The soup month

Beef Barley

Everybody Made Soups
Poem by Lisa Coffman


After it all, the events of the holidays,
the dinner tables passing like great ships,
everybody made soups for a while.
Cooked and cooked until the broth kept
the story of the onion, the weeping meat.
It was over, the year was spent, the new one
had yet to make its demands on us,
each day lay in the dark like a folded letter.
Then out of it all we made one final thing
out of the bounty that had not always filled us,
out of the ruined cathedral carcass of the turkey,
the limp celery chopped back into plenty,
the fish head, the spine. Out of the rejected,
the passed over, never the object of love.
It was as if all the pageantry had been for this:
the quiet after, the simmered light,
the soothing shapes our mouths made as we tasted.

Blue sky skiers

Is that Maya under there?  :-)

Mozart's birthday

Unfinished portrait by Joseph Lange, Mozart's brother-in-law

Wolfgang Mozart was born on this day in 1756.  He died in poverty at the age of 35, but he had already written more than 600 pieces of music.  Only 14 images were made of Mozart during his lifetime.

The young Mozart, by Pietro Antonio Lorenzoni. 

A miniature of the 17-year-old Mozart. 

“But he often gave the impression of being not entirely present, as if his mind were caught up in an invisible event. Portraits suggest a man aware of his separation from the world. In one, he wears a hard, distant look; in another, his face glows with sadness. In several pictures, his left eye droops a little, perhaps from fatigue. ‘As touchy as gunpowder,’ one friend called him. Nonetheless, he was generally well liked.”
Alex Ross, The Storm of Style

A family portrait with Mozart in the center, his sister Maria Anna, a painting on the wall of their mother, Anna Maria, who died in 1778, and his father Leopold. It was made by Johann Nepomuk della Croce in 1780 or 1781.

An engraving of Leopold on the violin, Mozart seated, and Maria Anna singing, by Jean-Baptiste Delafosse.  The Italian baritone Luigi Bassi gave a brief description of Mozart: ‘Mr. Mozart was an extremely eccentric and absent-minded young man, but not without a certain spirit of pride. He was very popular with the ladies, in spite of his small size; but he had a most unusual face, and he could cast a spell on any woman with his eyes." From the Cambridge Mozart Encyclopedia

A painting by Giuseppe Cignaroli

Ah, Bertha

A concrete-filled sinkhole near the underground Bertha cutter head

I haven't mentioned Bertha lately, so you might have assumed she was drilling merrily away underneath Pioneer Square by now.  Unfortunately, the saga of delay continues. A few days after being restarted in early January, a large sinkhole unexpectedly opened in her wake.  The proximity of this collapse to the base of the teetering Alaska Way Viaduct was of "great concern" (to put it mildly.) The sinkhole was desperately filled with 250 cubic yards of concrete.  To give you an idea, a concrete truck holds about 8 cubic yards.  It was a BIG hole.

Of course there's been finger-pointing and controversy as to why this happened.  In the meantime, Governor Jay Inslee issued an order to suspend the drilling until the cause can be determined.  This will require the analysis of a group of independent, state-chosen construction experts and their written recommendations on how to proceed.  Now the tunnel contractors are challenging the governor's order, claiming that delaying the project increases the risk of more sinkholes opening.  What all this will cost in terms of time and money has not been determined. 
  

Eight seconds

Microsoft did a survey of media consumption and concluded the average attention span has fallen to eight seconds, which is down from twelve in the year 2000.    Attention span is defined as the amount of concentrated attention we can spend on a task without becoming distracted.  Satya Nadella, the CEO of Microsoft, commented that "the true scarce commodity of the near future will be human attention." 

We carry the world around in the palm of our hand, thanks to companies like Microsoft and their distracting products. The unfiltered trash and relevant information flows in 24/7.  On Saturday, as I was puttering around the house, I caught myself constantly "checking" the news headlines on my iphone.  Why?  The blizzard just kept on doing what blizzards do.  Snow.

