Party chatter

Some people can tell a joke at parties. I can't. I suppose that is one reason I am not a professional comedian. My daddy was a sociable funny person in his own reserved way, and he had a kind of country wit that everyone around him appreciated. He had lots of stories, some of them gathered from his legal practice either from his own cases or those of his associates. His stories were about the foibles of human nature at all levels of society, education or wealth. Lawyer stories are usually didactic and are not received as outright comic gems at parties.

Anecdotes are a joke variation which can be funny and are supposedly reality-based. We get an earful of those at many social functions throughout the year. Often the degree of pleasantry is directly proportional to the quantity of alcohol consumed. This humor quotient or ratio is practically a rule of nature. Alcohol as a social lubricant has become essential nowadays to sustain a level of jollity which current world events can easily diminish in a dull moment. Both the listener and speaker are involved in this delicate choreography of distraction. The storyteller is usually relating something that happened to him or that he witnessed, and with a hilarious fillip at the end, sends every nearby listener into paroxysms of explosive laughter. But what do you do when the effort falls flat? If you are carrying a fan you can hide behind it, rustle it vigorously and titter amiably before moving on to the next topic. Sadly, personal fans are not carried often except on certain Asian occasions.

In many cases the suspension of reality during the failed anecdote has been so complete that the shocking return to the present is met with dumb silence and shifting postures. Be prepared. During the recounting of the awful tale, let your mind wander to some clever associative remark, “My brother is just like that!” or “I've never heard of anything quite like it!” or “Where do you come up with these stories?” or “Oh well, what can you do?” Avoid putting the raconteur in an awkward position at all costs as this will only accentuate any discomfort occasioned by the defective effort. Make no reference to over consumption of beverages as this tends to broadly insult the speaker's social capabilities even though it may be an accurate observation. Make no general observations such as “Insurance sales is a racket like that” or “All car mechanics are crooked,” since one of their number in that field may be present. “Have you tried the paté?” is a reliable dodge with the specific plate (cheese board, kale salad or vichysoisse, etc.) substituted where appropriate. Everyone in the circle of hearing will be relieved that someone has taken the lead to extricate the group from awkwardness, no matter that it may seem to be an abrupt segue. I say any life saver is fine in an emergency.

Parties are not meant for introspection. They are meant for convivial sharing and by making allowances for human frailty your part can only be enhanced. If you don't want to participate, find the host's library and open a book, but you and everyone else are best served if you march with good will in this occasional parade as a healthy deflection from ordinary reality.

Many more kisses, Celeste

More food memories.

It happens that the topic of food memory is a rich though non-caloric one. I prefer the digestible length of one page notes but some subjects require more commentary than others. Broadly, there are the holiday food memories, ordinary food memories, the memories evoked by aroma or by taste and the memories prompted by sight and occasion. Most of these in my experience are good memories although the complex nature of human biology does allow for unpleasant and unsavory reflexes when confronted by certain foods. Sadly, my dear Wallace couldn’t eat onions for years due to an untoward experience with them during silly college fraternity hazing.

Anyhoo, in my experience a food memory can be extraordinarily intense, sometimes in a literary way, provoking floridly descriptive passages of less than novel length. It casts me back to the entirety of the circumstances at the time of my experience. I may be 5 years old or I may be 25 and the reminder of the time, place and feeling can be overwhelming. Often when I drink a certain sweet tea in a certain glass with a certain sprig of mint I am fully transported to the front steps of my childhood home, on a warm June day, a soft breeze ruffling the leaves of the great pecan tree in front, the aromas of mown hay sweeping across the road and up our little sloping yard, to enfold me in a safe and happy embrace. It is pure calming pleasure and contentment. This complete feeling is total and really does begin at the top of my head and travels to my toes in a sort of force field of emotion. It is fleeting but I can see and hear and sense all the things as richly as I did at that prior moment. From the mossy green step I see the slouched figure of the farmer across the way, one hand on his tractor wheel, one adjusting his hat, stirring the field and its creatures like the pilot of a ship traversing the waves. He glances at me and raises his hand in recognition and I do the same in shared approval. It captured serenity and the promise of glorious summer all in one gesture.

On the other hand a birthday cake of the white kind with yellow, red and blue icing reminds me too well of the party where the guest of honor got so over-excited and ate so much that he threw up in multicolor hues across the table from his youthful guests. I haven’t felt the same about birthday cake since, favors notwithstanding.

Distinct from that, those special ‘dining out’ experiences with one’s parents can have a strange and powerful hold. The appearance of shrimp cocktail in a little dish of shaved ice centered on an ampoule of unbearably hot tomato sauce always reminds me of my parents’ delight in treating us to utter extravagance from time to time and to my high school graduation in particular when their mood was so genuinely gleeful that I cried the entire time, for what I am still not quite sure, but you know what I mean.

Fond hugs,

Celeste

Device protocol

Celeste’s Clip ‘n’ Save suggestions for electronic device protocol.

Once again I find myself in the position to beg that one subscribe to a few courtesies when it comes to the public use of handheld devices. In this case public is defined as “in the presence of another.”

• Furtive use is futile. Everyone can see what you are doing. Don’t think you are hiding anything.

• Accommodate your need with smallest device you have. It is not necessary to haul out a lap top to look up “Amarone” at the dinner table.

• Settle arguments by consensus if you can. Even that world wide webby thing does not have all the answers to everything.
• It can wait. Ask yourself if it is absolutely necessary to review your cousin’s social network comments right now.

• Consider what it says about you as a person. At solemn occasions such as funerals, leave your email account alone.

• Share your view with everyone. If you must scroll your photo album make sure everyone can see it clearly.

• Do not endanger others. If you are driving, pull over.

