Time flies

Maya, at 8 months

Nova, at 8 months

Here's a poem for Amanda this morning.

Happiness

This was when my daughters were just children
playing on the rocky shore of the lake,

their hair in braids, their bright-colored jackets
tied around their waists. It was afternoon,

the shadows falling away, their faces
glowing with light. Whatever we said then

(and it must have been happy; it must have
been hopeful) is lost as I am now lost

from that life I lived. This was when nothing
that I wanted mattered, though all I wanted

was happiness, pure happiness, simple
as strawberries and cream in a saucer,

as curtains floating from a window sill,
as small pairs of shoes arranged in a row. 

by Joyce Sutphen

Museum of History and Industry

MOHAI Sophie Fry Bass Library

I still work at the MOHAI library one afternoon a week. The library collection and staff moved to Georgetown last year, and I've only been to the new museum once since it opened in January. They did a great job on the new museum and we should go more often, but the South Lake Union area has endless construction and parking is hard.

On the other hand, the new MOHAI Resource Center is just a 10 minute drive and my work there is exactly the same. I do most of the research at home on my laptop, anyway.  The ancient volunteer's computer at the library is usually busy, plus I'm attached to the exasperating Microsoft technology I learned in the 1990's.

The first two years at MOHAI I worked on collections dating from the 1962 Seattle World's Fair. I lost count of just how many, but we wrote at least 15 new finding aids.  The photos, clippings, souvenirs, etc. had been tucked away at the museum since 1963, and other things trickled in over the years when someone cleaned out Auntie's closet and decided to donate her scrapbooks.

Anyway, this was part of MOHAI's preparation for the 50th anniversary of the World's Fair in 2012, and the research requests the library anticipated.  It was fun to be a small part of it and the anniversary was a big deal in Seattle.  After all that work it was gratifying to see random bits and pieces of those finding aids showing up in magazines and newspaper articles.

Since then, I'm on to more diverse subjects.  Other volunteers come and go, but I love each new project the librarian gives me.  It's detailed work, and I like taking my time to get it right. After all, those finding aids will still be "out there" long after I'm gone.  The best part of the research is I learn all sorts esoteric things about NW history. Here's a few examples that give an idea of the variety of collections in MOHAI's archive. 

This glamorous lady was Boeing's first female engineer.  Bessie Hall Dempsey started out as a dancer and vaudeville performer.

Model Donna Rydberg epitomized high fashion in the 1960's, and John Easton was milliner to Seattle's society set.

The elegant sloop Sir Tom was built in Seattle by the Blanchard Boat Company, and it was once the fastest racing sailboat on the west coast.  Handcrafted Blanchard boats are still prized in the Northwest.

In 1928, crews laid a telephone cable between Alki and Bainbridge Island.  In 1 hour 36 minutes, the crew laid 16,010 feet of cable. Since the surveyed distance between the two points is approximately 16,000 feet, this indicated a nearly perfect submarine cable lay.

My last project was a collection of photos and records from the historic Malmo Plant Nursery. Yesterday, I started on a collection of photographs from the once famous (but now defunct) Rhodes Department store in downtown Seattle.  And so on...

Here's links to some of my finding aids published on Northwest Digital Archives:

The Guide to the Mark Dempsey Collection on Bessie Hall Dempsey

The Guide to the Donna Rydberg Fashion Modeling Album

The Guide to the Norman C. Blanchard Family Photographs

The Guide to the William R. Bainbridge Collection on Submarine Cable Laying

Wet

Here's the dripping view from our bedroom window this morning...

"What do you call three straight days of rain in Seattle?" 

Answer: "A holiday weekend."

2013 was the 9th time in the past 12 years that it rained at some point during Memorial Day weekend.  With each wet day the garden gets wilder and my outside work piles up, but that's nothing compared to what's going to happen when the sun finally comes out and growth goes into overtime. 

A new thicket of bamboo sprung up in the middle of the lawn while we were away. Some of the culms were almost 4 inches wide, and I could barely get the lopper around them.  If this keeps up, I'll have to start using the "bamboo saw" John gave me for Christmas.  Our neighbor, who picks up the mail for us, had a wary look in her eye when she asked me what on earth that was on the lawn.  I don't blame her.  Bamboo has a mind of its own this time of year that makes it seem more like a wild animal than a plant. 

John managed to get a mow in yesterday afternoon between showers, but he wasn't happy after pushing the mower through thick, wet grass. By the middle of next week, there's some hope we'll be back into the 70's. In the meantime, the NW radar map says it all.

Methow Valley Rodeos-- past and present

John and Nova, May 2010

John and Maya, May 2013

I'm a little teapot, short and stout...