Anyway, thank goodness for old-fashioned things like operas, gardening, reading and classic movies that still challenge our dwindling attention spans. Television programs are all hyper-paced and the camera never holds a scene for long, even on programs like Masterpiece Theater. 

The original movie "Far From the Madding Crowd" starring Julie Christie came out in 1967 and is 168 minutes long.  It's one of my favorites and John gave me the new Blu-Ray version for Christmas which was very nice.

The "Madding Crowd" movie from last year starring Carey Mulligan was OK, but they changed and condensed the story. The original movie follows the Thomas Hardy novel almost exactly. It unfolds slowly at a 19th century rural pace, with long stretches of dialog and sweeping scenes of the English countryside.  It would bore teenagers to tears now, but we thought it was completely thrilling at the time. 

Now, as for gardening and dwindling attention spans-- stick a bulb in the ground, wait eight seconds and see what happens. Ha.

But how about this?  I was walking around the block yesterday in the weak sunshine and saw the first crocus blooming.  Tiny "useless" bulbs that someone thought to plant many long months ago, just to remind us that Spring is coming.

Dark mornings

"Forsythia is pure joy. 

There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness 

or even knowledge in forsythia. 

Pure, undiluted, untouched joy."

Anne Lindbergh

Yes, it is dark and rainy in Seattle, but I feel lucky looking at a vase of blooming forsythia this morning instead of waiting for an "epic blizzard" to strike.  Forsythia is a cheerful sight. They only take a week or so to force open when you bring the branches inside the warm house.  A little trick I learned when I worked as a florist back in another lifetime.

Speaking of January, the longest month of the year, can you believe it's almost over already? Hooray.  If it wasn't cloudy all the time, we would notice a bit more light. 

I like working outside this time of year.  It's very quiet, the birds are busy and I see the structure of the garden through the soggy mess. Blubs are poking up in the rotted leaf mulch, and all the shrubs have buds. Everything starts growing so early here, this is a perfect time to fertilize the roses, transplant, etc.

I cleaned out the shed this week and gathered up the assortment of moldy pots, rusty trellises, crumbling garden "ornaments" and other stuff I seen to accumulate outside.  A couple of years ago, the 1-800-JUNK company left a flier on the porch offering their clean-up services, which was kind of embarrassing.  There is a fine line between rustic and trash. 

Well, one more Sunday of football and it's all over.   Except for the Super Bowl, of course.  Then what will be do with ourselves?  Have a good weekend, and if you are in the path of the storm, stay safe.

Rogue wave

This is a impressive wave that hit shore near Grey's Harbor this week.  Not a good day for a winter stroll along the beach.  Rogue waves are part of marine folklore, but they haven't been studied much.  In fact, rogue waves have only recently been accepted as a real phenomenon.

Rogue waves are so dangerous because they are rare, unpredictable, and can hit shore with tremendous force.  In open water, rogue waves can be the height of a 10-story building and suddenly appear during perfectly clear weather. The vertical wall of water is followed by a trough so deep mariners call it a "hole in the sea." 

Scary thought of the day

Inauguration Day is exactly one year from today.  While Feathers and Flowers usually gives current news and politics a wide berth, this circus is hard to resist.

The campaign trail brings to mind that famous line from Yeat's poem, The Second Coming:

 "The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity."

Anyway, the country has somehow endured through 222 years of good, bad and ugly presidents.  But for those of us who have been around the political block a few times, the 2016 election season is beyond bizarre. It's going to be an interesting year, to say the least. 

Some tidbits about Inauguration Day from the Writer's Almanac:

The first inauguration, of George Washington, was held in New York City in 1789. It took Washington seven days to travel from Virginia to New York. The morning he left, he wrote in his journal: "About 10 o'clock I bade adieu to Mount Vernon, to private life, and to domestic felicity, and with a mind oppressed with more anxious and painful sensations than I have words to express."

The longest inaugural address was delivered by William Henry Harrison: 8,445 words. Harrison's speech took two hours, and he delivered it without a coat or hat on a very cold and wet day. When he died of pneumonia a month later, many blamed it on his long inaugural address.

