I finished The Grass Harp by Truman Capote a few months ago. It was a unique little story with some beautifully descriptive passages. Here was one of my favorites:
Wind surprised, pealed the leaves, parted night clouds; showers of starlight were let loose: our candle, as though intimidated by the incandescence of the opening, star-stabbed sky, toppled, and we could see, unwrapped above us, a late wayaway wintery moon: it was like a slice of snow, near and far creatures called to it, hunched moon-eyed frogs, a claw-voiced wildcat. Catherine hauled out the rose scrapquilt, insisting Dolly wrap it around herself; then she tucked her arms around me and scratched my head until I let it relax on her bosom -- You cold? she said, and I wiggled closer: she was good and warm as the old kitchen.
Ahh, don't you just want to curl up and witness that night sky?
The story itself mostly took place in a tree house, which might explain why I enjoyed it. I spent a good deal of my younger years in the trees. The home in which I lived from about the age of 5 until 10 had a fantastic tree house wedged between 3 huge trees in our backyard. The fort had a ledge around 2 of its sides, 2 windows, and a trap door. We played for hours in that fort [except for the period of time when an opossum was decomposing underneath the bottom level], and I have lots of funny memories from my time spent there. Maybe someday I'll make a list of some of them. If I wasn't in the tree house, you might have found me climbing up another tree in our yard and swinging out of it on the rope swing. It was a pretty great back yard.
Back to the book -- it included a few other short stories I could have done without. They left me with a disturbed and unresolved feeling and sort of tainted my experience with The Grass Harp. Overall, however, if you are seeking some lovely language and a transport back to your childhood, you might find it in this quirky tale.
I love my garden. I don't have a particularly green thumb, and most of the productivity I see is more of a happy accident than the result of any knowledge or skill. This being said, I felt pleased as punch a few weeks ago when Jeremy set out to clean out the garden and discovered a bounty of wintering carrots. He summoned the kids and put them to work gathering two garbage sacks worth of the orange veggie.
The next order of business was to decide what to do with so many carrots arriving all at once. I decided I had to make a batch of carrot soup. Once I got scrubbing and peeling and chopping [and scrubbing and peeling and chopping], I figured I might as well double the batch while I was at it. Doubling soon turned to tripling and finally quadrupling. Since my biggest deterrent in ever making this strangely addicting soup is the preparation part, I thought I could make the base and then put the extra batches in the freezer.
Let me just say that I struggle with sticking to repetitive actions [like chopping vegetables or packaging candy for The Peppermint Place]. I get bored and weary and irritable pretty quickly. But my desire for self-sufficiency and for a taste of this, my favorite soup, overcame my hatred of menial tasks, and I persevered. A few hours and several semi-permanently orange-stained fingernails later, I had 12 cups of finely chopped carrots ready to simmer. The first batch declared by Morgan to be "de-wicious," now I anticipate savoring this satisfying concoction a few more times before the next season of carrots arrives.
Puree of Carrot Soup
2 Tbsp. butter
3 c. finely chopped carrots
1 qt. chicken broth [I'm a fan of Better Than Bouillon from Costco in lieu of bouillon cubes]
2/3 c. chopped onion
2 Tbsp. uncooked rice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/8 tsp. pepper
1/2 c. light cream, evaporated milk, or half-and-half
Melt butter in large saucepan. Add onions and cook until soft. Add carrots, chicken broth, rice and seasonings. Simmer, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Puree soup in blender. Return to saucepan and add cream. Heat just to boiling. Makes 5 cups. [Recipe courtesy of my friend, Meri Ann.]
So Morgan got into the tub of lotion [again] while I was in the middle of teaching a piano lesson the other day. I could sense something was afoot, so I went to find her. Upon discovery, she calmly spread a glob of lotion over her arms and said, "This will protect me from sin." I'm curious what we're teaching over here to make her feel the need for such protection, but I guess I'm glad she's prepared. Better sooner than later!
[Maybe I should add that her comment made me laugh out loud, after which she asked, "Are you happy now?" This question is her latest clever effort to get out of trouble. Or perhaps I should take it as a message that I need to smile more.]
I am not a dancer. As a little girl I thought I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up. I remember doing ballerina leaps all through the house. [Evidently I also wore my tutu without reservation. I wonder where Morgan gets that from?] That ended as I became more self-conscious and realized I really didn't have great coordination. However, I find there is a time and place to bust a move. One of my friends teaches a free Zumba class on Saturday mornings, and I take my two left feet pretty regularly. It gets me moving and I laugh a lot, both of which are good things. I've discovered an additional benefit to my Zumba experience: my friend uses all sorts of fun music for her routines, which helps narrow the gap in my vast pop culture divide. Sure, I listen to the radio, but I have a fairly stunted repertoire when it comes to such things. Anyway, my latest favorite is one she uses for the cool down. It's a mash-up, which I didn't even know existed before. You should take a listen, just for fun. . .