• Excuse yourself. If you must, acknowledge your mental departure with a few polite words and go to a private location.

• Be here now. Occupy the moment with your undistracted presence.

Clip ‘n’ Save

Some really good fruits

Apple is also a fruit. Let’s not forget that. Even though in today's world it may have technological connections in the laboratory of plant breeders it is still a comestible and it’s a ridiculously versatile one, making appearances, some surprising, in many dishes. In the American tradition you have used or consumed it in a betty, a crisp, a crumble, a cobbler, a grunt, a buckle, a slump, a sonker, a dowdy or even a pie, to name a few of its many baked incarnations. It pops up in desserts all over the place and even makes cameo appearances in main dishes or salads. Waldorf anyone? We ought not ignore the foreign contributions to this effort, such as the tarte tatin where the ingredients are simple but the process is somewhat complexified to the point where the entirety is the apotheosis of each ingredient. Really: sugar, apples, flour, butter, egg yolk and an optional lemon. The final combination is essentially brilliant but beware that the apples are the right type to ensure that those big chunks don’t disintegrate in the baking.

This commentary also pertains to our native fruit, which the common apple IS NOT! Even as widespread and adapted as its reach is today, it was not found on the shores of North America when the first immigrants landed. They brought their own plants or seeds and from there the diversity multiplied readily, so much so that legends were created and careers made by its propagation. Its tasty precursor in very ancient times was the medlar, a primitive form of tree fruit that has to be practically rotten before it is used. The delightfully descriptive adjective “bletted” describes this state of near-decay. Needless to say medlars never really clicked like apples.

Some of our neglected native fruits deserve a little attention too. If we limit ourselves to trees, that eliminates scuppernong and concord grapes, cranberries, beach plums, raspberries, blackberries, cloudberries, blueberries and a host of other delicious bear forage species.

Everyone likes cherry pie but the native black cherry is probably not the source of the filling except in the most rural areas where the trees provide abundantly for the taking. The stone size relative to the flesh is pretty big and most of the fruit goes to the birds or survivalists.

That leaves us with persimmons and paw-paws, two popular but localized favorites. Talk about underutilized, well they are the ones. Each has its own particular charms and you needn't be ashamed if you never heard of one or the other. This also means you are not a Kentucky native or from one of its neighboring states where their use in season is pretty common. If you ever have the chance to try either of these native fruits don't be shy. They each have a rewarding and unique flavor that deserves more frequency at any table. I say bring back the megafauna which were theoretically responsible for their distribution in the first place! We'll make room!

Smooches, Celeste       

On kitchen tools

Doesn’t everyone have a favorite kitchen tool? It isn’t as if we invented the little thing but we can still feel a sense of pride in possessing it and putting it to its intended purpose with some skill and smoothness of operation. You probably have a short list as do I. I’ll bet there are special implements in your kitchen that you would feel bereft of if you were unable to reach for them at just the right moment. That moment is special. It combines a feeling of satisfaction in finding the tool exactly where it is handy and in the anticipation of working it the way it was intended. Happily this includes those tools of our own adaptation which we use, which were never intended to serve the purpose we find for them. There is a secret and satisfying celebration in this quasi-inventive success as it vibrates sympathetically with the tool-using regions of the human brain.

In general, these tools are complex to some degree and manufactured en masse. I am not talking about spoons, knives and forks though there are many subtle variations on those themes, including the specialized and au courant use of long-handled ice-tea spoons for swirling coulis. Nor am I speaking of adapted medical and dental instruments for who knows what purposes, although it must be said that medical pincers do allow for more subtle placement of garnishes and that hypodermic syringes efficiently deliver edible infusions of all sorts. These are heady times for industrial inventiveness among chefs who prowl the hardware stores, equipment catalogues and flea markets for implements that will serve their extravagant visions.

Dare I suggest the carrot peeler as one of the most perfect tools, which now has an ergonomic and comfortable handle? There is a considerable amount of design and ingenuity in this little piece as anyone knows who has purchased a cheaply crafted version that doesn’t quite operate as well as it should in spite of its similarity to the superior and more serviceable model. If the blade angle is not right or the arc of swing of the blade is not appropriate then you find yourself going over and over the same segment of the vegetable, carrot or potato. These micro efforts have an insidiously cumulative and negative effect in any kitchen where efficiency and ease of effort are the underpinnings of finely prepared meals. Every effort, no matter how small, contributes to the ultimate success of the dish or meal. Wasted time and energy cannot be anything but a drag on the quality of the total experience of preparation and a genuine impairment of the enjoyment of serving the final product.

This exultation in the heft of a good implement can be marred by disappointment when tools are misplaced by others or go un-replaced immediately when lost or worn out. Let this serve as a caution to those who enter the temple of the kitchen and who casually avail themselves of its utilitarian resources without fully understanding their exalted importance to the celebratory communion to follow. You know what I am talking about!

Kisses as Ever,

Celeste

A sparrow

Is a sparrow consequential? Does one sparrow make any difference? This seems a weighty philosophical, cosmological and ecclesiastical topic, doesn't it? It is not one of the ordinary subjects which I address for the calculated and happy advancement of modern living. I think it pertains nonetheless. There are those who subscribe to the idea that the flutter of a butterfly's wings will have a dynamic effect on matters far removed and apparently unrelated. I find this to be a useful precept to bear in mind. Whether one is of a contemplative nature or not, it is hard to deny the connectedness of life.

One can hardly live in the present and be unaware of the perils which many species confront constantly, whether it is at the active hands of trophy hunters and poachers or by the passive presence of glass window panes. My sister Livia is in the front ranks of the alarmists on this issue and she reminds me that to be a Cassandra is to be an outcast in many quarters. It does not prevent her from speaking out. This literally brings home the urgency and importance of the slow collapse of the biosphere which seems to be in motion all around us. Do not see the movie Melancholia if you are at all inclined to this point of view. It may put you over the edge!