Lincoln's second inauguration, in 1865, started out badly. Vice president Andrew Johnson woke up that morning hung over and ill with typhoid fever. He drank three tumblers of whiskey in quick succession and gave an incomprehensible, drunken speech that finally ended when the outgoing vice president forcibly tugged on Johnson's coattails.

Lincoln was horrified, as were his fellow politicians. Happily for Lincoln, the remainder of the inauguration was a success. The Union was winning the Civil War, and people celebrated in the streets while Lincoln was sworn in. Tens of thousands crowded onto the Capitol lawn to hear his speech, and the moment he began speaking, the sun burst through the clouds for the first time all day. The whole speech took just six or seven minutes, and is considered one of his finest.

It ended: "With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan - to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations."

I wasn't kidding

About the amount of snow in the Methow Valley this year.  Just look at Nova on that swing.  Yesterday was a school holiday, and Amanda walked the kids over to the city park where she took these pictures.

Roger was pressed into service as a sled dog, but he looks pretty happy about it.  Roger loves doing any "job" for his girls.

On our warm, wet side of the mountains, yesterday was beautiful and springlike. It was a balmy 50 degrees, and everything is very green. Bulbs are starting to come up.  While winter is just getting started in other parts of the country, I pruned roses and watched Colin working on the trees.

It was a pleasurable way to spend the day. Colin took about a third off the top of the plum, but left enough old wood so we should get fruit this year, depending on pollination of course. He declared it "old but healthy."  Exactly what I would like to hear next time I visit the doctor.

He suggested the Leyland Cypress tree for a fast privacy screen along the new alley fence.  It won't spread or become invasive like bamboo, and it's one of the fastest growing trees, around 3 feet a year. It might be just the thing for blocking the view of multi-story condos springing up around us. 

When left to its own devices, the Leyland Cypress becomes an attractive and hardy evergreen.  In a few decades when we're long gone, they would be 60 or so feet tall.  Our living legacy to the Urban Village.

Some people "hedge" them like laurel, which is also a tree.  And you know all about laurel-- more expensive yard work. Was Colin thinking about his job security?

Before long you are doing this...

  Or this!

And if you get carried away from watching Lady Mary on Downton Abbey boss her gardeners around, this could happen.

Fun on the Loup-Loup

Ski Bunnies

The Methow Valley is a mecca for cross-country skiing, but there's also a small downhill ski area tucked away at the top of the Loup-Loup Pass on Highway 20.  The Loup-Loup Ski Bowl is only about 15 miles from Twisp, and the local families love it.

What a difference a year makes!  2015 was a dismal winter for outdoor sports in Washington, with warm temperatures and low snow.  This year, it's been a bonanza for all the resorts.

I wanted to share these fun pictures from Amanda of Maya and Nova skiing at the Loup this weekend with their friends.   

Nova

Maya

"She ain't heavy, she's my sister..."

World Dog Awards

Congratulations to Miss Amy Trotter and Lori!  Last night they won the "Most Dog-Like Animal" award at the big World Dog Awards in Burbank.  I believe there's a video on Amy's Facebook page.

Amy has become a very sophisticated piggy.  Of course movie stars won't discuss their weight, but I have insider information that Little Amy has grown to a voluptuous 130 pounds.

Lori said everything went well on the long road trip to southern California, and Amy was happy riding in her crate and sleeping in motels at night. However, she found out that Amy does not like elevators.

But she loves mud. In rainy California, she managed to find a patch of wet dirt in the park and gave herself a quick root right before the ceremony.  Apparently her team of stylists had quite a last-minute challenge getting their starlet ready for the green carpet.

Große Mama

Our Mom as a child, enjoying "grandma time"

The last time I was in Colorado, I brought home a few more old photographs to scan and share with the young folks in the family. 

There are only a few precious pictures of Great-grandmother Klingler, our grandfather's mother.  Her name was Marie, and apparently she was of French descent, not German.

