Throw another Yule log on the fire

It's dark and cold but not rainy this week in Seattle. In fact we have a string of bright, dry days coming up, although the daylight hours are brief and the nights long. Spring seems a lifetime away, but soon we'll turn the corner at the winter solstice December 22.

Yuletime is a winter festival that was celebrated by pagan Germanic people and later absorbed into Christmas, which was placed on December 25 when the Julian calendar was adopted. At the time when we celebrate the birth of Christ, the Earth turns herself again towards light, warmth, food and life. It was believed that one's behavior in the times of Yule determined the good fortune of the whole household. It all fits together. Better watch out, Santa Claus is coming to town.

Collecting the yule log-- 1832 illustration.

The Yule log was originally an entire tree. It was carefully chosen and brought into the house with great ceremony. The largest end of the log would be placed into the fire hearth while the rest of the tree stuck out into the room. Messy. In modern times, the yule tradition is still carried on by burning the largest log possible at or around Christmas. At this house, that would be the duraflame John lights in the fireplace on Christmas morning.

Lady and the Unicorn

The Lady and the Unicorn
Desire

The Lady and the Unicorn is a series of six tapestries woven in Flanders (Belgium) in the 1400's. It's considered one of the greatest works of art from the Middle Ages. The Hunt of the Unicorn is another famous example of medieval tapestry, and we were lucky to see those once at the Cloisters Museum in New York. A photo reproduction doesn't come close to capturing the scale and intricate design-- tapestries have to be seen to be appreciated.

But I ran across this Lady series and thought I'd post them since they are so old and beautiful. The background design is called millefleurs (thousand flowers.) In 1841, the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries were "rediscovered" (how could you lose them?) in damaged condition at the Boussac castle. The novelist George Sand brought public attention to the tapestries in her writing. Now you can see them at the Musee de Cluny in Paris.

Each shows a noble lady with the unicorn on her left and a lion on her right. They are interpreted as depicting the five senses: sight, hearing, smell, touch, taste.

Sight

The lady is seated and holding up a mirror to the unicorn, and he sits like a dog with his legs on her lap gazing at his reflection.

Hearing

The lady plays an organ on a table while her maid operates the bellows. Small animals are at their feet and the unicorn is listening in the background.

Smell

The lady stands making flower wreaths while her maid holds the basket.

Touch

The lady stands with one hand on the unicorn's horn and the other holding a pennant.

Taste

The lady is taking sweets from a dish held by her maid. The unicorn is begging.

What a big girl!

Sunshine and snow

We're back home in cloudy warm Seattle, where everything is green and gray instead of blue and white. It was an easy, wet drive and we made the trip in about 5 hours. Record driving time for us with no picnic or apple buying-- only a quick stop at McDonald's for the necessities of life. In the winter there isn't much reason to dilly dally on this long drive that is becoming routine.

But Friday was a perfect winter day in the Methow Valley. The sun was out after an overnight snow, and we drove to Winthrop to check out the town's new pedestrian bridge. The scene above is the view from the bridge looking up the Methow River toward the North Cascade mountains.

OK, there's no lack of Nova pictures from this trip as I took over 85 digital photos. After I loaded them on my home computer I deleted at least half, since most were of the back of her head or blurry. I can't tell you how hard it is to photograph toddlers in non-stop motion. Although she's learning fast and if you ask her to pose for the camera, you'll be rewarded with a funny face or a sweet, cheesy smile.

The new Spring Creek bridge is a grand-looking structure for a walkway, but it's functional and links to a loop trail across the river from Winthrop town. A lovely place on a bright winter day.

A country Thanksgiving

We had a safe and easy trip over the mountains yesterday. In fact, the morning sun was shining when we flew over Snoqualmie Pass early. Thank you Amanda and Tom for your wonderful Thanksgiving welcome and the feast-- it was the best turkey I can ever remember. Especially because for the first time in 35 years, I didn't have to cook it :-)

Nova and her friend River

We woke up to this, but no matter-- we won't be driving to any malls today and it looks like the sun will come up in clear, blue skies.

"Over the mountains and down the pass"

Or something like that. Have you heard about our miserable weather in the Northwest? This was the view on Snoqualmie Pass yesterday and hopefully will be the same today-- just wet and sloppy. We're headed over to eastern Washington with 200,000 others today to spend Thanksgiving with Amanda, Tom and Nova. I hope you have a wonderful holiday. Stay tuned for new Nova pictures.

Fancy yams

I'm used to the jaw-dropping grocery prices at the Admiral Metropolitan Market, but when I stopped by there last week for milk, something in the prepared food deli turned even my jaded Seattle head. It was a big mound of "roasted yams with pecans and cranberries" for $7.98 a pound! Sure it looked tasty, but a few heavy scoops of that would make a very expensive side dish. More than most people spend on an entire turkey.

