending this fair made us feel a little old, a little under-tattooed, and a lot less hip than we used to be. One thing it didn't make me feel? Fat. There were stylish people of all sizes there. A lesson: get over it woman. Yes, polka dots on a fleshy curve is not a bad look at all!

• Amazon women look surprisingly good with feathers sprouting from their hair.

• I never knew you could make a stiff shawl out of beads, but now I know. It looked almost as warm and comfortable as a horse-hair chastity belt.

• Portland is a very confusing city to drive in. One almost wonders if it was required of the planning commission that they eat magic mushrooms before designing those twisty sudden convoluted and misleading freeways tangling above the city. Because driving through them makes me feel like I'm on drugs myself.

• It was energizing to be somewhere filled with creative people making really cool things.

Today is the Etsy Craft show which I can't go to because I have to work in the store, and tomorrow is Crafty Wonderland at the Doug Fir Lounge which opens the second Sunday of every month in Portland. My friend Lucille told me about this a long time ago and I have never had the chance to do it. But I'm hoping we'll go tomorrow.

Portland
(in which I break my promise to talk only of rainbows, butterflies, and Donald Trump)

My mom spent Sunday helping me organize the custom bath center in the store. I don't know what else to call it. Maybe "witchy corner"? Here's what it is: a shelf stocked with bulk dead sea bath salts, Epsom salts, bulk tea bath herbs, jars for putting together bath salts for gifts, supplies for tea baths such as reusable muslin bags, sealable tea bags (big enough for tea baths), and essential oils that are already portioned off for use in scenting your own salts. It's a Do It Yourself beauty station.

One of my favorite places on earth is Rosemary's Garden in Sebastopol California. This little section in my store is meant to be like that store, in miniature. A place where you can get your witchy self on. Where you can make your own bath luxuries and maybe even some cosmetics eventually. Why? Because it's cheaper when you make them yourself, it's better because you can make exactly what you want, it's fresher because you're mixing the scents yourself, and potentially it's better for the environment because less packaging is needed if you bring your own containers back to fill them up- which I intend to encourage by offering a ten percent discount on any bulk item for which the customer has brought their own container.

Best of all though? It's flippin' fun!

Each little vial has approximately 20 drops of essential oils in them. Enough to scent anywhere between 2 cups of salts and 6 cups of salts (depending on how strong you like your scent). Anyone serious about making their own bath products will probably want to buy whole bottles of oils, which I will not be selling. But to dive into a project without having to commit to a whole bottle when all you need is 18 drops is very convenient.

I'm very excited about this section in my store. Is it obvious? My mom is excited about it too. And why not? She's the one who brought me up to get excited about DIY projects, herbs, and potions. One thing that we really needed was an aromatherapy book for reference in the store. So we took off for Powell's yesterday since it was raining and I couldn't work in the garden.

First we stopped off at Whole Foods right up the street. While there we ran into our old friend Clinton. I mean to say that he's been a friend for a very long time, not that he himself is old. Which is kind of immaterial anyway. Because Clinton is the kind of guy who really couldn't give a rat's ass what anyone thinks about him. Clinton was one of the two witnesses to my Vegas wedding in the Hearse. Clinton was in the casket area with his (then) girlfriend Sarah. No one had to get out of the vehicle. It was a full service drive up chapel.

After Clinton took off for home (he had just gotten off of work) I checked out the Arcana line of soaps that he's been telling me about. He's right, they are perfect for our store! A little pricey, but something I would certainly buy as a gift for someone. Super cool labels and really good scents. Plus, added bonus, they are locally made.

I don't collect novels anymore. I don't stock pile fiction. However, I do have a growing collection of reference books for cooking, gardening, crafting, and finally-for herbology and homemade beauty products. I need to apply for credit with Publisher's West so that I can get my hands on a lot more books for the store about kitchen gardening and DIY crafts. Third Street Books is a fantastic book store, and you can order almost anything that's available from them, but they don't have a large garden section and their DIY section is mainly knitting focused. So I'd like to fill in the blanks in my store with more of that stuff. Not a lot, but with books I've used and found indispensable.