When it comes to quality of life, we are certainly in a gilded age here in America. The privileges with which we are blessed ought to be seriously considered as precious and not to be assumed to be eternal. Stewardship requires vigilance. For example, now that we know that neonicotinoids (think nicotine) are anathema to honeybees, shouldn't we ask at the garden store whether the pesticide we are considering is safe in that respect? Talk about a buzz kill. Knowledge is good and action is the important next step. Those inspirational talks on the world wide web are great but what good do they do if no one acts on them? Apathy is the real problem. Ask any activist. How do light a fire under someone to not only pay attention but to take affirmative action? It's an age-old problem. It has been said that the definition of evil is what happens when good people do nothing. Hmmm.

Now, I know I am preaching to the converted, but it is a rainy day and that often generates introspection. You'll forgive me if I vent a wee bit on this topic lest we continue skipping along and blithely ignore signs of trouble. The particular sparrow of which I spoke has been an inspiration all this season. It is a song sparrow which begins its trills before the sun rises and continues to proclaim all day long. It is a life-affirming sound, expressive of an intrinsic need to announce presence and location. It informs my day with an appreciation of the vitality all around me. At just about a half an hour before sunset this sparrow arrives at the birdbath every day. It twitches its tail and then plops into the shallows to swivel and swish vigorously, pausing, I like to think, to appreciate the feeling of the cool water on its skin. We share that moment. We share so much.

Hugs, Celeste

Coming Summer Bounty

What is it about the bounties of summer that are so entrancing? Maybe it is that they seem to follow, one upon the other, in quick breathless succession. Or maybe it is that they beg to be conserved in some way, a bulwark against the scarcity of the next seasons. Or maybe it is the tantalizing colors and textures appearing in such diversity. It seems that we were just beginning to enjoy the tender lettuces of springtime! Wallace simply adores butter crunch, by the way, also known as Boston lettuce. Who knows why it is named for Boston? Was there a grower there who specialized in this variety? That is true of Bibb lettuce, its approximate equal, which has Kentucky origins. Boston gets the credit in name for bringing us lots of good things, including cream pie, baked beans and terriers, so I am not complaining.

What was I saying? Oh yes, the summer harvest. What would it be, at least in the United States, without tomatoes and corn? We are crazy about both. Real vine-ripened tomatoes from a farm stand or the garden are unequaled. My grandmother liked to slice, salt and pepper them and drizzle a little vinegar on them. You can call that a salad of sorts. If she were really going all the way there might be some juicy bacon bits, the real kind, liberally sprinkled on them. She put bacon into just about everything and I can't think of any harm that it did anywhere at any time. For sandwiches, what is possibly finer than bacon, lettuce and tomato on homemade bread with mayonnaise? Sitting in the shade on the front porch, we could have eaten those until we burst if we hadn't had some bicycle exploring down at the creek to do that very afternoon. Fortified by those BLT's we could accomplish just about anything.

Corn can't come to market soon enough to remind us of how we savor it every year during its productive season. Low in glamour, high in returns, this is what Americans crave no matter what state they come from. The hybrid magicians have created some very tasty types without resorting to the dreaded genetically modified route. Driving through the countryside recently I could tell it is going to be a great year, at least for field corn. The stalks seemed to be taller and stouter than I ever remember and the dagger like leaves appeared to be downright dangerous. Europeans mostly grow corn for livestock and there are few places where a steaming plate of sweet corn arrives to the table there to such unanimous delight as it does in America.

Really, it's all about the butter, if I must be honest. Corn on the cob has a wonderful flavor but its charms are greatly magnified by the generous application of fresh butter. If you haven't sampled some of the artisanal butters that have begun appearing at markets, then you owe yourself the favor of procuring some in order to exalt fresh corn to its proper rank in the firmament of summer stars. Don't be shy about flavored butters either! They can provide an undreamed-of enhancement to the experience. And be sure to wear a bib of the kind that protects your summer chemise from excessive enthusiasm!
Still, Celeste

Summer thoughts

The glorious days of summer are upon us. What a delight to have long days for all our favorite outdoor activities. Even as the day length wanes, ever so subtly, we still feel that we are getting a full measure of light sent as a gracious complement to our interests. There is plenty of time to get things done and to entertain in the warmth of lingering sunsets or in the cool of the midday shade. If ever there were a season for entertaining, this is it, if you ask me. Certainly the other seasons offer their own virtues but nothing beats the languorous summer season for bright and breezy opportunities at every time of day. Let's not forget the chance for warm summer night dancing on the terrace when colorful paper lanterns may illuminate a sociable crowd. I'll have a chilled Rosé with that!

Summer means the advent of so many things to everyone, not the least of which are (in no particular order of importance): boats in the water flying colorful pennants, delivery men in shorts, hay-scented country drives, home gardens of bright flowers and sincere vegetables, outdoor concerts, impromptu bicycle lunches in the park, desserts that take advantage of fresh fruits such as cherry clafouti, the call of mourning doves (not those screechy recent tropical arrivals), the sound of a screen door closing, summer dresses, the supremacy of the gin and tonic cocktail or the ice cream from Tastee Freez. Many of these elements touch a fond chord in some of us.

I love being in my little garden where I can observe and cultivate and learn. Most of this practice (if doctors practice medicine, why can't gardeners practice gardening?) allows me quiet time and physical exertion at the same moment. Grubbing away at the dahlias to incorporate compost into the soil is a highly recommended activity for the serenity it provides; likewise with spider lilies and amaryllis. It's the time for dividing and sharing those early spring bloomers so that you don't wait too long and let the fall season get ahead of you. Share them with your fellow practitioners sooner than later. It's better to disturb them now and allow them to recover than to dig and transplant with the shocking onset of cooling weather. They may survive such a transplant but not flourish as they ought to.