Yams are on special now, everywhere, for about 99 cents a pound. For some reason this only happens around the holidays, and the rest of the year they cost 2 or 3 times more. I don't know anything about yam farming and harvests, but they're also freshest right now. We like them oven-baked with a touch of butter and salt and pepper. Yams are nutritious and I never understood that marshmallow thing, although there's the appeal of family food traditions. Anyway, I knew I could make the Metropolitans' fancy yam concoction without a recipe.

I rubbed the yams with olive oil and roasted them uncovered in a ceramic dish. Some of the sweet juice caramelized on the bottom. When they cooled, I pulled the peels off, added a little salt and mashed them up with a fork right in the pan. Then I mixed in a handful of Craisins and some toasted pecan pieces. I put it in the fridge until the next day. To heat it up, I dotted the top with butter and baked it for a half hour or so. This is an easy make-ahead dish for Thanksgiving.

May your stuffing be tasty
May your turkey be plump,
May your potatoes and gravy
Have nary a lump.
May your yams be delicious
And your pies take the prize,
And may your Thanksgiving dinner
Stay off your thighs!

(ha ha)

~Author Unknown

Tuka, tukki, firkee

Some say it was Christopher Columbus who named turkeys "tuka," which is a Tamil word for peacock. Since the man was confused and believed he was in India at the time, this explanation seems plausible. Another theory is the Jewish physician serving on the voyage named the bird "tukki" which means "big bird" in Hebrew. Other people say Native Americans called the bird "firkee." So the word has been mispronounced for the past 500 years.

The turkey is native to Central America, and was one of the first animals to be domesticated in Mexico. Over a 1,000 turkeys a day were sold in busy Aztec markets. Just like Kroger's the week before Thanksgiving. The Spaniards carried "el pavo" back to Europe where it became a status dish for state dinners. The turkey was larger than a roast goose, had more meat and a fresh new tasty taste people loved. Turkey dinners caught on fast. In 1540, 1,570 turkeys were roasted for the wedding feast of Charles XI of France. The logistics of that turkey dinner boggle the mind.

When the pilgrims landed in the "new world" they were surprised to see wild turkeys running around similar to the ones they had brought along from Europe. So the turkey went full circle. Who knows what they ate at the first Thanksgiving? We like to think it was turkey, but no one blogged about it at the time.

Wild tom turkeys are magnificent birds when they decide to strut their stuff. They can blow themselves up like a ship in full sail and show off by turning their faces red, white and blue. Toms do this by shutting off oxygen to their heads, which might explain why turkeys are not blessed with high IQ's or sharp vision.


Turkeys can run at 35 mph and fly 55 mph. They can fly fast but not far, and soon became the American settlers primary source of food. Turkeys were so plentiful that New Englanders looked down on the meat as low class, like yucky seafood and lobsters. Hens once sold for 6 cents and big toms for a quarter at game markets. As happened with other seemingly unlimited American birds, by the early 1900's only 30,000 wild turkeys remained. Since then conservation efforts (funded largely by hunter's dollars) have restored turkey habitat and populations are healthy-- some 4.5 million birds roam the country and strict hunting laws prevent them from becoming endangered anytime soon. In fact, wild turkeys have become a nuisance in densely populated places like Staten Island. Click here to read an amusing NYT article.

In 2011, more than 248 million turkeys will be raised. Whatever your feelings about CAFO's (Google "CAFO" at your own risk) the turkeys don't have it bad. They're never caged and spend their lives walking around in a flock eating and eating until the day comes. That day comes quickly, since the tom will reach a market weight of 32 pounds in just 18 weeks.


A fine turkey dinner with all the trimmings? Like Cole Porter said, it's the top!

A hard freeze

Jack Frost can't wipe the smile off a garden Buddha's face. On Saturday night there was a hard freeze-- down to about 28 degrees. Yesterday we were between storms, so it was cold and dry in Seattle. Then last night the Pineapple Express rolled in and now it will rain for the entire holiday week.

But on Sunday morning for a few magic minutes, the rising sun glittered like diamonds on every frosted leaf, and I ran outside with my camera. Art Wolfe, eat your heart out!

Magic sparkles on rusty fairy wings...

Ivy rimmed with frost...

The moment before geranium leaves turn to black mush...

Here's an old poem by Cecil Day Lewis. It's about waking up on a stunning, bright winter morning:

A Hard Frost

A frost came in the night and stole my world
And left this changeling for it - a precocious
Image of spring, too brilliant to be true:
White lilac on the window-pane, each grass-blade
Furred like a catkin, maydrift loading the hedge.
The elms behind the house are elms no longer
But blossomers in crystal, stems of the mist
That hangs yet in the valley below, amorphous
As the blind tissue whence creation formed.

