Oh happy day

And what a day it was. Once they let me in the security gate (that's another story) we had an Italian lunch with about 50 coworkers in John's shop. Afterwards, too many to count, but several hundred others arrived from all over Boeing Field for the cake and more good wishes.  I heard over and over how much his work expertise (and advice on all subjects, if you know John) will be missed.

How phenomenal these days to have a 41 year career at one company without a single lay-off, but even more so, working in the same area with some of the same people for decades. We needed a cart to carry all the parting gifts out to the car. There were tears and many hugs from his lady friends, and I noticed, even some of the men. Or perhaps those were tears of retirement jealousy!

So, it's the end of one era and the beginning of a new. Life must somehow go on at Boeing without him. We threw the old lunch box away last night; the alarm clock is next.  Let the good times roll.

Sowing the future

"The vegetable life does not content itself with casting from the flower or tree a single seed, but it fills the air and earth with a prodigality of seeds, that, if thousands perish, thousands may plant themselves, that hundreds may come up, that tens may live to maturity; that, at least one may replace the parent."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

27 years

Well then. Happy anniversary to us. It honestly doesn't seem that long ago, but so much has changed since then-- happy events and the sad losses time brings to every family.  But how lovely remembering Mom, Wilda and John Sr. just as they were in this picture.

Anyway, here we are, many years later and embarking on the next stage of life.  The anniversary celebration today is somewhat overshadowed by the big retirement event tomorrow.

John's last day.  The only time I'm aware of that spouses can get special permission to enter the Boeing gate and visit the workplace. In 40 years, I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times I've actually set foot on the (sorry, but paranoid) Boeing premises.

At long last, on his very last day, the husband's coworkers get the chance to check out that wife they've been hearing about for years. Ha! And of course, vice versa. I'm looking forward to connecting faces to the names of people I feel like I already know.

It sounds like quite a party shaping up.  A catered Italian style lunch for his immediate shop, followed by a big celebration for everyone to drop by and give him a good send-off.

And then, fortified with lasagna and cake, I guess we turn in our badges and head on down the new road.

Wordless Wednesday

A New Day

Fresh Lavender

A Precious Gift

Castles of Sand

By the Cottage Door

Cutting Roses

William Henry Margetson

1861-1040

Fat Tuesday

Mardi Gras is French for Fat Tuesday, the last chance to binge on rich, fatty foods before Lenten fasting starts on Ash Wednesday. In places like New Orleans, Fat Tuesday is one big party. Probably not as many regrets tomorrow in more sedate Seattle.

Shrove Tuesday is also "pancake day" in Great Britain, time to use up the butter and eggs so they don't go to waste during Lent. I floated the idea giving up wine for Lent. That got a snicker. 

The Pancake Woman

Willem van Mieris

c. 1710

Shrove Tuesday Pancake Party

 King Cotton float

Fountain of Youth costume

Subsidized housing, Seattle style

According to the bee experts, and there's no lack of advice on the Internet, Mason Bees prefer a sunny, warm, dry location, 6-7 feet above the ground, preferably under the eves of a house or shed.

That's a pretty tall order in Seattle. But after much discussion, we finally settled on the east facing side of the house, where at least we can see them, if and when they show up.  John put the box up on Saturday--better a couple of weeks too soon, than too late. 

Only time will tell.  This high wall gets some mild sun for a short time in the morning, and stays dry even in downpours, so it's the best we can do.  I sprayed the front of the (expensive) condo with some (expensive) Mason Bee attractant from Amazon. When it warms up, I'm supposed to put Nancy's cocoons out to hatch on a nearby "ledge."  Up the ladder again. Goodness, quite a to-do for such a little creature.

Some of you might question the wisdom of placing a bee house above the back door! But Mason Bees are not much bigger than houseflies, and harmless to humans and animals. (You have to try pretty hard to get them to sting.)

