good food is what makes the winter bearable

About two weeks ago, Pd and I took some time off work and just ... took a day. Between work, the kitchen renovation and the Spanish Inquisition, it's hard for us to find time to do stuff together — for instance, in wat is now (frighteningly) becoming an annual tradition, the Spanish Inquisition had a meltdown at the One of a Kind Show last weekend, so shopping was aborted, again — so we decided to just take the time.

Mind you, we had decided to do this in September. It takes us a little while to gather momentum sometimes.

Anyway, we finally made it to Momofuku (the noodle bar) for lunch. Pd works up in midtown and it's not exactly the most baby-friendly place ever, so we haven't been able to go until now. Which was sad. And it's so good! I have been a little bit obsessed with Momofuku since we went there in New York. And I am obsessed with ramen generally, so it really is a bit of a pilgrimage. It's not "authentic" ramen, of course, but it's so good that that's really beside the point.

I had forgotten how good his pork is. We make the pulled pork from the Momofuku cookbook at home, and it's excellent, but it is nothing to the pork belly at the noodle bar. Which is probably one of the many reasons why David Chang has a Michelin star and I don't.

 Now all I need is a Uniqlo, and maybe a Shake Shack, and I will never have to go to NYC again.
...

Speaking of food: I made my first from-scratch dinner in the new kitchen last night! The kitchen isn't finished, not by a long shot — there is a wee problem with the exhaust hood, which will be solved by us punching a hole in something that shouldn't have holes it in (i.e., a wall) —by the by, why does it always come down to that? — and elsewhere there was a bit of a measuring fail — but it's functional. I can cook, mostly. (There are some things that are missing, and some other things that are homeless. And, also, until last night, there were power tools on the counter.) I am still hoping that we can get the whole thing finished — like finished finished, like all-the-i's-dotted-and-t's-crossed finished — by the holidays. And that might even be a reasonable hope.

In any case, we are close enough that I am starting to plan our mid-winter feast. We decided that the best way to thank our friends for their help in our renovation was to use the thing they helped us with, and so: feast. It's going to be gloriously decadent. In fact, just planning the menu got me so hungry that I had to cook last night; take-out wasn't going to cut it. And then there's the menu for our holiday open house ... oh, yes. I am absolutely a glutton, and I have missed this.

'tis the season

We went to the Santa Claus parade with the Spanish Inquisition! She got very into the foam Rudolph noses — I would open one and she would stick her little face out for me to put it on her nose. Or I would put it on my nose and she would try to swipe it off, laughing the whole time. And then she sat on our shoulders and bopped along to the marching bands.

I'm pretty excited about Christmas this year. Technically, last year was her first Christmas, but she was barely six months old — she was just along for the ride; she didn't really experience it. As magical Christmases go, it was kind of a let-down. I mean, she was happy, for the most part:


The Spanish Inquisition on Christmas Day, 2011, being little.
... but it had absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. In fact, she found Christmas itself kind of stressful — too much noise, not enough naps.

This year, though — this year, she's a lot more aware. She has the requisite skills for enjoying a wee toddler's Christmas: she likes toys. She can sway to Christmas carols. And she loves to rip up tissue paper. Last year, everyone doted on her and she was a little taken aback by all the people. This year ... well, let's just say that she loves the attention.


I'm not sure about the whole "Santa Claus" thing, though. (We actually missed the big man himself on Sunday — the Spanish Inquisition had napped through lunchtime, so we left early so we could all grab lunch before the big crush.) Pd grew up with it, so he's all for it; I'm ... well. Undecided, obviously. It wasn't a part of my childhood, so I'm a little cynical and a little confused by the whole thing. I mean: who gets to be Santa Claus? Doesn't it get weird if three different sets of parents/grandparents decide to all be "Santa"? (Trust me, in this family, it could happen.) And if you think I'm over-thinking this ... well, Pd agrees with you.

My parents weren't big into fostering childhood illusions. I remember them discussing the North American tradition of the Tooth Fairy, and how ridiculous it was that kids could con money out of their parents that way, in front of me. I was seven. So you see, the cynicism is genetic.

So I don't know. I like fairy tales, though, and magic, and isn't giving your kids the childhood you never had part of the point?

but what about the kitchen?