It's funny how some people approach garden tools. Take trowels. They're simple. They're utilitarian and they have a singular purpose. Who would guess that there are so many ridiculous variations on this theme at the stores? The handles, the blades, the angle of attack and the heft are all up for grabs in the world of designer tools and consumer appeal. Even I can be accused of prejudice. I used to think a garden trowel was a straightforward implement. Not so! My all-time favorite is more of a scooper than anything and it has a serrated edge. It was a gift that I received with some suspicion and it sat on the shelf for a long time because it didn't conform to my idea of a proper trowel. Now the sight of it evokes summer to me and I wouldn't garden without it.

Warm summer kisses,

Celeste

On family guests

   Guests are one thing but family guests are another. They require special consideration and rules mainly due to the delicacy of the familial bonds that dare not be broken, except in cases of distant incarceration, in which instance the best policy would be to send holiday cards only without any personal notes, thereby maintaining the thinnest connectivity. When there is a disturbance in the family fabric it has a tendency to propel vibrations far and wide and to engender tremors in faraway and unexpected places. One of the consequences of which is that the original actors in the drama are misunderstood, misquoted and generally maligned by persons who hardly know them and can’t be bothered to find out the facts. In order to preserve the status quo of cherished family values and character, some precepts ought to be observed by the host and hostess when sheltering family:

1. Never loan them money as a house guest. Its corollary: never ask for repayment by a guest, lest it be misunderstood as “rent”. 

2. Do not encourage the family guest to give up a cherished vice, such as drinking, smoking or gambling while in your home as this is likely to exacerbate violent mood swings. 

3. Limit sharp objects around the house, especially within easy reach on kitchen counters. 

4. If a family guest makes an inane and offensive remark at table such as, “Not all slave owners were really bad people,” ask them to help in the kitchen with some menial task in order to defuse any ill-will, especially if it happens to be Martin Luther King Day. 

5. Placate dietary requirements as best you can but do not be vexed by unanticipated and unexpressed needs. Meet them with casual nonchalance such as, “I don’t believe you mentioned that to me” or “Help me find a substitute in your food pyramid.” 

6. Provide ample brochures for local activity in rooms and meet requests for things to do with a slightly bewildered deflection to them. 

7. Plainly express your day’s plan ahead of time and let the family guests work around your schedule. Leave explanatory notes with diagrams on the kitchen counter when you must be away. 

8. Inform the family that your pet has a delicate nature and that territorial displays are to be expected, the consequences for which you will not be responsible, no matter the provocation. Stock in stain remover. 

9. The second phrase after welcome must be, “Remind me how long you said you will be with us?” A direct declaration is important for clarity. Much sorrow and ill-will has arisen from over-staying, Benjamin Franklin’s quotation notwithstanding. Remind your guest how thin your walls are. Blame the builder. 

 10. Your goal is to make it all look easy. Even those who exploit your kindness with unexpressed appreciation can sense the effort you have made. Somewhere in the deepest recesses of self the rewards of kinship will be felt. Offer to reciprocate with a visit of your own in the near future.

Kisses,

Celeste

Mangez!

       What can be said about a nation famous for pastries which are 50% air? Genius! If you are lucky enough to have a French patisserie close by, as I am, then you can appreciate the advantage of serving some of their delectations in all their glory. If you think about it there are many occasions to avail yourself of this delightful resource such as breakfast, lunch, dinner and anytime in between. Do I exaggerate? Hardly. Not every selection is a desert load of sugar, confectioners and otherwise. Some of the croissants and brioches provide a wonderful foundation as accompaniments to a salad, as serving platforms for fruited preserves or as the foundation of a sandwich. If they also make bread then that opens up whole new avenues for enjoyment but that is really a boulangerie.

       It is hardly a coincidence that so much of the vocabulary of cooking, gastronomy, has French origins. The high priests of western cooking have traditionally been French and the cordon bleu has been their assignment of excellence. No one will deny that they have codified many worthy dishes, much to their eternal glory. Here is the modifier for some dishes described as using truffles: Financière, Maréchale, Périgord, Régence, Reine, Rossini, Royale, Suvarov and Zingara. That shaves it pretty fine indeed and that is just for truffles! The big and little tweaks that we appreciate so much in cooking are pretty much frowned upon by the standard bearers of French tradition.

       The fabulous expansion of the influence of world cuisine in recent years has been a tidal wave of novelty and experiment which has overtaken a lot of traditions. Have the French stood still through all of this? The answer is no. Change is hard. To embrace new cultures and new methods requires a bold unselfish commitment. Without trying to put too fine a point on it, I mention that the origin of the word chauvinism is in France.

They actually have not stood manning the barricades against assault by the forces of ‘mediocre’ modernity. In the cosmopolitan cities there are abundant examples of very fine new approaches to cooking. And yet there are some things that they get right and don’t require tinkering in my estimation. Your patisserie has just the thing to enliven any occasion and enchant your guests. Some arrays of pastry offerings are overwhelmingly beautiful, not to mention delicious. You may select petits fours, tartes, tartelettes, macarons, meringues, mille feuilles (also known as Napoleons), verrines or operas. The list goes well beyond these but they are the basics to expect at any self-respecting patisserie. There may also be the permutations of croissants and brioches with added fruit or chocolate but the basics should suffice to enhance your table, whether for a particular occasion or not.

      Part of your hospitality mission is to engender delight in a beautiful presentation and the use of any of these pastries is sure to make a special visual statement with a yummy payoff. Maybe the first day of summer is a good reason to celebrate! Why wait for Bastille day?