Unlike other bees, wasps and hornets that can swarm dangerously, Mason bees live solitary lives for one short busy season.  The only purpose of the condo is to give these master pollinators a place to reproduce and store their cocoons for the winter. And that's another story.

Nothing but blue skies

What a treat. Hardly a cloud in the sky this week, finally ending the miserable streak of 80! consecutive days without an official sunny day in Seattle.

A person forgets just how beautiful it is when the mountains are "out," as we say here.  It's going to rain again this weekend, but then next week looks dryish and getting into the high 50's. Nice. Rain or shine, the Mason Bee house goes up tomorrow.  All those little critters wake up fast when it suddenly warms up.

Speaking of critters, I haven't seen the bunnies for a while. Hopefully, a new crop magically appears this summer.  I like watching them hop around the yard-- not quite wild, not quite tame.

The jury is still out on the plum tree. I keep checking for tiny sprouts on the poor amputated trunk.  Everything else is growing like crazy. We have a large black pussy willow shrub on the side fence.  I probably mail ordered it long ago, as a little stick from one of those cheap novelty plant catalogs. You don't see them at nurseries, I suppose people want more bang for their buck with blooming shrubs. It's dull looking for most of the year, except in February when it "blooms" dramatic black.

Have a good weekend.

Rest your eyes

And raise a toast to Ansel Adams (1902-1984) born on this day in San Francisco. As a teenager, he wandered the wild areas of northern California, and took his first photographs of Yosemite with a Kodak Brownie Box camera. A lifelong wilderness advocate, he was on the board of the Sierra Club for 40 years.

Sweet

The shortest day has passed, and whatever nastiness of weather we may look forward to in January and February, at least we notice that the days are getting longer.  Minute by minute they lengthen out.  It takes some weeks before we become aware of the change.  It is imperceptible even as the growth of a child, as you watch it day by day, until the moment comes when with a start of delighted surprise we realize that we can stay out of doors in a
twilight lasting for another quarter of a precious hour.

 Vita Sackville-West
 

Around Valentine's Day, blooming jasmines show up in the stores. They're about $15 and worth every penny for the fragrance. These are tender Zone 9 babies, but you can sometimes keep them going by covering the pots on freezing nights. They are basically tropicals, and won't grow in the chilly ground here. Finicky things, they need strong outdoor light and don't make good houseplants either.

I put the pot the bedroom at night for the heavenly fragrance.  We keep the door closed because of the noisy refrigerator, so the smell is intensely lovely by morning.  Almost like sleeping in a garden.

There's a whole aisle at the grocery store devoted to scented candles and all sorts of air fresheners. Our houses must be very stinky indeed. That's interesting, because using personal fragrance has become a social no-no. Women once were proud of their signature scent, and I've always loved Oscar de la Renta perfume, a light floral.  Now I'm afraid to wear it most places.

Medical offices are "fragrance fee" zones, ditto auditoriums. Sometimes in the restroom line at the Symphony, I hear people complain about the awful "stench" of perfume in the hall. Oh, dear. Hopefully not me.  Not that long ago, our social gatherings must have reeked of cigarette smoke and perfume.  Anyway, nothing compares to the natural scent of jasmine in a winter house.

In defense of iceberg

We love iceberg salad, by the way, and make no apologies for it. And what's a crunchy taco, without shredded iceberg lettuce on top?  It's been iceberg heaven around here this month--  Safeway gave me an unlimited JustForYou coupon 80 cents a head.

Here's a lettuce poem from Garrison Keillor's anthology, "Good Poems."

The Iceberg Theory
by Gerald Lockin

all the food critics hate iceberg lettuce
you'd think romaine was descended from
orpheus's laurel wreath
you'd think raw spinach had all the nutritional
benefits attributed to it by popeye,
not to mention aesthetic subtleties worthy of
verlain and debussy.
they'll even salivate over chopped red cabbage
just to disparage poor old mr. iceberg lettuce.