I found a great medicinal herb reference book, an aromatherapy book, and two natural beauty recipe books. Exactly what I was hoping to find.

When I was nineteen, hanging out with two male science fiction nerds in San Francisco*, I read a lot of Andre Norton books. All the ones I could find from the Witch World series. You probably know that this series is really meant for a more adolescent audience...but who cares? Her books are EXACTLY the kind of fantasy/science fiction I love, lots of apothecary action, lots of middle ages imagery and magic mixed with futuristic machines and evil. How can you go wrong? Naturally, I wanted to be like all the witches in this series. Except that I didn't care about being buxom, which, judging by the book covers, they always were. I wanted to be talented in the apothecary arts (I haunted the dried herb sections of all the health food stores I knew about), to wear that great mix of medieval inspired clothes with a modern twist, and obviously I wanted to be magic.

I can't say I've ever been into fairies or dragons (although I do love the Dragons of Pern series). I am not a huge fan of historical reenactment societies (people get a little obsessed and more often that not, there's a lot of sleeping around between the members that makes for very messy relationships which I find unattractive), but always I've been attracted to the more practical application of what's so appealing about all of these old legends and practice a little of it in my life. I don't believe in the kind of magic that levitates human beings. Sorry, I will have to see it with my own eyes before I embrace that. But I do believe in quieter magic. The kind of magic you find in chemistry.

A lot of the arts people practice today seem laced with magic. I mean, how the hell did someone ever figure out how to knit? I can't even imagine what some one was doing to discover this incredible art in which you take spun fibers and make them into a flexible fabric with two sticks. WTF?! Or how about this: how the heck did people discover that olives would be good to eat if only you rinse them out for forty days with lye washes and then cure them in vinegar? HUH? I see that as a kind of magic. History must be lined with the dead who ate the wrong mushrooms, who poisoned their own bodies with the tannins from strange fruits until they found out exactly what to do with them to make them tasty and nonpoisonous.

Chemistry is magic. I'm not interested in the kind of chemistry being practiced in high profile slick top secret labs like Dupont. I'm not interested in the kind that produces synthetics. I'm also not interested in the kind practiced by pock marked, morally corrupt people making crack in their basements. That's chemistry too, and maybe even magic in a way, but I'd certainly call it EVIL. I'm interested in the simple chemistry that people have been practicing at home for a couple of thousand years.

At this point it would probably not surprise anyone to know that I love the mystery series "Cadfael". Oh yeah, monastery gardens, store houses full of drying herbs (I can't remember what the word for these are right now and it's driving me crazy!!), and making alcohol...what could be more exciting than all of that?

I may as well mention here that I don't believe that herbs can heal absolutely anything. When I get a bladder infection (thankfully it's only happened twice so far) I go to the doctor immediately. When we get strep throat we take antibiotics. I also take psych meds which have helped me live a much better quality of life. I think there are just times when modern medicine gets us to a margin of safety faster than herbs can and I'm thankful for them. I think a mix of natural medicine and modern is pretty ideal.

Well, I better be off to attend to the growing pile of clean laundry before it suffocates us. Of course, I'd rather be suffocated by clean laundry than by dirty laundry. But I'd really prefer not to be suffocated at all. Have a great Tuesday!

*We spent a lot of time at Rock-n-Bowl on Haight Street. Gregory and Jeffrey were particularly interested in why the hell I wasn't more interested in sex. Not with them, but with anyone. I think that they concluded that I was not only a prude, but also repressed sexually. I didn't point out that when you spend most of your time with two science fiction nerds who are not interested in you romantically, you don't invite a lot of dating into your life. I loved them though. I had a huge crush on Gregory for quite a while, which I'm sure amused him greatly, and then I got over it and I just loved hanging out with them as one of the "guys". Sometimes I miss them still.