Still,

Celeste

Hurricane season again!

Have an escape plan, Celeste’s tips on emergency preparedness:

Put together a small kit for travel and be sure it includes all the cosmetics you might not be able to find “on the road”. If you use certain serums, like many of us do, it is unlikely you will be able to pop into a corner store to replenish. It is very important for your morale in the face of danger to present a planned appearance. Also it will put your fellow travelers (I hesitate to use the word evacuees, which sounds almost biological) at ease in any unexpected interactions. Don’t forget that an extra set of your best brushes will be needed.

Access to your own special hair products are extremely useful to have. Nothing could be more shocking than to go for a day and possibly more, without firm holding spray. Special tip: in an extremis survival situation I am told that they are flammable and can be used to ward off wild animals.

Set aside a proper wardrobe. No need to pack it, just set it aside in a section of your walk-in. Since you won’t know what time of day the disaster may strike, include practical selections from your daily routine. In this set aside area you may still continue to use them only be sure to replace them cleaned in the set aside when you dip into them. Don’t feel you have to alter your habiliments, except maybe to add a head covering that you might ordinarily use just for gardening or the beach. As the seasons change so should your set aside too!

Practical footwear is a must so include any casual wear you ordinarily use. For my use I have a very nice carry bag with a pair of flats, boardwalks, mules and zip boots. It is a comfort to know that they are there any time I need them. Select your own types but avoid wedges no matter how comfy they might feel. Toss in some footies too!

It goes without saying that essential medicine is a requirement. You might also add in the kit any over the counter relief aids that you usually take. My dear partner has an extensive list of such things and I make him segregate these on one side of his medicine cabinet where I placed a small plastic bag. When the time comes we could just scoop them all in one motion into the bag and be on our merry way. Et Voila!

Small food items, such as energy bars, and water deserve to be in the kit. It wouldn’t be a bad thing to include some Richart chocolate from Paris or even some dark Scharffen Berger as mood enhancers under the circumstances. They come in nice little squares.

Lastly, don’t ignore a set aside of delicates and handkerchiefs. A small flask of strained and decanted Madeira sherry wouldn’t be a bad thing either.

Hugs all the way around,

Celeste

Bird feeders

       There are many important issues in the world today, as you well know, and bird feeding is one of them. We have the privilege of attracting a great variety of avian visitors to our winter window off the breakfast room and we spend many enjoyable hours in appreciation of their presence and activity. I wouldn't say we have a lot of diversity at that time of year since so many of the perching sort are actually perching in coffee and banana plantations elsewhere. At least that is what I like to believe. I have mentioned before the importance of shopping for organic tropical products in order to afford these migrants some protection from harmful pesticides and noxious farming practices so that we may continue to enjoy them in our North American yards and meadows and forests. It is pointless to belabor that but worth a reminder. Anyhoo, there is little serious contention about the importance of winter feeding which has a positive effect on survival rates. It is summer feeding that becomes a twitchy subject. Many of the same enthusiasts for winter supplements back off and stop food for summer or earlier. The argument goes something like this: the nesting and rearing period requires more protein and insect diet for the young and the feeders distract the parents from their provisional duties. Also, the feed is out of season and unnatural to the summer diet, thus causing health problems. The unnatural congregation of feeding birds can spread seasonal diseases and harmful plant infestations such as the wooly adelgid which preys on hemlock trees. The offending carriers in the latter case are chickadees who spread the wooly creatures wherever they land!

       Goodness sakes, if the web of life were only that simple! Here's my two cents: let's not forget that all birds are under constant threat from human activity. We can start with deforestation and loss of habitat everywhere. Then we can move on to the enormously destructive power of windows, aerial masts and tall buildings. It is a wonder that any individuals survive these hazards of migration that otherwise seem so benignly nonthreatening. Walk around the foundation of your own dwelling in late spring if you don't believe me and count the carcasses. The single most effective thing for each of us to do is to affix a window decal. Not all of them are obnoxious silhouettes. Then we can move on to domestic animals like cats, which are fed at home and are hugely predatory on birds. Cat owners who have bird feeders are the definition of environmental irony! It's utter carnage out there. You are delusional if you don't believe itty-bitty pussy is capable of killing ground-feeding songbirds. It's their nature.

      To me, our bird population needs all the help it can get all the time and supplemental feeding is a small way of giving them a better chance. The harm, it seems to me, is not nearly so weighty as the benefit. Of course if you plant for birds, as I try to do, that is a bonus. You can go to the store and buy blueberries any old time so plant a few bushes just for the birds. They will relish them greatly as they do lots of berries from shrubs that fruit late in the summer. And don't forget that there are perennials too that produce seed heads which many finches find enjoyable: heliopsis, echinacea and thistle, for instance. The point is to plan your garden and home with its appointments of comfort for you as well as for those other creatures with which you share the neighborhood. It's all about hospitality!

 Always, Celeste  

Floral tributes

Everyone loves flowers brought indoors. Those showy emblems of natural plant beauty add a dimension of grace and charm to your home, no matter how modest it may be. Allergies aside, at any time of year or on any whim we can enjoy the opulence of indoor bouquets that were formerly confined to their local season. This has been an economic boost for some South American countries whose exports to America were sometimes of the mostly illegal and harmful variety. If one assumes that the financial benefits and not the adverse conditions are shared with the workers, it has been a positive revolution in some communities to have an agricultural product that brings employment and improvement. Olé to that!