I guess the problem is
it's just too common for them
it doesn't matter that it tastes good
has a satisfying crunchy texture,
holds its freshness
and has crevices for the dressing,
whereas the darker, leafier varieties
are often bitter, gritty and flat.
it just isn't different enough, and
it's too damn american.

of course a critic has to criticize:
a critic has to have something to say
perhaps that's why literary critics
purport to find interesting
so much contemporary poetry
that just bores the shit out of me.

at any rate, I really enjoy a salad
with plenty of chunky iceberg lettuce,
the more the merrier,
drenched in an italian or roquefort dressing.
And the poems I enjoy are those I don't have
to pretend I'm enjoying.

President's Day

"Honest Abe for President"

Abraham Lincoln, the 16th president, was born dirt poor in the Kentucky wilderness on February 12, 1809.  Mary Todd Lincoln once said that "Mr. Lincoln . . . is almost monomaniac on the subject of honesty."   

Monomaniac definition:

A person exhibiting an exaggerated or obsessive enthusiasm for or preoccupation with one thing.

 
Lincoln was known as "Honest Abe" before he became a lawyer or a politician, and when he ran for president in 1859, the nickname became his campaign slogan. People weren't too worried about making America great again.

As for the current occupant of the White House, according to the Washington Post Fact Checker:  "In 2017, he made 1,999 false or misleading claims. In 2018, he added 5,689 more, for a total of 7,688. And by 2019, he made 8,155 suspect claims.  Not telling the truth is a feature, not a glitch, of this presidency.

At least I won't be around if his birthday ever becomes a national holiday.

Happy news flash: After over a foot of rain since the start of the year, we're promised several sunny days in a row this week. They're giving folks advance warning about the "shocking bright light" that could suddenly appear in the sky. Ha! I might finally tackle the grimy outside windows and really let the light in.

Dark Chocolate Turtles!

2 cups dark chocolate chips
20 pecan halves, toasted
10 pitted dates, halved lengthwise
Flake salt

Melt chocolate in a microwave safe bowl, stirring every 30 seconds until smooth and glossy.  On a parchment lined tray (or silicon mat) spoon 1 tsp. of melted chocolate, then top with a date half and pecan.  Cover with another teaspoon melted chocolate.  Sprinkle with a touch of flake salt. Refrigerate until they firm up, about an hour.

Simple and yummy!

Hope your Valentines Day was a sweet one.

Cupid, draw back your bow...

Cupid at the Helm, unknown artist

A Raphael Cupid

Adorable Cupids with butterfly wings, by Mantegna

Cupid and Psyche, by Gentileschi

Cupid and Psyche, by Canova

Cupid and Psyche, by Burne-Jones

A very British Cupid, by Joshua Reynolds

Cupid, by Bouguereau

 AARP Cupid and Psyche, by Warren Criswell

Happy Valentines Day, dear friends and family.

End of an era

Well, that's my last batch of Valentine Day cookies made for John's work mates.  The retirement clock is running down fast and just a couple more weeks of that 4:30 AM alarm. We were talking last night about how nice that will be when Daylight Savings Time starts again and he's retired. It was always the nastiest morning of the year. 

Anyway, things are pretty quiet up here this week. My new book group meets this afternoon at a home just a few blocks from here.  I'm looking forward to meeting the other members for the first time.  All are retired and live in West Seattle.  Sweet-- no driving across town in rush hour traffic.

The book this month is Barbara Kingsolver's excellent novel "Unsheltered." It follows two families living in the same house at different time periods in Vineland, New Jersey. So many non-fiction books have already been written about current American politics, but this is one of the first novels I've read with the themes of what people are thinking and feeling.  And Kingsolver is a master of her craft.

Wordless Wednesday

Early Spring

Spring Landscape

Spring Forest Landscape

Lilacs

Urban Spring Landscape

Soviet Ukrainian artist M.Borymchuk
1926 - 2013