starting the new year right. . . .

WARNING: explicit religious material follows. Material which is the subject of considerable dispute even amongst the "religious." Proceed at your own risk.
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The last day of the year, I received an invitation to join the Annapolis Chorale downtown to sing at Church Circle first thing this morning, Tuesday morning, January 2.

It turns out that the group of wierdos which sporadically shows up to protest at the funeral of slain soliders had threatened to show up in Annapolis to protest on the first day homosexual marriages were to be performed in our State Courthouse. St. Anne's Episcopal Church, just across the street, planned a "counter" protest:

A Celebration of God's Unconditional Love for All. On January 2, from 7:45-9 AM, we will gather in Church Circle, Annapolis, to proclaim God's love for all people in Jesus Christ. On that day, Westboro Baptist "Church" plans to be outside the courthouse to speak its words of hate. We will not engage them. But we will speak our message of love more loudly. We will lift our voices in song and praise by singing the carols of our Christmas season. Through music, song, and prayer, we will bear witness to the good news of God's unconditional love. Come and join us and let us show the world that the love of Jesus is more powerful than hate."

I emailed the Right Reverend Amy Richter asking whether or not the church intended thereby to support homosexual unions - a move I had not thought St. Anne's had taken.

I did not get a response prior to the event from her - I didn't really expect one - but I did get a phone call from the choir director. He was elusive on the question about the church stance on homosexuality. He emphasized that the message to be conveyed at the event was directed against the Westboro people, a message of love, apparently, instead of the hate perceived to be coming from them. It had nothing to do with homosexuality, as far as he was concerned. He was unimpressed with my suspicion that people would naturally assume that St. Anne's supported homosexual marriage if they assembled to oppose the anti-homosexual rants of the few Westboro wierdoes or if they provided music for the procession of the first homosexual couples to the Court House.

Here's a picture of the "God's Unconditional Love for All" celebrants at St. Anne's - which, if I hadn't been told otherwise, looks a bit more like a pro-homosexual marriage rally than a church gathering.

And here's a video of the outting. The hooting which accompanies the "dancing" in front of the courthouse is coming from St. Anne's. . . .

Really, St. Anne's?

Really?!

I am saddened that a group of 4 wierdos could escort this venerable institution into taking such a position, a position they have not taken before, and have shied away from when questioned by thoughtful people in intelligent conversations. I really don't know what to say.

There are two proverbs in the Bible which appear to contradict one another:

"Do not answer a fool according to his own folly, or you will be like him yourself." (Proverbs 26:4) and "Answer a fool according to his own folly, or he will be wise in his own eyes." (Proverbs 26:5)

As to the Westboro people, I suspect that St. Anne's would have done better to endorse Proverbs 26:4 and to have met the Westboro-4 with silence. Nothing St. Anne's could say would get through. Why speak then atall? In fact, the very fact of coming "against" a hate group puts St. Anne's in the potential position of "hating" the hate group! You should read some of the comments directed against Westboro online at the sites covering this event. . . . They were not exactly "loving."

I, however, am embracing Proverbs 26:5 with respect to what St. Anne's has done. Respectfully, this was foolish and I hope they will see that this wasn't such a good idea. You may have a nice, glowing feeling that so many people assembled in the "name" of love - but hello! - what "love" is this? Look at the fruit of your gathering. Is this what you had in mind? If not, you can clarify the record. I hope you will. God's love is indeed "unconditional", but on His terms, not ours. So actually, it is conditional. In a way, anyway. What I mean is that we can't redefine sin to suit ourselves and do away with the need for a Savior. It's been tried. . . .

The "good news" is not that we are not sinners - it's that Jesus takes away the sin of the world. We sang those very words this Christmas in St. Anne's, in our performances of Handel's Messiah.

Of course, St. Anne's could have meant to "come out" in support of homosexuality and the open homoerotic displays. Because that's just what they did. If that was their intent, my apologies, and I will shut up now, and revert to the wisdom of Proverbs 26:4.



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P.S. To be opposed on religious grounds to normalizing homosexuality is not to hate those who either endorse it or who practice it. It is to say that my religious teaching tells me homosexuality is wrong and so I will not presume to say it is right. Please don't hate me for that. If you do not share that religious conviction, that's up to you. But please don't try to force me to set mine aside. Believe it or not, I have rather good reasons for believing as I do.