I have a small tradition of gardening on Remembrance Day (or, this year, its weekday substitute). I get the day off, and because it's not a family-themed holiday — usually, not even a long weekend — I have no plans except puttering at home. (This isn't a problem. I quite like puttering.) So, gardening.


It's mostly just a matter of raking up the leaves from the path (I leave the leaves to decompose over the winter in the garden itself) — our neighbourhood is full of mature oak trees; absolutely lovely in the summer, but it's paid for in the fall — and weeding. A couple of years ago I planted the spring bulbs, but this year I was not nearly that organized and so, no bulbs. I neglected the garlic, too.

But what about the kitchen? you ask.

Did I mention that the roses are still blooming? The yellow 'Graham Thomas' has come and gone — it was lovely, perfect, bowl-shaped like a peony, which of course meant that I loved it — but 'The Fairy' and 'Amber Rose' are still at it, despite my ceasing to deadhead sometime around September.


They are so lovely, and so surprising, that even Pd has commented on them. Not that he doesn't notice them in August, say, but they are so exceptional right now, in this cold, that they drove him to comment.

And the kitchen? you say.


Also, I've been knitting. I finished my cardigan; it hasn't been blocked but I've worn it at least a dozen times. (I finished it right before a cold snap, so it got pressed into service right away. I'm too impatient for blocking; what if I want it, and it's still wet?) I made little striped leggings for the Spanish Inquisition.

They were leftover yarn from the stash — the white is Debbie Bliss baby cashmerino, and the grey is (I think) some BMFA Woobu in (again, I think) Valkyrie. Anyway, they are soft, lovely and warm, and you have to imagine them slipping over little black boots; they are absolutely adorable.

And yes, that is absolutely a (defunct) cell phone in her wee little hands. She kept trying to grab ours, and playing with them, so in the end we gave her one of Pd's old ones that was going to go into the donation bin. She is perfectly happy with it. She's too young to actually play on the smartphones, so she just likes pressing the buttons and holding it up to her ear; the lack of interactivity doesn't faze her. It does make me wonder, though, if we spend too much time on the phone with her around.

 And what, you say, paragon of impatience that you are, about the kitchen?

What, the adorable picture of the baby wasn't sufficient distraction for you? (Obviously not.)


I was going to blog about it, but then things got busy, and complicated, and tiring. We've been working on it on weekends and most weeknights. It's amazing: what feels like a treat at the beginning (take-out every night!) begins to feel more like an interminable purgatory of the stomach (oh God, please oh please can't I just cook?). I can't wait until 100% of our kitchen appliances are inside. Right now we're running about 50-50: the fridge and the dishwasher are in, but the stove and exhaust hood are not. (And in case you think we prioritized the dishwasher — well, yes, we sort of did, but also mostly because it's one of those built-in ones, and so we had to build the cabinets around it; it couldn't wait until we were done.)

The tentative schedule was this:

Week 1: Demolition (of everything — cabinets and floors)
Week 2: Tiling (and between weeks 2 and 3, grouting and sealing said floor)
Week 3: Construction

There were small things in between, like electrical work and painting. We didn't finish sealing until the last day of week 2, but that still hewed to the schedule. And then, I figured — how hard could it be to build Ikea cabinets? We're pretty handy and can run up a Billy bookcase right lickety-split. So how hard could it be?

In case you ever need to know this: Ikea cabinets are not Billy bookcases. Billy bookcases, for example, do not need holes for plumbing. Also, the ease of building a kitchen is directly proportional to how straight your walls and floor are. This is not a problem in condos, or new builds, or old houses that have been taken down to studs and then rebuilt. Unfortunately, our house is none of those. We did think about levelling out the floor — but then, as Pd pointed out, our walls would look crooked.

As for the timeline ... we are currently in week five. Week 6 starts tomorrow.

there is a kitchen in my den.

No, really.


The big box in the centre, the one that says DOMSJÖ, that's the sink. Next to it, the open box, is full of hinges. The two piles next to that are, I think, drawer innards. Everything else is cabinets and doors and suchlike.

All in all, 112 pieces. They cheat a bit, though; every hinge is a "piece," so that open box is technically something like 30 pieces.