Still there have always been flowers available out of season, if one had the money to pay for them, but now everyone has the luxury of affordable exoticism flown in for our abundant delectation. Blessings upon us! At our house there are always fresh flowers placed for maximum effect: on the front entry, in the living room and bedroom. I don't ignore bathrooms and guest quarters for special occasions and the kitchen when appropriate. I say appropriate because the element of fragrance is one you simply must not ignore. This is one of those common sense precepts handed down from mother to daughter in many cases but I mention it because there is never a guarantee of maternal training in all matters domestic. You may find that an understatement, more is the pity.

Anyhoo, arrangements of flowers are encouraged whether they be truly and artfully 'arranged' or just dumped into a handy container. Be sure to trim the stems to fit the container height and in order to provide fresh stem area for water uptake. Remove any lower leaves of blooms that are below the water level. If you don't do that your flower water will turn to a wet soup of composting plant bits and shorten the duration of the life of the flowers whose time is already fleeting. Add some of that packaged flower life extender to the water if you wish. It likely contains an anti-bacterial agent and a little plant sugar to prolong the effect, though I have noticed that in practice it seems to curtail the floral fragrance. Try this with freesias and see for yourself.

Back to fragrance. As your mother may have told you, avoid fragrant flowers in the kitchen and forbid them in the dining room. Let's face it, the colors and textures can be quite satisfying on their own. Some flower smells can blend with, and I daresay interfere with, the aromas of appetizing food. I recently attended a particularly wonderful luncheon but the hostess, in her Spring enthusiasm, had prominently placed hyacinths all along the run of the table. This created a battle zone of sensory conflicts in every guest's face. It was difficult to appreciate the tasty and well prepared meal with so much heavy aroma cascading onto the plate. Grape hyacinth would have delivered a better 'Welcome Spring' announcement. Taste and smell are so allied with each other that the complement of one with the other must be subtly managed for a successful table. Manage your aromas for best effect and dedicate your table to the luxuries of color and texture exclusively, but by all means bring flowers indoors to share them.

With hugs, Celeste

Mother's Day

Momma was on my mind recently. I thought about her as I was falling asleep on the sofa one gray afternoon. I let my book down and closed my eyes for a rest and for some reason I recalled her wonderful linen closet which was always well organized and smelled like freshly ironed linens should have, with a hint of spice. I am not sure where the spice came from but it was a vague blend of clove and orange zest much like that of a pomander ball. Perhaps she had a few of them stashed shriveling slowly in the back of a shelf; I don't really know. The scent had nothing to do with floral hints of lilacs or lavender or any of the more conventional laundry aromas that are now so common in a gestural bow to some fanciful traditional that probably never was. I cringe when I see “fresh linen” as an aromatic selection. It is a completely artificial affectation if you ask me and I avoid any product suggesting such an association.

Howsoever that may be, Momma's linen closet did not contain just towels, sheets, pillowcases and bedware. It also was the central station for her sewing kit (with its protruding sock darning egg), her knitting basket, the medicine kit, the shoe polishing kit and the shoelaces. One has to remember that shoelaces were a basic and important element of good grooming in those days and that there could not have been a well-run household without a backup supply. If I imagine myself as a shoelace salesman for a factory in those days, I can feel pretty smug about my prospects. Who doesn't need shoelaces? And with all the new styles and colors of footwear and the different materials for lacing, how can I not feel that I'll be writing orders until the day I die without interruption except for that. From our vantage point we can see that it is the same outlook that the buggy whip people felt at the beginning of the twentieth century. Things were looking pretty bright then because it was a product vital to daily life. For our shoelaces we had to have the right length and color and texture to make a proper showing and, whether they came from Mr. Peach's general store or the mail order catalog or the traveling salesman, we had to have an ample supply because they wore out, they broke or they didn't match the polished finish perfectly. When sneakers and saddle shoes came into popularity that compounded the complexity of choices. As with some of Daddy's neckties, there was a slow accumulation of unwanted and unloved specimens being pushed to the back in a sad little heap. Eventually they were disposed of when they grew to a level of interference with the more desirable types.

The point of this meditation is twofold. First, is the mutability of life which I shall leave to the poets and the other is the power of reminiscence that comes from the most unexpected sources. There was nothing in my book or my day or my immediate surroundings that would suggest an obvious link to Momma's hall closet, least of all to the shoelaces stored there. Still I can relive my sense of wonder, standing before that open door, breathing that aromatic fusion of spice and laundry, deciding which laces would look best with cordovan polish and of putting all my faith in finding the perfect selection among Momma's abundant provisions.

Big Hugs, Celeste

Play ball!

It is alright to be mad at me. But I couldn't abide it if you stayed mad at me. We can agree to disagree, if we must, more is the pity. Remember when I provided my fashion travel guide? Remember my caution about uncalled for baseball hats? Here's why we may have a problem: I think most women look dreadful in baseball hats and ought not wear them at all. As a “look” there is nothing flattering about a baseball hat unless one is trying to effect a look of fearsomeness. There is the “arrested juvenile” look of it that detracts from any seriousness of purpose one may have cultivated as an adult. There is the “imitation of men” aspect which ought to give any thoughtful woman pause before she dons such an ornament so emblematic of “manliness”. You can quibble that this is precisely the role which a feminist ought to play: breaking the tablets and questioning the shibboleths. I would argue that it is a meager attempt at best to erode any of the many crusted gender perceptions. It doesn't work! It looks imitative.

If one wants to appear an icon of gender neutrality, then there are other and more effective ways to accomplish it. It is not a credible strategy to assume the appearance of the other sex in an unattractive way. If this sounds like the old argument about wearing pants, so be it. My purpose is not to stop feminist progress in its tracks, only to make it appear more attractive. A baseball hat is rather a thoughtless fashion choice. True, it meets a variety of practical purposes: sun hat, rain hat, fishing hat and fan ornament. Sadly though, much of the time it is a faded and grungy relic of its original incarnation and it reflects poorly on the wearer's style choices, not to mention team loyalty. Yes, there are ridiculous pristine examples with gold braid and embossed logos but they carry their own commentary on excessive consumption and self-absorption.