John and I walked Nova to her dance class this morning.  Here she is with her two best friends doing the "teapot" song and dance.  

And the future ballerinas, giving their teacher full attention (sort of.)

Maya didn't miss one thing the big girls were doing.

Then some hanging out together after the Saturday market in Twisp.  The plan is to go to the outdoor rodeo tomorrow with a group of friends, that is if the weather cooperates. The dark clouds have been piling up this afternoon.

Over in Appleland

We had the car loaded and were out of the house by 8 this morning. You probably heard about the bridge collapse on Interstate 5 last night-- we took the Snoqualmie/Blewett Pass route and no problems with traffic. Coffee at McDonalds in Cle Elm, and then a sandwich outside of Wenatchee at the CiderWorks, where they are famous for their fried cider donuts.  Yes, we bought a bag full.

Weather here is pretty much what we left behind in Seattle-- cool and damp.  But the best part of the day was pulling up to the house and seeing our family waiting.

 Amanda made a fabulous home-made pizza dinner.  More fun tomorrow...

Music lessons

I've taught myself seven chords so far, and the tips of my left fingers are starting to go from sore to numb.  That's good, and now I have some simpleton song books for practicing.

John keeps bringing up the subject of ukulele lessons. As he says, with regular instruction, you'll get a weekly lesson plan, and if you don't practice you will look and feel bad in front of your teacher. 

I agree that shame and humiliation can be powerful motivators, although I don't know if they should be the driving force in learning to play a little recreational instrument. (At least not at my age.) 

But he has a point. I'm probably learning bad habits that will have to be broken later-- that's always harder than learning something right the first time. The challenge will be finding the right instructor close to home. Enter the Seattle Ukulele Players Association. Their website gives teacher referrals, and has tantalizing hints about the ukulele culture and lists events here in Seattle.

For example, there are some older gentlemen ukulele virtuosos who lead monthly play-along circles at the neighborhood senior centers. Many go by the title of "Uncle."  You get the picture. That might be a non-threatening place to put out some feelers for lessons. I will go and speak to "Uncle."

The other teachers on the referral list are friendly, smart looking young fellows-- and from their credentials, obviously real musicians with university degrees.  The poor guys have to support themselves by giving beginner ukulele lessons during the day.  I'd feel bad inflicting myself on someone like that.

Screen overload

Storm Clouds, by Eric Sloane

After watching the TV news yesterday morning, I just didn't feel like staring at another screen, so the laptop stayed off for a change. Writer's block set in and even more coffee didn't help. My head felt like stuffed cotton all day.

So off I went to the gym, where I tried not to look at the bank of TV's above the treadmills showing the same images again in Oklahoma.  The endless pictures of destruction and awful loss of life-- but, it was the thought of 100 horses vanishing into thin air that brought home the astonishing power of this tornado.  Debris from the poor wrecked Orr Horse Farm was found 80 miles away, and the beautiful, powerful animals simply gone, carried off like feathers in the wind.

Now that's a storm. On this quiet, wet morning in Seattle, the teacups and knickknacks are still on the shelf, the car is at the curb, the horses are eating breakfast out at the barn.  But it was another rude reminder of our fragile little existence on Planet Earth.

We're looking forward to spending the holiday weekend on the other side of the mountains, where (hopefully) the sun will be shining.

Sunday Tea Time, by Stephen Darbishire

Less is more

This week the sun burned off the morning clouds, but not until 2 or 3 in the afternoon.  It isn't especially sunny, cold, warm or wet.  Spring weather can be kind of dull around here, but it sure beats living in Tornado Alley.

Seattle isn't an "up-and-at-em" city on the weekends and people get going late, especially on cloudy days. So when we go on an outing or have errands, we leave early and are back at home relaxing about the time most people have finished brunch and the afternoon traffic starts to heat up. You wouldn't believe how much John can get done between 9 and 10 am on Saturday, and you probably wouldn't want to be along for the ride!

About once a year we drive across town to the Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park, and walk through the beautiful Conservatory while we're there.  Each time I pass through Capitol Hill I hardly recognize it. What was once a little accessible neighborhood is now so congested and built-up, with no end in sight. In three decades, you see a lot of changes in a city.

But the Asian Art Museum stays pretty much the same: uncrowded, dim, quiet galleries filled with subtle old treasures.  There's nothing flashy about it, although yesterday the Ikebana International Association had an exhibit going on downstairs.  

Ikebana is the Japanese art of flower arranging.  Like so many other things in Japanese culture, it is simple and complex at the same time.  A craft, and a philosophy.

Some of the creations were elaborate...

And others simply elegant.