IKEA was (still is, I think) having a sale, and you know, I could never resist a sale. (Joke. Mostly.) Although — we bought everything all at once, including some appliances, and I did nearly choke at the bill. It's not the most I've ever paid for anything (hey, we have a house. And a car), but those things involved loans and bank managers and monthly payments. This was just us, our savings and a conveyor belt full of stuff. It was a little ... breathtaking. Literally.

But hey, come on. You must have known this was coming. It's been over a year since we've ripped up any floors in our house. Our crowbars were getting itchy.

one last hurrah

This morning it really felt like fall — not even early fall, but fall fall. I love early fall: the cool, crisp mornings, the earlier nights, that feeling that you're stealing time when you stay out, trying to catch that last light.

I hate actual fall. It's cold and dreary and I can never find anything to wear. I've dug out my wool socks but it's too warm for sweaters, too, so I freeze in my t-shirts (even the long sleeved ones), or boil in my t-shirt-plus-jacket. This morning I woke up before the dawn, and when I left the house I saw leaves — note the plural, not the singular — drift to the ground, and when I got to work I was still cold, and so: it's fall, actually fall. Unhappily so.

In any case, I really wasn't expecting to post about the garden again. I mean that in a good way: I have, as mentioned before, nothing that is an autumn bloomer; everything is supposed to go into dormancy soon. I suppose the cooler (but still sunny) days were good for them, though, because the garden has actually been blooming: one last hurrah before winterfall.



The 'PowWow Wild Berry' echinacea. Two blooms means that it's not a fluke, I think. It's not as wild and fervent as it would be at, say, the height of August, but then, what in the garden is? The echinacea is a repeat bloomer, and can bloom into October — but generally only when it's established. So this is a good sign.

And the 'Amber Sun' roses, after a period of dormancy — I had stopped deadheading because I wanted the bushes to start preparing for winter — well, they had a little resurgence, too.



And so did 'The Fairy' roses, which haven't bloomed consistently since late July, but now have masses of buds.



And finally, I saw this on the last remaining rose, 'Graham Thomas.'



I took this picture last week, and the bud hasn't opened, so I hope I'm not counting chicks prematurely. This rose is the only one of the five that didn't bloom, which is already a much better average than I could have hoped for. It still seemed reasonably healthy, though — and it has a branch — vine? — that is reaching near five feet, its nominal grown-in height, so I think it will be fine. But flowers would be lovely. They are — they should be, I am hoping that they will be — a buttery yellow.

Into the fall

Fall is my favourite time of year — the crispness in the air, the deeper, darker colors, the clothes. I'm not a great fan of what comes next, and November is never not depressing (much like March) — but the transition time, right now, the still-hot days and the cool nights, is perfect.

Fall knitting, too, is deeply satisfying. It's the timeliness of it. Mid-winter, all you want to do is knit fast as you can, before hypothermia sets in — and Christmas knitting is only gratifying after it's done, not during. I never knit sweaters in the spring; there's just no motivation. And summers are for socks or shawls or other small things, something to take the edge off and keep your hand in, but small enough that you aren't sitting with a pile of delicious alpaca in your lap — because, trust me, nothing woolly is delicious in 40-degree heat.

But now! I am already well on my way. Before August ended, I had cast on a small cardigan for the Spanish Inquisition — Olivia Petit by Connie Chang Chinchio. I love the back detail.


It's lovely in the original cream, but I had quite a bit of Manos del Uruguay Silk Blend left over from another sweater project, so in it went. It's 70% merino, 30% silk; super soft and warm but not, unfortunately, machine washable — I'm less picky about that in my own sweaters, frankly, and as I was anxious to get started and the yarn store had yet to get their fall yarns in, I decided to overlook that small deficiency — and it is super adorable. I knit the 12-month size; the Spanish Inquisition is on the small side. It's a little bit big on her, which means that it's perfect.

The super cute buttons are dyed mother-of-pearl from Fyberspates. I happened to be on their web site (investigating their yarns, of course), and they were, simply, perfect. One thing I have not been able to source to my satisfaction, in Toronto, are buttons. I'm sure that perfect buttons — perhaps even the perfect button store — exist, somewhere, in this city, but I have been unable to find them. I even deputized my mother — so far, nothing. I have lucked out, here and there, but these are the only buttons I've used so far that are both perfect for the project, and perfect by themselves.