Oh, and bringing up either slavery, Hebrew purity laws or the historic treatment of women as your reason to re-write the Bible in this regard will only convince me to stay with Proverbs 26:4. Just sayin'.

missing inaction. . . .

I've been an abominable correspondent. No excuses. I have nothing to point to that has kept me so busy I couldn't write. In short: it's not that I can't write - or couldn't write - the fact of the matter is simply that I haven't written. sigh. Here's were inertia sets in, and months of not writing can weigh you down to another half year of silence, which inevitably leads to a year and more of silence, and then. . . .

Well. Better dust myself off and get going, then!

The summer has come and gone. Yes, I know that the "Current Season" stayed at "the height of the summer" on this page until just today - November 26 - two full days after Thanksgiving. I have firmly resisted the urge to skip straight to winter just in case I don't get back for while. No, I've changed the "Current Season" picture to the one above, for fall: "Greenwood blackbirds". This time of year, they gather together and flock in our woods by the thousands. What a whoosh they make when the take off in concert and wheel about!

Now that Thanksgiving has come and gone, thoughts of what to make for Christmas occupy my mind. Here's one project I came across that I hope to make for the Greenwood tree inside: Edgar, the Raven, by Stacey Mead, who blogs over at The Goode Wife of Washington County. I LOVE her whimisical designs!

I can just see several of these fellows in our tree this Christmas. . . .

You can order her patterns at this link: Raven's Haven Patterns.

Tell her Queenie from the Greenwood sent you. I think she's incredibly cool.

Meanwhile, it's not quite dawn yet - so time for some more coffee before the day begins. For today, it's back to the herbs for me, and putting together this year's herbes du bois vert. I also have several elephant ear bulbs to dig out of the ground and winterize. . . .

More inaction to keep me from writing! Here's hoping to overcome inertia.

learning to knit

Overheard this weekend at the Greenwood:

"How long have you been knitting, J__?"

"About 20 minutes."

"No, I mean how long have you been knitting? When did you learn?"

"20 minutes ago. Queenie just taught me."

I don't think I've ever taught a more apt pupil. (Sorry, M__. You may have been surpassed. We'll see.) In any event, J__ showed up, large with child, bearing her "knitting" supplies, which turned out to be pink acrylic and an assortment of crochet hooks. I explained the difference, produced some knitting needles and was silent about the colour choice, given the expected boy. Yes, there are two girls already. Either she - or he - will get used to it.

She mastered holding the yarn and needles at the same time right off, a trick I've seen people struggle with for weeks. I had cast on - and knit - 25 stitches, with the idea that we would start small. If enough 4x4 squares were produced, we could always make a baby blanket. If not, at least she would get a few rows under her belt, without bogging down in the middle of a 125 stitch row!

"I'll show you how to cast on later, when [silently:"if?"] you start your second square. Let's get you started with the knit stitch first, before you worry about casting on, which you won't do as often."

I demonstrated. Then, handed her the needles.

It wasn't completely clear sailing from then on - there were several "adjustments" - but 20 minutes later, J__ was struggling manfully with several inches of knitted fabric to show for it, and looking every inch the knitter! Especially to one who doesn't knit himself (the king) who was the one who asked how long she had been knitting.

By the end of the weekend, there were two (almost 3) finished squares. (Oh, and she'd learned to purl as well!) I demonstrated the mattress stitch to sew the squares together, describing other alternatives, and sent her home with a spare yarn darner. She promises to send pictures.

Nana taught me to knit when I was probably 4 or 5, the same age as J'__s eldest. Maybe J's girl will learn on the next visit, which won't be until well after her brother is born.

What I didn't learn until many years later was how to finish my projects. I would get bored with them and put them aside. Sometime later, I'd start a new project, rather than finish the one I'd started a year or more earlier and was heartily sick of. Thus, I had a lot of knitting experience, but not so many knitted objects to show for it.

One finished object I do remember was the knit suit I made for the queen mum. Yes, "suit". There were two immediate problems with it: one, it was made of acrylic. A lovely brown "tweed", but acrylic. Second, the cast-on edge for the pullover top was too tight. It was almost impossible to pull on/pull off. A third problem - had anyone ever actually worn the thing - would undoubtedly have been that it was way too warm to wear anywhere south of the North Pole.