After my grandparents (Herman and Anna) emigrated to Pennsylvania in the early 1920's, she joined them there as a widow, and lived with the family for the rest of her life.

Herman and Anna worked long hours at hard jobs, so she took care of our mom and her sister Ruth.  Mom (above) was especially close to her while growing up.  Grandma looks a bit severe in this picture, but she was very sweet.

My grandmother (standing on the right) was a small lady, around 5 feet tall.  So Great-grandma Marie was very petite, indeed. 

Here's Herman, Anna and Marie together. They loved the outdoors, and there are quite of few photos of camping, picnics and hikes.  

And that's me, sitting on her lap with my sister Marji behind.  I remember her fairly well, even though she died before I was five. But mostly I remember the many stories our mom told us about her.

We always called her Große Mama. "Große" (pronounced gro:sae) is an archaic high German word, an adjective that means "great."

Slowly and traumatically, she lost her vision late in life, and spent her final years at this home for blind women in Philadelphia.

I found some archival information about The Pennsylvania Industrial Home for Blind Women on the Internet. It provided housing and paid work for blind women, who performed handicrafts including basket weaving, chair caning, and lace-making.

At one time we still had some of the poignant crocheted potholders they taught her to make at the blind home. 

Here she is, being helped down the front steps. Perhaps my mother took this picture on a visit there.  I have a vague but vivid memory of us going to the home in Philadelphia. Needless to say, it was an intimidating place for little farm kids who rarely saw the big city.  But I have a nice memory of Große Mama fumbling an old suitcase from under her bed, and pulling out a small candy treat for us. 

Times change

The Denny regrade in progress, 1910

Seattle's early urban topography was radically altered by a series of 60 regrades. They didn't mess around in those days. A few stubborn landowners tried to hold out and were rewarded with some nice "view property."

At the time, these regrades were the largest alternation of any city terrain.  Seattle was (and still is) a hilly place, and the regrades consisted of cutting the tops off high places and dumping the dirt on the beach, creating the Seattle waterfront.  The Alaska Way viaduct lies on this old landfill, and Bertha is working her way through it underneath.

Millions of tons of dirt were unceremoniously dumped into Puget Sound (sorry, marine creatures) by ingenious tipping barges.  This also created Harbor Island, the largest man made island in the world.

If you have 20 minutes to spare, here's an entertaining old film from the Seattle Municipal Archives:



Anyway, all this history puts the piddling Bertha project in perspective. She was stopped again this week (surprise!) but through no fault of her own.  A barge tilted and a bit of evacuated "clean" dirt spilled into Puget Sound, causing a big environmental fuss and more delays.

Blah January

The Emergence of Spring

It's a dark and wet January morning, neither warm nor cold.  Out in the messy garden, things are starting to stir, believe it or not.  I cut a big vase of forsythia branches yesterday and brought them in to force open for that brilliant pop of yellow.

My Weird and Wacky Holiday Calendar is no help today. January 12th is the "Feast of Fabulous Wild Men Day," whatever that means. No one knows the root or the reason for this holiday. Maybe it's just a day for ladies to feast their eyes on some fabulous wild men?

Along those lines, I'm thinking of the two young men I have lined up to help me with some heavy work this month.  Colin, the most handsome arborist in Seattle, is coming to prune, in particular the plum tree.  Despite being tortured by aphids and us, hacking away at branches, that tree still gives its all. But for how much longer?  I hope some expert attention can revitalize it, but it has a scary-looking crack in the trunk.  We'll see what the Doctor Colin has to say.

My other new garden helper is Max, the friend I made during that unforgettable week of sewer line installation.  I might have mentioned Max on the blog. When he isn't digging muddy holes, he said he's an historian.  I believe him, and he seems to know much about many things, as young men tend to do.  Anyway, he offered to help me spread 3 yards of topsoil on the new bed so I can finally plant some grass and shrubs.  That is a big job, but nothing for a strapping guy who digs 8 foot trenches for a living.