It's been very cold in the mornings this past week, and particularly this weekend, so we've already put the sweater to use. I would say that she loves it, but honestly? She doesn't really have an opinion about clothes. Shoes, on the other hand, she definitely has an opinion on: they belong in her hands, or in her mouth, but not on her feet. Never, ever.

And now, something for me. This is a sweaters' worth of Fyberspates Scrumptious 4-ply in "Water."


This is a yarn I've been meaning to try for a while, but haven't been able to find in North America. (WEBS carries it now.) It's 55% merino, 45% silk — do you sense a pattern? It's because I love things that drape, and nothing drapes like silk (or bamboo — but that's another story).

It is going to be a Pas de Valse — actually, it's already most of one; I've only got most of one sleeve and the crochet edging to go. It's a surprisingly fast knit. (I know, this isn't the best in-progress picture ever. I just wanted to capture the beauty of the silk stockinette. This colour is perfect for a blue-grey obsessive like me — incidentally, the colour in the photo above is slightly more accurate. It's getting harder to take photographs in natural light, now.)


I originally knit this pattern when it was first published, out of some BMFA Wooboo (which is 40% bamboo). Unfortunately it hasn't held up very well — the yarn was a bit thicker than called for (it had originally been for another project), and I had had to do some re-calculations on the fly, and so it was always a bit on the larger side. Now it's a bit misshapen and droopy. I love it, though; it's a staple of my fall wardrobe, so this year I decided it was time to knit a new one. I'm very excited.

I haven't decided yet what I will knit after this is finished. Socks? A shawl? (A lace project in the winter is never remiss. I may knit shawls in the summer — but fall-winter is when I start them.) It's too early to think about Christmas, so this knitting time is all about me, me, me. It's not often that I can say that anymore, so I will revel in it while I can.

weekly bloom: into the fall

I'd meant to post at least once more in August, but last weekend (and then this week) has just been a mess of epic proportions — personally, professionally, emotionally — so, no. (Not to fret; everyone here is healthy and hale. And the storm has blown over, more or less.)

Since the last "weekly bloom" post (which was, eek, much longer than a week ago), nothing much has happened. The good: all of the plants I bought in the second round have survived, even thrived. The mystery orange coneflowers have even re-bloomed. The purple echinacea have not, but there is lots of new, vigorous growth — I didn't deadhead them, because I actually want to encourage seeding for next year, and it looks, at the very least, that the two plants are well established and will come back. Even the Oriental poppies have been throwing out new growth, and one of the hellebores, which looked like it had died in the July drought, has come back. So the garden is good.

But nothing is blooming, per se, except for the 'Amber Sun' roses (which went through yet another round of profusion a week ago. I am deeply in love with these roses). So you haven't missed much.

This is what the garden looks like now:
Unfortunately, a lot of that greenery are weeds. I'd meant to do some weeding on Tuesday, but the torrential rains put a stop to that. So the garden is a little bit scraggly, a little bit neglected — but nothing is dead, and it's easier to subtract than it is to add. In gardening, I will take my victories where I can get them.

This is going to be the last weekly bloom post, though. The garden is pretty much at the end — some of the echinacea are holding on, but there's a crispness in the air now, and it won't be much longer before the garden dies back. (The only fall-bloomer I had planted were the Japanese anemones, and they did not, unfortunately, survive the drought.) There will probably be some more sporadic gardening posts, but I think the beginning of September is a good time to put the weekly gardening post to bed for a while. And it's fall, and there are so many other things to write about; I've already started my fall knitting. For example. And isn't it the perfect time to start writing about cozy things?

Thank you for sharing my garden with me.

photoblog: the Spanish Inquisition is one!

I promised a wrap-up of the Spanish Inquisition's first party, didn't I? And that was almost a month ago. Bad me. My only excuse is that July was unbelievably busy — the Spanish Inquisition started daycare (I've mentioned that), which means that she a) hasn't been sleeping as well, and b) has already brought back daycare germ factory germs, which are better crafted, more resilient, and more deadly than regular hoi polloi germs. They've got some really good quality control, that germ factory — sadly so, for us.

But! Her party! We had it at our house, and it was for her little friends — the neighbourhood 2011 baby brigade (with an honourable membership for one who was born around Christmas, 2010) — so there was lots of opportunity for crafting and decoration. Because I am still me, and that is what I do.

