A devil of a storm

Happy Halloween, everyone. I hope the giant storm blew harmlessly over your head yesterday.  I hope you were not "impacted" by Mega-storm Sandy.  And if I had to pick the single word I dislike most in the English language, that word would be "impacted."  Sorry to sound crabby on Happy Halloween morning. We have a roof over our heads and a dry, warm bed.  We have good food and plenty of wine. But it is dark, it is wet, it is dismal in the Northwest.

The Pacific atmospheric river is aimed at us for the foreseeable future, with another inch or so of rain today in Seattle.  A piddling amount compared to Sandy, but enough to turn the freeways into gridlock and make a trip across town an epic journey. There was a 9-mile backup this morning on I-5.  I was planning a drive to the barn, but it's tempting to just stay home and raid the trick-or-treat candy bowl. 

Neptune's Horses

Walter Crane, 1892

Neptune's Horses, detail

Walter Crane (1845-1915) was a Victorian illustrator who designed some of the first colored picture books for children. His series of "Toy Books" were cheap and mass-produced like "Little Golden Books" are now, but with a high level of craftsmanship. Crane believed the child's early mind should be stimulated with color and symbolic imagery, and he made this interesting remark:   

Children, like the ancient Egyptians, appear to see most things in profile and like definite statements in design. They prefer well-defined forms and bright, frank color. They don't want to bother with three dimensions and can accept symbolic representations.

Crane developed fifty books in his "Toy" series, becoming the most popular books of the time and raising the standards for children's literature to follow.

Aesop's Fables (1887) is a good example.

"Beware of over-rating your own powers"

"The grapes of disappointment are always sour"

"Laziness is its own punishment"

"Beware how you entertain traitors"

"Greed is sometimes caught by its own bait" 

"You cannot hope to please all-- don't try."

Sandy

Richard Riemersc

Cloud Ghosts

"It takes a real storm in the average person's life to make him 

realize how much worrying he has done over the squalls."

Bruce Barton 

Otello on a rainy day

In our years of going to the opera, for some strange reason we've never seen Verdi's opera Otello, so I've been looking forward to the live Met broadcast at the movie theater.  At 9 am we headed down the freeway to Southcenter in the pouring rain, stopped at the mall Starbucks for coffee and then persuaded the young ticket-taker to allow us to bring our "outside drinks" in the theater.  She gave us a break this time, but said in the future to "put them under our coats."

Duly noted. Of course she didn't know about the sandwiches I'd packed for intermission in my oversize purse. (Old people can be wily.)

The production starred the very large, very bronzed Johan Botha and pretty Renee Flemming. She first sang the role of Desdemona at her Met debut 17 years ago. She's a youthful 53 years old, but a snide reviewer suggested this might be the "last opportunity" to hear her as Desdemona.  Young, talented things are waiting in the wings, and such is the world of high definition, cruel closeup recorded opera. The fine nuances of acting and appearance are now as important as the voice.

This NY Post review says it all.

It was fun looking up campy Otello/Othello photos. Back in the old days, opera was a live performance, a radio program, a Hollywood movie or (best of all) a treasured set of scratchy LP records that few people could afford. We could spent entire afternoons listening to records and following along with the libretto. Imagination was enough.

John Vickers in the 1970's

Godfrey Tearle, 1949 in Strattford

An bizarre Otello performance in Calcutta, 1919

Paul Robeson as Otello, 1944

A lurid 1955 movie poster
and a scary orange crate label...

Sigh. This was the one to see!

Or John's favorite Otello from the 1950's,
Mario del Monaco

El Neutral

It has rained almost every day for the past two weeks now, with a splattering of hail thrown in to break up the boredom. Yes, that white stuff is fresh hail on fresh leaf mulch. There's a parade of storms aimed right at us, lined up in the Pacific from now until eternity. I read a weather blog that claimed some local people found the past months of relentless sunshine "depressing." Thank goodness, their bad mood will finally lift.

The La Nina and El Nino patterns are gone and this year is considered a "neutral" winter in the Northwest.  El Neutral does not necessarily mean quiet weather, and historical records show that the biggest windstorms, floods and snowstorms tend to happen in neutral years. Speaking of that, the TV news this morning is all about Hurricane Sandy and the possibility of a monster storm on the East coast.  

I decided I'm finished leaf mulching, mostly because I'm tired of trudging back and forth across the busy street with my cart.  I made enough trips to the maple tree to cover the beds with a light layer, which helps keep the weeds down over the winter.  And the worms love it.

It was amazing to see how fast everything greened up and started growing when the rain came back.  Unlike many parts of the country, winters here are green, green, green.  I still have plenty of outdoor work to do, but feeling kind of smug because I did the major clean-up while the warm sun was shining in late September.

 
The moral of the fable  is: it is best to prepare for the day of necessity.  Our thoughts are with you on the East coast.

Long nights and winter food

"Spaghetti" squash tastes nothing like pasta...

But with red sauce and plenty of cheese, it's good.

Ham slice and scalloped potatoes stick to your ribs.

A jar can never replace homemade curry...

But Patak's with chicken is nice on a chilly night.

And there's always a classic roast chicken.

Turkey breast and squash from the Twisp Farmer's Market makes a great Sunday dinner.  John says: lot's of brown sugar and butter, please.