Hey, life is finally looking up.  I feel like Lady Mary on Downton Abbey!

The voluntary tax

"A lottery is a taxation upon all the fools in creation; 

and heaven be praised, 

it is easily raised, 

for credulity's always in fashion."

Henry Fielding

The Powerball jackpot is now over a billion dollars, a pile of misery just waiting (so the experts say) for the winner.  Approximately 70 percent of big lottery winners lose the money within a few years and face financial ruin.  Along with that happy statistic, there's a constant pattern of family tensions, addictions, murder and suicide with big jackpot winners.

Sorry to be such a spoilsport. You probably don't have to worry about this depressing fate. They say the chances of winning are equal to getting struck by lightning while being eaten by a shark. Which does sound pretty unlucky.

It was a football weekend in this house, and just like the rest of America we sat for hours in front of the set.  Three games exceeds my limit by two, but it's that time of year. If you can't beat them, join them.

Oh, and speaking of blind luck, the buzz in Seattle this morning is "The Road to the Superbowl."  That road is rocky and steep. But there was lots of screaming in the streets last night. In Cincinnati and Minneapolis, some crying. I felt for the Vikings, I really did.  We've been there.

Here's some girlfriends who did something healthy and fun this weekend, far away from television.  That's Amanda, fourth from the left.  They cross-country skied for several miles, and then camped in these cozy primitive huts for two nights.  Their food and water was all hauled in ahead of time, what a sweet deal.  Amanda said they had a fabulous time.

Between them, they probably "orphaned" about a dozen kids for the weekend. Ha!  I'll bet there were some very tired dads when they got on home on Sunday.

The Green Fairy

 Picasso

"Absinthe"

No, I haven't had too much cold medicine. Actually, I'm feeling much better after lazing around the house, reading and wasting time on things like fairy websites.

I found these old illustrations for absinthe on The Fairy Room. This highly alcoholic drink is banned in most Western countries, but it was once romanticized by writers and artists who believed it was part of the creative process.  The drink is even credited with shaping the Age of Impressionism.  Picasso created many pieces "inspired" by the effects of absinthe. 

The idea that absinthe causes hallucinations is a myth, and the visions were probably the result of alcoholism brought on by drinking too much 70 proof booze.  Because of absinthe's use wormwood, associated with enchantment, the advertisements featured seductive green fairies temping the drinker into a bleary state of bliss.  These same advertisements were used later to ban the drink.

"A glass of absinthe is as poetical 

as anything in the world,

what difference is there 

between a glass of absinthe and a sunset?"

Oscar Wilde 

Oh well, Oscar is not remembered for his love of nature.  On seeing Niagara Falls for the first time, he also famously said: But what does it DO?

Have a good weekend, and stay away from bottles of green stuff.

Hammy brain

Oh, my head felt like a balloon this morning, and not from the heavy weight of my fine brain. I had barely enough mental power to make bean soup in the pressure cooker, so don't look for my usual literary brilliance on the blog this morning. Ha ha!

The germy kids are long gone and John's post-Christmas cold is over, so I don't have anyone in particular to blame for mine. Probably the handle of a dirty shopping cart or something.  I'm a little run down after the holidays.  Who isn't? 

The Christmas ham bone was in the freezer with lots of meat left on it, so that soup should be pretty good.  Of course you can't make just a little bit of bean soup, so I divide up the leftovers. After a long winter day, there's nothing better than pulling a Tupperware container of homemade soup out of the freezer.

We didn't get another "artisan" ham this year, but the spiral-sliced Hormel from Safeway was fine.  Many would disagree, but I say a pig is a pig.  The recent alarmist food news says you might as well put a piece of poison in your mouth as a slice of bacon or ham.

I don't think that scare applies to those of us with German or Pennsylvania Dutch heritage, many of whom live to a ripe old age on a steady diet of cured meat.  Anyway, something gets us all in the end, and it's usually that one thing you don't see coming.  Ham and bean soup sounds like just the ticket tonight.