The spread:

The cake:

The favours:



And finally, last but not least, the birthday girl:
The party kept her up a bit past her bedtime, so she was a little stunned.

weekly bloom: gladiolus

It is raining — finally. The garden badly needs it. I did get out, earlier this week, to put some of the new plants into the ground, and I have watered, faithfully, every day this week — but still, the ground is so dried and hard that the water just pools, and I wonder how much of it is actually penetrating to root-depth. And when I dig the holes to plant, it's just dried and sad, all the way down. I've been amending as I go, but without water, none of this is going to work.

Last year — spring, 2011 — I planted a bunch of gladiolus bulbs along the border of our fence. (The fence is actually mostly decorative; it's about two feet high and so far I have seen the irises and poppies propagate freely right under it. Luckily, we get along well with our neighbours.) I admit that I had no clue what I was doing. The plants did send up shoots, but no flowers — which was a pity, I thought, because supposedly gladiolus are not winter hardy in this zone. Something, somewhere, suggested that I dig up the bulbs at the end of the season, store them in my basement, and then replant them in the spring.

... Ha. Like that was going to happen. I didn't even do that to my calla lilies, and I loved my callas. (And sadly, no, they didn't come back ... although I suspect that might be because I'm fairly certain I dug at least one of them up while preparing the new herb garden. An accident.)

At any rate, despite my not-so-benign neglect, and thanks I suppose to the unseasonably warm winter we had, the bulbs flowered this year.
I alternated the coral colour with the salmon colour. (I don't remember the "official" names of the flowers; it was too long ago.) The salmon bloomed first; three or four stalks last week, and the corals bloomed yesterday or the day before.


Unfortunately, they're not doing so well; twice this week I've come home to stalks that have fallen. Whether it's because of their weight or because they're being knocked over by something — our neighbours' walkway is right next to them, on the other side of the fence — is hard to say. I don't have great hopes that all of the remaining stalks will survive the thunderstorms tonight.


I'm not sure if I like them, particularly. I planted them because I love gladiolus as cut flowers; they're so dramatic and give such wonderful height to an arrangement. But what's lovely in a vase is overblown in the garden; the large blooms look out of place next to the miniature 'Fairy' roses and too fusty compared to the carefree echinacea; the colours are too garish. I love vermillion, but this is the wrong shade; it clashes horribly with the 'Amber Sun' roses. And even the height is wrong; the stalks are about six feet tall, and look ridiculous next to the little two-foot fence — particularly as nothing else in the garden (except the tree and) is even half that height.

So they may go next year. I am going to leave them in for the time being. It feels wrong to pull something that I've successfully planted, even if it's patently in the wrong place — like I'm thumbing my nose at my good luck. It just feels risky.

the new garden plan: round two

I had meant to skip last week's "weekly bloom" post, but I had also meant to replace it with something else. And then Life got in the way, as it does — the Spanish Inquisition has started daycare! She spends most of her day not napping, plotting dire recriminations against her cruel parents; I know it — and that got pushed back. As things do.

In any case, I had decided not to bother with a post because this extreme heat and drought have essentially dessicated the garden. No — wait; no "essentially" about it; it simply has. The roses are loving it (but even they are getting somewhat bleached) —


The lovely vermillion-pink colour is visible only close to dusk, when the flowers are closing up; during the day, they open a pale yellow, almost white. I have been deadheading — more or less — and they have kept in bloom; lovely.

The other things though — not so much. The hostas seem to be doing fine, in the deepest shade of the garden (which, even then, is only dappled shade; our tree is little, and doing the best it can). One of the two hellebores seem to be making a stand of it. But everything else — I believe the technically term is 'pfffffft.' — except for the weeds, which are endemic.

So! New plan. Yesterday we had a quiet day — astoundingly — and I went to our neighbourhood garden centre. East of Eliza is literally five minutes away from our house (which can be construed both as a very, very good thing, and a very dangerous one), so I took our little red wagon behind me, spent too long in the secret garden deciding on measures, and then returned, little red wagon laden with goodies, in the space of under an hour.

What is there? The splashiest, the bright purple-pink echinacea, are E. purpura 'PowWow Wild Berry." It's a ridiculous name, I know, but the flowers themselves are adorable. It's a relatively recent cultivar, but I've been seeing them everywhere lately, and I just couldn't resist. There's another coneflower in the wagon, too, a smaller burnt orange one at the back; it had lost its tag, unfortunately, so I don't know the cultivar.