By getting down to the essentials with natural materials, less is more.  There are many different schools of Ikebana, but all the arrangements are designed to bring together elements of heaven, earth and man.

I love the asymmetry and sense of motion captured here with a few perfect peonies.

Last but not least, seasonal plant art of a different kind at the Conservatory. Spring blooming cactus and a perfect spray of white orchids.  And with that pretty sight it was time to head back home.

Beginning again?

The Broken Vase 

Harry Watrous

The Land of Beginning Again

I wish that there were some wonderful place
In the Land of Beginning Again.
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches
And all of our poor selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
and never put on again.

I wish we could come on it all unaware,
Like the hunter who finds a lost trail;
And I wish that the one whom our blindness had done
The greatest injustice of all
Could be there at the gates
like an old friend that waits
For the comrade he's gladdest to hail.

We would find all the things we intended to do
But forgot, and remembered too late,
Little praises unspoken, little promises broken,
And all the thousand and one
Little duties neglected that might have perfected
The day for one less fortunate.

It wouldn't be possible not to be kind
In the Land of Beginning Again,
And the ones we misjudged
and the ones whom we grudged
their moments of victory here,
Would find in the grasp of our loving hand-clasp
More than penitent lips could explain...

So I wish that there were some wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again,
Where all our mistakes and all our heartaches,
And all of our poor selfish grief
Could be dropped like a shabby old coat at the door
And never put on again.

by Louisa Fletcher

You say tomato...

I planted our tomatoes in April, and they're looking good already.  Back in Ohio, that probably sounds early, but here in the banana belt they thrive on the south wall of the house.  In pots, they need water almost every day, plus fertilizer, which turns into a fairly labor-intensive operation. 

You might wonder why a decent gardener doesn't plant her vegetables in the ground? Well, there isn't any sunny bed space left in this yard-- every inch is hogged up with overgrown perennials and assorted invasive species.

Each spring I always buy two tomato starts:  a Roma and a Cherry. One for her, one for him. We get a nice little crop by September, unless the summer is truly dismal.  I could eat a hundred ripe cherry tomatoes a day while I'm fiddling around outside, but John can somehow walk by a plant without cramming one in his mouth. 

He's suspicious of any tomato that isn't round and red. On impulse I bought a third start this year because of the wonderful name, Indigo Rose.  If it ripens, it will look something like an eggplant or potato.  Heirloom tomatoes are the big thing now, but weird shape and color alone doesn't always make them worth the inflated price. I've bought some that were kind of mealy and tasteless.  So the jury is out on Indigo.

The kiddos

Here's a few cute pictures of our girls, sent from Amanda-

Maya

Nova

A sweet moment...

Rough winds

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May...

William Shakespeare

Interesting weather in Seattle this week.  On Monday, a pretty strong storm (for us) knocked out power around town and drenched the ground. After a mini heat wave?  There's nothing plants like better.

The other morning I peered out at the lawn without my glasses, and it looked like a couple of large brown birds were sitting there, doing nothing. No, it turned out to be the tops of immense bamboo runners that had sprouted up overnight like mushrooms, 20 feet out into the yard.

Our bamboo "thicket" is always a lot of work in the spring, but it never did that before.   If it decides to travel across the alley and invade the neighbor's lawns, we'll have to move to Arizona from embarrassment. Only a bulldozer could dig it out now. People around here are scared of invasive bamboo, I suppose for good reason. 

But gardening fools rush in...

Everything seems especially lush and beautiful, maybe because the last few springs have been late and cold. 

The purple alliums at at their peak this week...

The big iris just starting to bloom.  And what could be prettier than hosta leaves, when they explode out of the ground like this?

Chinese black rice

Exotic black rice was once served only to Chinese emperors and forbidden to their subjects.  It comes from the northern Chinese province of Zhejiang.

Amanda gave us this bag, and I forgot about it until I ran across a recipe for black rice salad in Fine Cooking magazine. They described it as an "incredibly nutritious rice, high in fiber, antioxidants, iron, vitamins and minerals."  The deep black purple color comes from the bran layer, and of course it isn't milled like white rice.

Honestly, it looked about as appetizing as a pot of charcoal, but I thought of other black foods that are "good for you."  The cooking water turns completely black and the rice absorbs it relatively quickly. After 30 minutes the grains are firm, but not hard. The flavor is slightly sweet with "notes of chocolate" (as the magazine put it.) In fact, delicious and perfect for a special salad.

I sautéed a hot little Serrano pepper with a few vegetables, and then followed the magazine recipe for fat-free dressing:  lime juice, rice vinegar, a touch of fish sauce. Some chopped fresh mint from the garden.

And it was wonderful last night with a chicken cutlet.  Thanks, Amanda!