That was over 30 years ago. I have learned several things since then!

First, if you're going to spend all that time making something by hand, work with the best materials possible. For me, that usually means natural fibers. Yarns for hand-knitting are becoming ridiculously expensive these days, but there's little sense in spending months knitting an acrylic "tweed" suit! A good source for inexpensive basic yarns in a rainbow of colours is Knit Picks. I have also been known to keep my eye out for otherwise ugly sweaters (XL if possible!) made from fine materials on sales racks or in thrift stores. You have to be careful about that, though, because some sweaters are actually made from knitted "cloth" which is then cut and sewn together, and which can not be unraveled into a single long strand and recycled into another knit garment. The 'cut' kind unravel like the warp/weft of cloth, into short un-reusable lengths. The better sweaters are usually piece-knit, and can be unravelled. One learns to tell the difference, but I still won't pay much more than a few dollars for a sweater I intend to recycle into wool. There are too many variables and uncertainties.

Second, "fix the problem"! Again, if you're going to spend all that time making something by hand, don't let it languish in a drawer because the neckband is too tight! Take scissors to it, if necessary. There's a lady called Elizabeth Zimmerman (often referred to as EZ by knitters) who really changed my whole attitude about knitting. Her book Knitting Without Tears can be summarized by a quote she is famous for: "Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises!"

She just didn't get upset about anything. She also didn't let her knitting rule her; she ruled the knitting! There's a difference. Learn it.

What I would do now about the too-tight cast on edge would be to cut it off (yes, using scissors), pick up the stitches and re-knit it (going the opposite direction) and then cast off using Jeny's surprisingly stretchy cast-off binding. Elizabeth Zimmerman liked the sewn bind-off, but I have learned from her to use what I like. I think she would have liked that.

Fixing the problem means re-positioning the buttonholes, or ripping out the wierd peplum, or changing the turtleneck to a boatneck if the yarn makes you sneeze, or lengthening the arms, or any number of other adjustments you know need to be made if you're actually going to hope to wear the item. You know the problems the minute you put the garment on. Fix it! Or get rid of it.

About finishing projects. . . . well, the more projects you finish, the easier it becomes to finish them. I don't know why that is, but it is. Write it down.

There are a host of knitting resources available now on the internet. Some of my favorite sites are Ravelry and Knitty, and through them, you will come across a bevy of knitters, designers, bloggers and videographers who have posted amazing material dealing with just about every technique or problem you could ever dream up. You will come across names like Jared Flood of Brooklyn Tweed and Shelter yarn, which I plan to spring for, one day soon. There's Stephanie Japel, who I first met when she knit and designed and blogged under Glampyre Knits. There's Norah Gaughan and TechKnitter and Ann Hanson, who knits, designs, cooks and gardens. (and has a logo involving a skewered martini olive on a knitting needle. Gotta love that!)

I haven't even touched on what's available on YouTube!

But I've reached the end of my concentration span and in the spirit of finishing projects, I'm going to finish up here, and hit "Publish Post". I have noticed that I haven't written much lately. Too much knitting! [grin]

Talk soon.

What is it?!

The queen-mum is back from her latest foray, this time to foreign southern climes of the Puerto Rican persuasion. She sent this photo, which I thought bordered on mean. But as I loved looking at it anyway, how mean could it be? So pretty. . . . and yes, we were also invited. . . .

Anyway, she came back with her usual largesse from the local markets. Knorr makes instant garlic cubes! [who knew?!] But apparently they sell them only to Spanish speaking countries. That's ok. I like my garlic in garlic paper. You know, the regular papery garlic cloves in the original, natural package. I have a whole ritual I go through, selecting and preparing them. Somehow it wouldn't be the same to take a little cube out of a box, no matter how cute the box!

Speaking of packaging, this - um - can - stopped me in my tracks. It's enormous! Probably 6 or 7 inches across, and very colourful, as you see. A tuna can on steroids.

Facundo, Pasta de Guayaba. Thankfully, the translation is right next to it: "Guava Paste."

Guava paste? Why would anyone want guava paste?!