The sun looks out and the fields blaze with diamonds
Mockery spring, to lend this bridal gear
For a few hours to a raw country maid,
Then leave her all disconsolate with old fairings
Of aconite and snowdrop! No, not here
Amid this flounce and filigree of death
Is the real transformation scene in progress,
But deep below where frost
Worrying the stiff clods unclenches their
Grip on the seed and lets
the future breathe.

A last rose (again)

I thought the roses were history, but I found this last one when I was out raking fig leaves yesterday. The temperature in Seattle will be below freezing tonight, so that's it for the roses and geraniums. The basement stairwell is piled with plants that have no business living in Seattle in the winter. I'll cover them tonight with an old fleece throw and hope for the best.

We didn't have snow in the lowlands this week, but the early winter storm brought enough to the mountains that the ski areas are opening now. It's one of the earliest openings in the past 25 years, and I'm not sure what that says about the rest of the Northwest winter.

After this little cold snap the weather warms up again and we can look forward to a drenching from the Pineapple Express next week:

An "atmospheric river" straight from Hawaii...

Space

I don't know where this picture was taken, but it was posted yesterday on the dailypage website. Something about that lonely space is appealing. In Seattle this time of year, the world closes in with crowds, traffic and dark. Holiday clutter (nice as it is) makes a small house feel smaller, and my new messy hobby doesn't help. I see why some lucky people dedicate an entire room to their sewing projects-- I forgot how much other stuff goes along with the simple sewing machine.

Now, here's a real "Nana" Christmas dress for Nova. And maybe I'll be able to sew the next one in under six hours :-)

What a difference a day makes

On Tuesday we had unbelievable November weather in Seattle. As luck had it, I was down in the MOHI basement with my nose in an old scrapbook. When I surfaced at 3, I took this picture of the museum clock. The fall trees around Lake Washington were still beautiful. But the very next morning in Snoqualmie (after a white-knuckle freeway drive) it looked like this:

Really, I'm not complaining, except I had a riding lesson scheduled. Bad timing. Look at the snow just up the hill on Mt. Si-- winter arrived in the mountains. Down along the river, cold rain was whipping through the valley and the lucky horses who didn't have to work were lounging in their stalls eating hay. My intrepid friend Dolly and I had the place to ourselves, and the weather was so miserable the griping was almost enjoyable.

"Karma"

It would be bad karma to say something bad about a horse named Karma! Here she is with a mouthful of hay after our ride. Karma is a gaited Rocky Mountain breed with a sweet disposition and fun to ride, especially out on the trail. There won't be any trail riding for a while up there, and even Seattle may get a hit of snow tomorrow. You know what that means around here. Good weather to stay home and finish a red jumper.

No blog this morning

Busy...

A new old hobby

If you were a high school girl in the 1960's, you may have learned to sew in Home Economics class. The boys went to Shop where they tinkered with cars and made stuff-- the classes were segregated and not elective. Back in the HomeEc kitchen, we baked muffins that sent sweet smells down the hall before lunch. It was an old-fashioned kind of boy teasing, which high school girls have always been good at. I remember our teacher Mrs. White, and how we would sit in a circle while she gave interesting adult advice on how to be good wives and mothers. Everything from putting on lipstick before your husband came home, to sweeping the kitchen floor each day.

The Beatles were hot and hippies just coming on the scene, so I was more preoccupied with being a fashion rebel at our small town school. It wasn't hard to be different in those sweater and pleated skirt days. The daring girls sewed cheap bell-bottom pants, made granny skirts and mini-dresses, pushing the school dress code to the limit. Sewing was great, since most of us couldn't afford to shop at department stores in Colorado Springs.Back then you could buy cotton fabric for about 25 cents a yard and make lots of flimsy clothes for a few dollars.

To make a long story short, I thought it would be fun to make a Christmas dress for Nova. For years I haven't done anything more than sew on a button, so my sewing supplies were down to a few dusty spools of thread and some rusty pins. But surely my teenage dressmaking skills would "come back?" First I spent an hour and $45 at the fabric store buying notions, material and a pattern. Stopping at Target on the way home, I saw they had adorable toddler dresses for about $10. (Yes, times have changed.) At home, I spent another hour puzzling over and cutting out the simplest of jumper patterns. Then the sewing machine arrived by FedEx. The big question is, will Nova get her red fleece dress before she outgrows it?

Symphony Sundays

Benaroya Hall

We had tickets to Seattle Symphony concerts three weekends in a row. Going downtown on Sunday afternoon with the Seahawk fans almost feels like a new routine. But now there's a cultural drought until our subscription series picks up again in February. That seems like a long time from now-- by then a whiff of spring will be in the air and the gardener will be back at work.