The white ones are shasta daisies. I have a weakness for the daisy form; can you tell? Shasta daisies were not in my original garden plan; I forget why. I think I didn't want to overdose on daisies, and there's something so simple about them. They're almost too sweet, I think. But right now, my actual garden is dead and I need plants, and a daisy is a daisy, so in they go.

The small, low-leafed things are Oriental poppies, white ones. They're past their bloom time, but still throwing out new growth, so I am hoping that I will be able to establish them for next year. I love poppies, particularly Oriental ones — one of the earlier victims of the drought was a purple Oriental — and they were on sale, so I'm willing to take the risk.

And finally, there's a peony in there somewhere. A dark pink one, if the picture is any indication; the tag says, simply "garden peony." They also had some 'Duchesse de Nemours,' which is a very old white from the 1850s, with a beautiful form — it was one of the ones I was considering, in my original garden plan. But it's crazily hot right now, and the sun is searing, and in this light I can't abide a shrub full of big, bright white flowers; it's too glaring. I rejected the 'David' phlox (which I had also considered, back in April) for similar reasons.

I will be moving these into the ground throughout the week. (What with work, and bedtime, and dinner, it's not going to be possible to do everything at once — and we're out of town this weekend.) Wish me luck.

weekly bloom: rose gardens

Late again. This whole weekly blogging thing doesn't seem to be working great, does it? (Okay, when I wrote this post, I wasn't that late; I wrote this on Tuesday. Double oops.) In my defense, it was a super busy weekend: the Spanish Inquisition had her first birthday party (meaning that it was her first birthday, and also that it was the first of multiple parties), and both Pd and I were completely knackered afterwards. It's amazing how tiring a baby birthday party can be. And we are still doing the work-home-work thing to bridge the time until daycare; she goes in next week. So I went to work the first two days of this week, trying frantically to do in two days what should be done in five or seven (Not Going to Happen), and trying not to fall asleep — the Spanish Inquisition having relapsed slightly wrt the sleeping through the night thing, and my back has been hurting enough, lately, that it's hard for me to fall back asleep quickly. My body likes to be ironic about things like that.

So! the garden. Which is not going so great, really, except for the roses. It's been so hot and arid this summer; the roses are loving it, but everything else is parched. Something Will Have To Be Done, but what remains to be seen.


The 'Amber Sun' roses are living up to their promise of continual bloom, and I still love them. They start out that lovely bright vermillion color, and quickly get bleached by the sun to an almost butter white.




'The Fairy' roses have also been blooming like gangbusters. They are not really anything to look at, individually, but the amassed effect is lovely.

Sadly, the 'Graham Thomas' ones did not bloom this year. Bu the plant seems to be vigorous nonetheless, so I live in hope.

In the back: the scabrosa, which is turning into the Plant That Ate Everything — one has essentially crushed the columbines, and the other has chased the rhubarb away by turning what was hitherto the sunniest part of the garden in deep shade. (The rhubarb has tried to move into an empty patch that once had geraniums, but as it must navigate between the Scylla of the strawberries and the Charybdis of the main scabrosa to get there, I consider it essentially a rearguard action.)


Can you see how the bunches of bloom are so heavy, they literally weigh everything down?








The mystery double roses, which I still love, although they are essentially done for the season.


And my least favourite roses, the rugosas. The colour isn't really my thing. But it is so hot, and most of my new plants have died, so I can't complain, really. I haven't been able to deadhead them because I haven't been able to reach them — they are behind the scabrosas, and I prefer my skin to be unscratched — so unfortunately they do start turning into a mess as the heavy blooms dry up.


It's odd. I had thought that the roses would be the hardest thing in the garden plan; I paid a lot of attention, tried to some research, and then prayed that I wouldn't kill more than one or two. (This, I am told, is usually called the "learning curve.") But they've been so accommodating; meanwhile, I think I may have killed even the Japanese anemone. And I may have accidentally transplanted my herb garden into deep to partial shade (rather than full to partial sun, as intended). It's a little like knitting, I guess — I was horrible at knitting scarves, I never pay attention and something weird always happens, but I specialise in intricate, cabled socks. My brain requires a challenge, apparently. Either that, or I should just learn to give things my full attention instead of attempting to coast.

crafty preview

The Spanish Inquisition is almost one! I know; that's insane. It feels unbelievable. It's been almost a year since the initial scare, and the long hospital stay, and the big, upending change in our lives.