It turns out that this is a very popular item in Puerto Rico. They eat it with cheese and for dessert. It's apparently very sweet. They use it as the filling to stick two little cookies together. Further research shows endless cake, pie, pastry and empanada variations, but also pork and chicken options!

Here's a recipe from Bon Appetit for a Guava-stuffed Chicken with caramelized mango and here a Food & Wine recipe for guava-glazed pork tenderloin with cilantro jalapeno salsa.

And how about this as a dipping sauce for Pinchos de Cerdo - Skewered Pork?

1 cup guava paste (about 12 ounces)
1/2 cup beef broth
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
2 tablespoons dark rum
salt and other herbs to taste. . . . (combine in small saucepan and heat through, stirring)

I also came across one Anger Burger, who wrote an amusing and in-depth study of the stuff, with lovely pictures. I warn you, Anger Burger's language is. . . . "angry". For those of you squeamish about the odd expletive not deleted, do not go there. For those of you who wish to see what Anger Burger did with his [her?] guava paste resulting in what she says was the best *&^)$%@@ pastry ever, click on this link: "guava paste, you shut up!".

Peaches were involved.

But I'm thinking that dipping sauce, on a seared pork tenderloin. . . . .

Meanwhile, the can looks pretty in the kitchen.

post-Christmas

The snow is still on the ground, barely, and through the trees I see the red of a huge timber truck loading up enormous sections of the road-side oak recently felled by the utility company. We were worried that a repeat of the 100-year snowfall from last year was about to make a repeat appearance this 101st year! But no. We got all the enjoyment of a snowfall with none of the work. I don't count wiping an inch of snow off my windshield as 'work' - especially when I didn't even have to do that; the king beat me to it!

No, I did not take snow pictures. There are still plenty from last year! (Just click - this link here and it'll all come back to you. . . .)

This is the first Christmas with a "grandchild". Meet wee Toto! [not his real name, to protect the poor innocent] He wasn't with us this Christmas, but we got to see pictures. He loved his Ravens jersey and promptly spit up on it. That's love - true love! He hasn't said much about this hat I made him, but his picture is making the rounds of the facebook community. Yoda-baby! Yes, I made it. From a pattern I worked out in my head and tried on Bear, as Toto stand-in. Meanwhile, I've just seen miniature versions for warming easter eggs, masquerading as wee bunnies!

Too cute.

Here's the link to a reference to Debbie Bliss' book The Knitter's Year, which contains the pattern. Toto will likely be festooned with a rabbit version come Easter. . . .

Poor kid.

on the beach

The pictures by Michael Shakespeare Gregg of the child dedication/baptism last weekend are so splendid, I didn't want to bury them in an otherwise rather drab post about liturgies!

Here is the family in question: Here, the 'officiants'. Aunt Dawn with Joshua, the elder. He did well! And now it's Joey's turn. He looks a bit ill at ease; perhaps we'll hold Uncle Jeff's hand. . . . . . . and he did well, too. It was quite a day. . . .

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Here's the liturgy again, for those who wanted it.

All photos in this post (c) 2010 Michael Shakespeare Gregg

meanwhile, underground. . . .

In stark contrast to the abundant herb bounty are the root veggies I planted in late April. We've got radishes and carrots. After an initial good show on the radish front, they seem to have fallen off. We have lovely radish tops, with red, string roots below. No root vegetable. Or not much vegetable yet, anyway.

The carrots have great carrot tops, but not much root yet either. I keep thinking "I'll give them another week", but it's hard to resist looking to see how they're doing. I sacrificed another one yesterday, trying to impress the wee princess visiting us who condescended to take notice of my garden. We debated which was the largest carrot top, and pulled it up to see what was going on underground. I was holding my breath. It wasn't much, but it was the best so far and we took it inside, washed it, and prepared to dine. The princess and I took turns eating the carrot slices, which looked for all the world like Advil tablets. Except they were very, very sweet. I'll try again in another week or two - unless another princess comes calling. . . .

the making of a sock monkey

Found in the attic of my mother some time ago: a pair of vintage red-heeled socks, together with the original instructions for making a sock monkey. They had belonged to my grandmother - to Nana - who had a fondness for making small stuffed critters. For a reason I cannot imagine, she never got around to making this particular one.