Yesterday afternoon the nice couple who sit next to us at the symphony said they had gone to the ballet the night before and were headed to the Rep theater that evening for a play. Which made me feel like a lightweight, happy to come home at five, eat fried rice with leftover pork and watch Inspector Morse on DVD.

We're finishing up the 33 episode Inspector Morse series we've been slowly working through for a couple of years. Morse is the fictional character in the series of detective novels by British author Colin Dexter. Morse owns a Jaguar, likes English beer, art, classics, crossword puzzles and music-- especially Wagner and opera. He's a brilliant and likable character, despite being sullen and patronizing most of the time. The television series is beautifully filmed on location near Oxford.

Anyway, the final episodes are poignant because the fine actor John Thaw (1942-2001) who played Morse so well died shortly after the series ended. The mysteries are complicated, but when you get lost in the story it's an enjoyable escape to watch the evolution of technology and fashion through the 1990's.

John Thaw as Inspector Morse and his Jaguar Mark II

Wild weather

We watched a dramatic sunset last night. The setting sun lit up the colorful trees against incoming black storm clouds. It made irresistible (almost Biblical) lighting for photography.

I ran outside with my camera, although there isn't much to photograph except other people's houses. I did get this shot of our neighbor's tree against the black sky. And there's no Photoshop trickery going on here.

We were happy to be sitting down to our turkey chili about the time the sleet and hail started, causing misery for thousands of rush-hour freeway commuters.

The fall foliage has been especially beautiful this year, but now the wind will put an quick end to that. There's heavy snow forecast for the mountains this weekend-- just rain for us. The mulching is finally done for the winter, and the weary gardener gets a few months off.

Woolworth of yore

Last night I was thumbing through the December issue of Martha Stewart's magazine and got tired looking at her complicated projects for "simple" decorations and cookies. Simple for her, maybe-- that woman is a juggernaut!

Anyway, I ran across an article about the National Christmas Museum near Philadelphia. It looks like a folksy sort of place, and one of their exhibits is a replica of a Woolworth's store from the 1950's. The exhibit is curated by a collector named Jim Morrison, who spent a decade scouring flea markets and garage sales for vintage merchandise in the original packaging.

The first Woolworth store opened in 1879 in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, not far from where I was born. When I was about four, I remember going to the "Five and Dime" in Quakertown with my brother and sister, each of us clutching our five-cent allowance. Yes, you really could buy a nice little made-in-Japan toy for a nickel. But if you could defer gratification for a couple of weeks, you could have something even better. I'm grateful to my parents and Woolworth's, because this is the way we learned how money works.

Here are some pictures from the National Christmas Museum exhibit:

The glittering front door beckons...

To four-year-old eyes, it was Alladin's treasure cave...

An overwhelming variety of gifts and toys...

Seattle Woolworth building

Fast forward to the future. Although Woolworth grew to become one of the largest retail chains of the 20th century, eventually they couldn't compete with stores like Walmart. The final decline began in the 1980's and the company went out of business in 1997. I remember the Woolworth in downtown Seattle and sitting at the lunch counter drinking coffee with shopping bags under my feet. Nothing can replace that particular atmosphere and smell of Woolworth's. The Woolworth clock is still over the front door, but now the building has been converted to a plain and messy Ross store.

Buck, the movie

"Your horse is a mirror to your soul, and

sometimes you may not like what you see."

Buck Brannaman

Well, that's a depressing quote when your horse "acts up." Could it be my soul? Troubled horse owners travel to Brannaman clinics all over the county and line up to pay $500 to have him point out their failings as trainers and human beings. But he does it with a Mark Twain type of intelligence and wit. He works hard for his money, too-- he has ranch in Wyoming but he's out on the road most of the year.

The documentary called Buck won the Audience Award at Sundance this year, and it's just been released on DVD. Buck Brannaman was the inspiration behind Robert Redford's 1998 Horse Whisperer movie. Buck is about horses, but it also tells the story of his abusive childhood and the foster parents who raised him. Buck said that if his foster parents had felt sorry for him and treated him as special, he would have become spoiled. He points out that a horse can become spoiled too. When his parents took him in, they provided direction and discipline along with caring and support - not with harsh force, but the kind that says, “Not that; do this instead.”

This is the essence of how he trains horses. Buck says, “That time in my life, from the first day on the Shirley’s ranch, made me understand the needs of horses that have been treated poorly and are scared or troubled. You can’t just fix things by showing them love while doing nothing with them. You have to give them some direction, a purpose, a job. They need something to do, a direction to take, a vision of the future so that the past eventually becomes irrelevant.”

Even if you're not interested in horses, this documentary is fun to watch and has something for everyone.