It has really become such universal head gear, that it is impossible for most people to separate it from the general fashion currency, where it is an accepted and normal adornment at what I would consider inappropriate occasions. But here I am speaking about the use by women, who I feel can do much better since they are more likely to consider style and appearance before they leave the house. If one takes the time to apply the magic of makeup, then I think it is undercut by topping the effect with a baseball hat, unless one is actually playing baseball or some equally indolent sport, and one cares little about hair-styling.

In the days when hats were sized to the wearer and not mass-produced to fit everyone with an expanding ugly plastic strip, wearing a hat backwards lent an appearance of carelessness. From the front, the hat could have passed for the brimless cap of some strange order of worshipers. With the addition of the plastic strip, the frontal view is utterly ludicrous and one appears disconcertingly casual in the extreme. This is not a look I recommend for any woman who has already crossed into fashion danger territory with an uncalled-for hat! A chapeau must flatter or why bother?

Hugs galore,

Celeste        

Garden catalogs

Compared to a bubble bath, a garden catalog in winter does as good a job stimulating circulation. A ninety minute massage isn't a bad thing either. Still and all, for a boost of happiness, a color page from a nicely designed catalog can be a tonic. There are no pheromones emanating from the page, at least I don't think there are. I wonder if a scratch and sniff approach might help sales for some things other than perfume? In any case we of the home gardening collective are positively enchanted by the appearance of the gardening catalogs that begin dribbling out in September and reach a rampaging flood stage in January. It isn't as if there are forty acres in my back yard that require filling. Most of my little space is already taken with an array of plants, placed by trial and error to maximize visual effect and survival. Oh yes, that is a huge element of gardening and one that beginners don't often realize. Those lushly populated designs are the result of many failures from which the gardener has taken lessons and adjusted accordingly. It is true that professional training is a workaround to this but many gardeners are of the do-it-yourself stripe and have not the nerve nor the time to take master gardener classes.

For those of us who dream of warm sunny days blessed with once weekly rain showers, the catalogs are enabling and I don't entirely mean that in a negative and psychologically dependent way. The failures of the last year's season are past, albeit trenchant, memories by now. Months ago we put away our mud-caked trowels and worn out gloves with the firm commitment to do better next time, and voilà here come the catalogs to help encourage us on our path of righteousness and fulfillment. And what ever happened to the good old spelling of catalogue? That was how I learned the word and why has it devolved to the stripped down form of today? And what about advisor versus adviser? I am just wondering aloud. These changes seem basic to the language and they are happening in the short span of my life. Let us not cling to the past without cause.

Back to catalogs, those previews of coming attractions soon to be in a yard or garden near you. There are some items that are always highlighted as newly developed variations which catch the eye instantly, especially if they are in categories where one has a longstanding interest. You can bet that the plant breeders have good reason to cultivate new varieties. It means big money these days. Echinacea is a group that has fairly exploded in fireworks colors, as have the shade-loving hellebores, known as the Lenten rose, in its own demure way. Dahlias and buddleias are also favorites which continue to offer summer colors of extraordinary brilliance. The old guard of roses and lilacs still please with new offerings, but the most astounding growth in selection probably lies with the hydrangeas. You really can get quite an education from the best listings that are not stingy on information. Just looking at all these idealized versions offers an optimistic hint of opportunity to sally forth again, after the winter debris has been raked away, and renew acquaintance with the rich sensory rewards of actual gardening. I'll be ready. Maybe a new outfit is in order!

Biggest Warm Hugs, Celeste

Winter blooms

Silly me! When I spoke of the low cost high impact remedies for the winter blahs I omitted one of the most pleasurable nostrums: flowering bulbs. Let’s chalk that up to inadequate space and move on. Most of these indoor blooms take some planning if you force them. Daffodils, crocuses, hyacinths, narcissus or tulips are the common ones. These require a chilling period so that, if you purchase them in the fall, you will have to give them a good 8-10 weeks at 40° or less in the refrigerator, sealed in a container that prevents excessive moisture loss. Most refrigerators maintain a low humidity and will quickly rob the bulb of moisture unless you put them in the high humidity tray. You know how withered carrots start to look if left too long in an open package. On the other hand some bulbs are labelled for forcing, so they are either pre-chilled or are of the type which do not require cooling, such as amaryllis or paper white narcissus.

Those are easy and beautiful. The array of varieties of amaryllis is stunning and gets better every year. They are by far the most cheering and showy, trumpeting away at the passing of time toward the approaching return of the sun, lending their colorful and dramatic shapes as an offering of faith.

If you are lucky you can get them to re-bloom by giving them a proper rest as described by many world wide web experts. Most other bulbs are so exhausted by the effort of forcing blooms that they are hardly worth saving even if you can plant them outside in the interim. This isn’t a hard and fast rule because they very well may have spark of life left but their subsequent culture will require lots of attention and perfect conditions in order to bring them back to full vigor. In the southern empire we are blessed with amaryllis and paper whites as perennials but the trade-off is that our gardens rarely permit the perennial return of the other beautiful bulbs mentioned above.

It would be delicious to combine fragrance with the payoff of amaryllis but we ought not be greedy. Our winter camellias have taught us that you simply can’t have everything. On the other hand, the fragrance of paper whites is very particular and will easily permeate an entire room from a cool sunny window, but for real effect in that line I’ll take freesia every time. For some reason they have become scarce in the trade and more is the pity, say I. Like paper whites, they need just enough growing medium to get a grip and enough sun to discourage lank growth and their fragrance can be simply as sweet as any spring bloom. For color and fragrance they win! Some fragrant jasmine plants sold for the same effect in supermarkets may offer instant winter relief but are usually short-lived in reward. They require exacting conditions to bloom and may turn into a rampant twining living room vine after the first season.