She is still perfect.

Anyway, we are having a party — or rather, a series of parties; it's a long story that inevitably ends with "... and we have a small house" — as befits a Big Girl Birthday, and I have been crafting up a storm.


The paper pinwheels are party favours, from a Martha Stewart kit. The pom poms (above) are also from a MS kit. I've since attempted to make my own poufs; I'll show them to you in a party retrospective.

I've also been making buntings, diving deep into my chiyogami stash for the little flags —

Of course I had to incorporate chiyogami in there; it's an important birthday. I even broke into the Brazilian marbled paper I've been saving up (that's the green, in the picture, and there's a red-peach series in there, somewhere). And there's another, bigger bunting that I haven't taken a picture of (but will when it's up); it's lovely patterned paper with blue-and-white twine, says "happy birthday" on it.

The favours are wrapped in matching paper. I was also going to do a vellum overlay, but I think I'm out of time (and paper), and Pd is starting to give me that "I think you've gone nuts" look and backing away slowly.

I do know that the Spanish Inquisition won't care, not really, and that she certainly won't remember any of this (although it will live on in pictures, I'm sure). But let's face it: the first birthday party isn't really for the kid, it's for us, and I demand decorations, and crafts ... and, apparently, gluten-free cupcakes.

(That last one is a bit of a surprise. We'll see how that goes.)

weekly bloom: transients and the dearly departed

I had nearly forgotten the post for this week! Long weekends are confusing that way. Also, this week I am off work, to bridge the gap between the end of parental leave and when the daycare will actually have a spot for us — so the calendar feels a little more mutable than usual. Funny how dependent one becomes on the nine-to-five for timekeeping.

I am also keeping really busy with crafting this week; more on that later.

So! Gardening! Is maddening. The garden looks about as much as it did last week, except significantly more ... parched. I am of the belief that one does not water the garden unless absolutely necessary, because that way the roots will dig deep and become more drought resistant ... this only works with lawns, I've realised. A. And b) it doesn't work with plants that you have just planted and have had absolutely no chance, or rather, only a snowball's chance in Hell (this summer, quite literally), to establish themselves. And yes, that was rather an expensive lesson to learn.

This week, some things that have either come and gone, or are about to do so.

Columbines (left), bloomed late May. They lasted until June, when the scabrosa came into bloom and essentially crushed them. (I think they were just about done by then, though.) I loved these so much that I am letting them volunteer as much as they like, with the intent of moving half of them to the front garden next year.

Poppies! Which I love. They started about three weeks ago, and are still going, off and on — the blooms only last for a day or two, but they are vigorous enough this year that each plant has two or three secondary blooms. I try not to love things that are so transient, it's too sad, but these are just too lovely.



Daylilies, started about two weeks ago. Still going, but even they are starting to wilt in this heat.

And finally, last but certainly not least, the 'Rainforest Sunrise' hosta:


The hostas (three of them; two 'Rainforest Sunrise' and one 'Stained Glass') are the new plants that I did not kill. Part of it may be that they like dry shade, or maybe I just lucked out with drought tolerant varieties. The two 'Rainforest Sunrise' plants sent out blooms about a week and a half ago; they had already been in the process of blooming when I planted them, so it might be residual. Unfortunately, these ones have no scent.

Next week, we'll go back to the roses.

weekly bloom: Provence (in absentia)

Just a quickie, this week.




I don't know the cultivar, although I suspect that this is probably English (rather than French) lavender, likely 'Munstead' or some other, very hardy, easily over-wintered thing. I have never done anything other for it other than cutting it back in the spring (and honestly, I only did half the job this year), or pulling its many volunteer shoots. This mild winter was excellent for it; I'm not even sure if it died back.

I love the roses, but honestly this is more emblematic of my gardening philosophy in general: the lavender is messy, uncontrollable, and half-feral; if not pruned aggressively, it would take over half the front garden. All I have to do it leave it alone, more or less; it is well-nigh unkillable, and the rest takes care of itself — perfect.

the promise of grace

Do you like the new blog layout? I'm as yet undecided — I like the fact that it will let me post bigger photographs, but I'm not sure if I like it enough to balance out the fact that each post now pops up in its own window. We shall see. The old layout was getting tired (and such tiny pictures!).