Actually, I can imagine why she never made this sock monkey. Believe it or not, I think the only reason I was able to make the sock monkey at this particular point in time is because of my recent experience steeking! I kid you not. I am a knitter - Nana was a knitter (heck, she was the one who taught me) - and most normal knitters can not bring themselves to cut their knitting. The thought alone sends them shrieking from the room.

As a result, the sock monkey socks sat in Nana's stash, unused, for years. (You guessed it: making the sock monkey involves cutting the knitted sock. . . .) Upon her death, the socks eventually came to me (and that was a while ago) and have sat in my stash until just this point in time, where the anticipated arrival of a grandson, coupled with the failure of the world to stop revolving upon the happening of the cutting [oh horror!] of knitting, combined with the love of our daughter-in-law for monkey toys (and our love for her) to push me over the edge and induce me to find and finally make up Nana's vintage sock monkey.

That would make this a present from his great, great grandmother to baby Torre!

If I can pry it away from Luther, that is.

zucchini ramblings. . . .

OK, I'm not crazy about zucchini. The queen mum had requested room for one (count it - "one" - "1" - however you want to say ONE single, solitary) plant here in the garden, which I reluctantly agreed to harbor. She solemnly promised to look after it and to dispose of all the bounty. Heaven knows one zucchini plant can put out an impressive array of zucchinis. Around here, the joke goes that in August you lock your car and keep the windows up just to avoid gift bags of homegrown zucchinis!

Well, the queen mum claims there was a mix-up and that White Flower Farms mistakenly sent THREE zucchini plants instead of only one. What's a queen mum to do but send all three to their new happy home here at the greenwood - overseen by a gardener who can't stand zucchinis?!

No, I don't like squash, either. No, I don't care if you have a recipe that renders them "absolutely delicious." And somebody please explain to me why anyone would cook zucchini in a recipe that supposedly makes them not taste like zucchini at all?! I always figured that if you like zucchini, you'll be happy cooking and eating zucchini that tastes like zucchini. If you don't like zucchini, I'm thinking you're better off cooking something else entirely - something you like, let's say - rather than trying to disguise the taste of zucchini!

Just thinking out loud here, folks.

Here's one rather nice thing about the zucchini plants, though. They put out some pretty flowers! Based on the number of pretty flowers, we're going to have a bumper crop of zucchini.

Better lock your doors.

box wood and gardens

I can't believe I haven't written about this yet - it's been a week now; no, two!

I have elsewhere complained - long, loud and hard - about the soil Tom-builder left in the one reliably sunny spot here at the greenwood; the one spot any decent gardener would choose to put a garden. Apparently it was also the one spot any normal man-of-a-builder would choose upon which to make concrete, mix noxious chemicals, dump excess rock and gravel, concrete dust, brick and granite debris, wood shavings and pieces, and stucco fixings. The result? A gray quagmire of either a stoney swamp or cracked desert (depending on the weather) that even dandelions shunned.

Not that I'm bitter about it.

Not at all.

Not that I recall - with astonishment - that at one time I actually believed the many reassurances that he fully understood that this favored workspot/dumping ground of his was destined to grow our vegetables and flowers, and that he would restore it to pristine, loamy top-soil condition before he left. Not that I haven't brought it up, just a few times since then. . . . But we've decided not to talk about that any more. Not much anyway.

Instead: look what the king and king-father have done! Ha! Behold the box garden. But I get ahead of myself. First, the power tools. We had staked out the ground and our neighbor, Roger, took pity on us and gave the land a bit of a tilling before we started. We hauled out wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of large rocks! Oh - and to those who ask if we put down the weed/grass-inhibiting paper? Heh?! Ah - no. Weeds don't grow there. . . . let alone grass. Oh. But we'd decided we weren't going to talk about that any more, didn't we? Right. Well then, moving on. Level, square, and several pairs of hands worked on this together. And my full weight on this, too, to stabilize the box being put together. We decided to go with a formal box garden look. There is no reach greater than 4 feet - to make sure you don't have to step into the garden to tend to it. Luther, of course, was a big help. As were the horses down the street. One load of sand, one of forest loam, one of horsey-do. Repeat. Mix well. Up front, there are now box of a different sort - the box wood. They are the new footmen here at the greenwood. I love box.