Eggplant braised with oven dried tomatoes and peppers for a weeknight.

All-you-can-eat shrimp and rice. (I accidentally defrosted too many, but it didn't seem to be a problem.)

And someone we know likes a sopapilla with a dab of whipped cream.

Or a slice of apple pie for dessert?
OK. I'm headed off to exercise class now.

Two fine poems

"In Heaven It Is Always Autumn"

John Donne

In heaven it is always autumn. The leaves are always near

to falling there but never fall, and pairs of souls out walking

heaven's paths no longer feel the weight of years upon them.

Safe in heaven's calm, they take each other's arm,

the light shining through them, all joy and terror gone.

But we are far from heaven here, in a garden ragged and unkept

as Eden would be with the walls knocked down, the paths littered

with the unswept leaves of many years, bright keepsakes

for children of the Fall. The light is gold, the sun pulling

the long shadow soul out of each thing, disclosing an outcome.

The last roses of the year nod their frail heads,

like listeners listening to all that's said, to ask,

What brought us here? What seed? What rain? What light?
What forced us upward through dark earth? What made us bloom?
What wind shall take us soon, sweeping the garden bare?

by, Elizabeth Spires

You can click HERE to read the complete poem, with thanks to The Writer's Almanac. The title and inspiration came from another great poem, written in 1624 by the metaphysical poet John Donne. 

In heaven it is always autumn;
His mercies are ever in their maturity:
We ask our daily bread,
And God never says:
You should have come yesterday,
He never says,
You must ask again tomorrow:
But today, if you will hear His voice,
Today he he will hear you.
He brought light out of darkness,
Not out of a lesser light:
He can bring thy summer out of winter,
Tho' though have no spring.
Though in the ways of fortune or understanding or conscience
Thou have been benighted til now,
Wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed
Damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied til now:
Now God comes to thee,
Not as in the dawning of the day,
Not as in the bud of the spring
But as the sun at noon,
As the sheaves in harvest.

John Donne

Telegraph Avenue

I've started reading Michael Chabon's novel "Telegraph Avenue."  He's a popular writer and his new books are always anticipated, but I find his dense style and complicated plots a very slow go. I bought this one only because it takes place in Berkeley. The book setting is a vinyl record store in the 1990's, but the story reminds me of the mid-70's when I lived in a bungalow behind a grocery store parking lot on Telegraph Avenue.

Back then, the side streets off Telegraph were lined with wood-shingled firetraps (the one next to us burnt dramatically to the ground one night while we sat on the curb.) Ours was more like a outbuilding tucked away on an overgrown lot behind another house. Most of these houses were shared by group families, hippies and students. The rent became progressively more expensive as you moved up the city blocks to the east hills away from the University.  But even the semi-employed could afford to share a cottage down where the action was on The Ave. We didn't know what having money was like, and so had a pretty good time without it.

If it hasn't burned down, the bungalow would look something like this one from an Oakland real estate page, worth a half million now.

A few steps from the house and you were instantly adrift in the 24-hour circus of Telegraph Avenue. Some of the old 1960's Berkeley protest landmarks are still there, mostly as tourist attractions, and young people can read the Yelp reviews.

A few years ago, on a drive back to the Oakland Airport from Napa, I made John take a detour through Berkeley.  And once was enough to see my old stomping ground. Things looked the same, but different.  Was it always so rough and dirty? Were the people always so-- well, weird? Did Berkeley change that much, or did I?

I Goggled "telegraph avenue vintage images" to find these pictures of the places I remember. If that doesn't make a person feel old, nothing will. I had my first cappuccino at the Mediterraneum, when espresso was a special thing.

The coffee house was ground zero of Berkeley radicalism in the 60's, but it already felt past its prime by 1975.  A famous scene from The Graduate was filmed there. 

Shakespeare and Co was the place to loiter and read for free, because most of us couldn't afford books.


We went to Top Dog late at night to eat grilled hot dogs after doing things I can't write about on the blog.  It's still there, exactly the same but with a TripAdvisor review.

And People's Park was just that-- a well-trodden place for anyone to hang out on the grubby grass.

To make a long story short, I'm not sure I'll make it through the new Chabon novel, but it was worth the price for a little trip down memory lane.

Parting shots

"A parent's love is whole no matter how many times divided."

 ~Robert Brault

No place like...

We said goodbye to Amanda, Tom and our precious little girls this morning. It was amazing watching Maya change so much in just a week.  By today, she was already alert and awake for long periods of time and looking at things around her. She has a charming way of being expressive and undemanding at the same time.  She looks at you with a sweet contented smile. (No, it is not gas.)  And she makes that perfect baby eye contact that steals your heart. 

The Twisp River Suites is pretty fancy digs, but our humble home sure feels good tonight.  I took some pasta sauce out of the freezer and John is happy. The garden got a good watering, the bird feeder is empty and there are chores.  A week is a long time to leave this city house to itself, and we're always relived to see everything is fine.

Washington Pass- Elevation 5,476

We left the Methow Valley on a sunny morning, but within an hour it was deep winter in the North Cascades.  A foot of snow is expected tonight, so I'm glad we got home before Washington Pass is truly white knuckle driving.  Even in those conditions, drivers still speed, tail gate and pass rudely.  You'd think we could take better care of each other in the wilderness.