It's been a bit of a difficult week for me. I've always been prone to anxiety, and while I've learned to control it, or at least alleviate it, a bit over the years, it pops up sometimes. And I am not good at doing things I fear. I suppose not a lot of people are (and the ones who are, are sky-jumpers). Nonetheless — I had a driving test this week, and I was literally vibrating with fear and anxiety, off and on, for a few days. I didn't feel prepared. I hate the idea of failing. And, omg, I am over the cusp of 30; what moronic 30something can't drive?

In the spring and summer, I usually cast a quick eye over the front garden as I leave the house in the morning. Things change so fast, in the garden, at this time of year, and this way I can keep my eye on the new transplants and see what's blooming. Yesterday I did that, force of habit, and I noticed that 'The Fairy' roses have started to bud.

And it immediately calmed me down, and made me feel better — enough, at least, to stop vibrating. There is something about the knowledge that tomorrow, there will be roses, that makes me feel immeasurably content. Part of it is, I think, the idea that, a few months ago, I knew nothing about roses; I do, now. So I am not hopeless at everything. But more than that, it's the mere presence of grace, and the promise of more, tomorrow.


(Sorry about the not-great picture. I had to take this, on the fly and with the wrong lens, before the heavens opened up during the big thunderstorm this afternoon.)

They are tiny, and pink, and perfect in their way, as all roses are. Aesthetically, I prefer my beloved 'Amber Sun' roses — but you cannot argue with a rose hat blooms so prolifically, robustly and with such abandon, season after season. It is almost enough to question if it is high maintenance enough to call a rose.

(And yes. I passed.)

weekly bloom: roses

I had this whole (long) post going, about what I've added to the front garden and my future plans for it, but Mother Nature interrupted and insisted that I write about something better. And prettier. And then I thought, why not make this a weekly thing? It will, at least, give me the chance to keep up with the garden note-taking, as things go in and out of season. I won't be able to cover everything that's in bloom from week to week (that would be too much). But I can cover large swaths, and this week I even have the best topic: roses!

These are the 'Amber Sun' roses, two landscape shrubs (meaning: low to the ground) I put in next to the main walkway to the house. Both are blooming, with at least four flowers and more buds on the way. I had given up on seeing any of the new roses bloom this year — they are all very verdant and healthy, with multitudes of glossy green leaves, but hadn't budded while all of the neighbourhood roses are in glorious flower — so I had assumed. But, here they are!




Their colour is described as "copper yellow." I was expecting slightly more copper (like the bud below), but the first few roses were very pale, very yellow with a tinge of pink. I took these photographs yesterday. This morning there were more blooms, and they were much more orange, more like the half-open bud above.




I love them. These were the roses I chose even though the nursery was already out of full-sized plants for the season; I just couldn't let them go. Obviously, that doesn't seem to have hurt their chances any. Even better: they are supposed to be "continuous blooming," so I may even be able to enjoy them a few weeks more!




I also found some mystery roses in the back garden. I swear they weren't there last year! I noticed the shrub when I was pruning the others this year, but had assumed that they were more scabrosa roses (we have at least two, big towering ones). But no! These are double, maybe even full, and a pale pink. The shrub doesn't have that many flowers on it — maybe a half dozen. I've found that the roses in the back need reasonably heavy pruning in order to bud properly, so next year I will make sure to cut it back more. (I barely touched it this year.)



And the scabrosa roses, of course. These have been in bloom for a good two weeks, along with the rugosas (which I neglected to take a picture of). They are about the same as last year, except even bigger; these ones are taking over the rhubarb patch. We used to have the Rhubarb Patch That Ate Toronto, until — sometime last summer — the scabrosa made a leap for the shed roof; now it forms an arbour and is using the neighbour's hedge to (literally) climb to new heights. Meanwhile, the small patch that used to be full sun is now deep shade, and the rhubarb are fighting a rearguard action.




I don't know who I'm rooting for in this fight. I don't necessarily want the scabrosa to take over the entire north wall of the back garden — which it threatens to do — on the other hand, I don't even like rhubarb.