More box garden pictures to come, as they get planted. So far, they are germinating loads of sugar snap peas, beans, artichokes, morning glories and cosmos. I've also risked a few tomato plants, some eggplant, parsley, basil, cilantro and wild salads. Apparently marigolds are a must, so they dot the landscape as well, although I have never cared much for them. I'll try and get more 'before' pictures and hope that come August, I'll be amazed to see the transformation!

privacy settings

Facebook has revamped its privacy settings, allowing you to control who-sees-what of what you post there. I can now post pictures, for example, that only my mother can see. I can post the link to an article just for my liberal friends, and another article for the conservative ones. Or I can post under the 'default' setting - which is 'everyone'.

Blogs have no such controls. If you post it, it's posted. "Privacy Settings" are exercised by not posting. . . .

All this is by way of explaining why I haven't been posting lately. I imagine that words and pictures that include other people inevitably give rise to differing privacy expectations. As soon as I sort out the different expectations, I'll be back.

Meanwhile, there's a Christmas tree at the Greenwood.
It's the first Christmas tree I've put up since Nana died - and that's been a long time ago now. She died on Thanksgiving Day, 1992 I think it was. I'll have to check with my brother, our family's 'historian'. He remembers things like that. I remember sitting in the library of the I house I lived in then, playing Moonlight Sonata on the white piano stenciled with what turned out to be poison ivy vines. I was crying. I remember peeling potatoes into a paper sack in the living room, overcome then with feeling and the words: "It's all right. Everything is all right." And crying again. But a good crying that time. Smiling and tears. . . . and then the phone call that she was gone.

On the tree are little knitted mice - like she might have made, except I did. And stars. The one on top is knitted! Yes, he's rotund. Delightfully so!
Then: old keys. I've collected them for years. Perhaps it's a privacy thing, but from the opposite perspective: I am fascinated with what they might open. . . .

buried treasure

It doesn't look like much now, but we planted hundreds of tulips in this little bed. So far, they have escaped detection by the squirrels, who are overwhelmed with a bumper beechnut crop. Hopefully, the first they know of the tulips will be when they bloom next spring! Then, I'll dig them out, and store the bulbs till fall again, by which time the veggie garden can be cleared away, the squirrels will have forgotten all about tasty tulip bulbs, and I'll bury the treasure for another overwinter and spring surprise.

That's the plan, anyway. I'll let you know how it goes.

Elsewhere, we buried daffodils like bodies in the woods. . . .

and B'u covered them over and raked away all trace. The surreptitious nature of our enterprise was belied by the sheer number of people who turned out for the event! And yes, they all helped too, although Luther worked more in the unburying and leaf distribution mode.

Happy Birthday, David. I'm thinking that's the first birthday/bulb-planting party you've ever been to!

a quiet sit down. . . .

The bench outside - the one I look at every morning and evening and sit on much less frequently (unfortunately) - has made a U.K. appearance.

Writer Sarah Salway's delightful little bench of a site, A Quiet Sit Down features benches from all over. Quirky benches, gorgeous benches, startling benches, intriguing benches. . . .

And now the greenwood bench, from my favorite place in the whole world.

I'll be back in a minute.*

_______________________
*"It only takes a minute to spend a couple of hours."
(from Captain Jim in Lucy Maude Montgomery's Anne's House of Dreams)

. . . on Christmas Day in the mornin'

Start the music (click in the center on the arrow) and it will play as you read and scroll through the pictures below. It's one of the songs we sang around the dinner table after the meal (while the 2 'grown-up' boys of the king got an attack of the giggles - grin!)

Christmas Day has come and gone already - but what a day it was!

The early morning sun before the day really got going was spectacular. The light was green and golden.



Here's just an assortment of pictures of some of the characters who assembled at the Greenwood.



Luther is missing his tartan bowtie, by the way, in case anyone comes across it.



For those of you visiting from A Simple Yarn, yes, every houndstooth scarf you see is part of the wonderful stash we commissioned from Cheryl. . . .

See how perfect?







Here's a close-up of the one for my brother.
Now, more people:









On Christmas Day in the mornin'. . . .