The point of all this is that winter blooms, no matter their form, can offer everyone a chance to grow and to focus on a living thing which amply repays your attentions. For chasing away the gloom, every little thing adds up and they can help. Then there are the orchids, a whole huge topic of itself! And don’t even get me started on fragrant candles and bubble baths!

Kisses,

Celeste

So much to do. So little time.

Dear Mr. President,

How are you? I am fine. Your desk is a busy and important place so I submit this modest proposal in hope that you will find it worthy of attention and action. The slow erosion of the American way of life is a crisis even though more dramatic events get lots of immediate attention. This progressive and growing degradation has reached a critical stage requiring your action at the highest level. I can only do so much and your partnership in this restorative effort will be happily accepted.

Of course I am speaking of the decline in spelling proficiency. Even though a few bright youngsters can spell “onomatopoeia” and the “spell check” program provides automated assistance on computers, the general level of proper spelling has reached unacceptable levels. This is not just about “humus” versus “hummus”. This defines the limits of understanding and is essential to clear communication at every level. Imagine your generals attempting to implement their national security mission under the impression that spelling is not important. Bombs may fall in the wrong place! At the wrong time! On the wrong people! Transposing letters can be just as egregious as transposing numbers, for heavens sake! This is an urgent matter, and I don't wish to shout, but it requires Executive action. Never mind the Congress.

It seems to me it is time to create a new cabinet position. The Secretary of Orthography would be responsible for the enforcement and implementation of good spelling. We need an enforceable code to encourage achievers and to discourage backsliders. If ever there were a need for government to do what people on their own cannot, then this is it. Tax incentives are one reward, as are window or bumper stickers officially proclaiming proficiency. A check written for “six hunnit and fiddy” dollars ought not to be honored by any FDIC bank. Public signs with poor spelling ought to be recognized by federal labels of disapproval.

The Secretary of Orthography may also want to institute a Bureau of Syntax for similar purposes in order to stem this tidal wave of down-dumbing, but that is looking ahead perhaps too far. And don't get me started on table manners!

Kisses all around, Celeste B.

On multiculturalism

Isn’t multiculturalism fun? We have so many interesting and diverse arrivals coming to our towns. It is fascinating to watch the interactions and I daresay occasional collision! In the little town of Euphoria, SC, where I grew up we had a wonderful Italian family, the Lambruscos. They brought such flavor and accent to the community it was as if they were cooking just for us all the time, which was only part of the story since Mr. L. was a garage mechanic. Mrs. L., on the other hand, was a wonderful cook and gained the reputation for bringing the essence of foreign food to our town. Her magical tomato sauce, which she shared unstintingly, prompted Mr. Peach, the grocer, to stock actual pasta varieties for the first time.
It happened that the Lambruscos began to receive unwelcome notices from the Internal Revenue. It didn’t take long for the mailman to be persuaded, with the assistance of Mr. L. and various other town folk that these unpleasant envelopes addressed to the Lambrunos at his box were undeliverable as written since there were no such persons of that name at that address. This allowed Mr. L. time enough to get his affairs in order with my Daddy’s help and to make a fair presentation before the great powers of taxation.
When Momma was annoyed with us as children, she called us little “pipsissewas”. We assumed that this was meant as a mean and derogatory label. It had a slightly sinister Indian sound to our ears and vaguely reminded us of the victims of child sacrifice. Only later did we learn that it describes a lovely native woodland flower and that the effect of the pronounced sound of the word was the only important part.
Mr. Thistledown was the kind Englishman who had a management position at the local mill. The enchanting Mrs. Flowerdew was the accomplished headmistress of my boarding school, looked upon with great affection as an immigrant of high accomplishment. Mr. Olazabal was our Spanish teacher and Mrs. Klemencik was our Latin teacher, which led to many amusements of the teenaged-girl variety. Where would we be without the refreshing influx of new names and faces and talents? It is my feeling that the America of today would be much poorer with less diversity and that dreadful creeping xenophobia is a serious impediment to our social evolution. It takes generations for acceptance to take hold. The funny unfamiliarity with names gradually devolves from being a joke to being a sign of ignorance. In the mean time we stumble along as best we can to apply the lessons of phonics to completely foreign letter combinations without giving it a second thought. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. The good sports put up with it and we can all laugh. Cheers,
Celeste

On political speech

In this season of fraught political dialogue, if you can call it dialogue rather than diatribe and demagoguery, I entertained the thought of weighing in on some topics. However, when I read the editorial pages I find them to be so partisan that reasonable speech seems as remote as the stars and unheeded when it pops up. I think the reason why local papers publish letters to the editor is to prevent angry hotheads from actually doing something they will regret. It is a real public service to deflect the misguided from some intemperate or criminal act. Mercy! Hasn't the conversation reached the shouting pitch on so many topics? If my stated mission is the preservation of civilization and civility, ought I not add my voice to the many?

On topical subjects I am fairly familiar and we do take two newspapers in the morning. We also listen to radio and watch television, so we are fully exposed to reporting. Journalism used to be a profession in which practitioners prided themselves on an impartial presentation of issues. Now I see the trend is toward advocacy where many salient facts are being presented in a biased fashion. Truth becomes a casualty in this and we are then victims of our own prejudices since we tend to seek out opinions which confirm our little preferences. We delude ourselves by affirming how smart we are to share in the opinion of so many. Don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with advocacy. My Daddy was a lawyer and he practiced that craft all his life for the benefit of many good people.

The disturbing element in this stew of opinions is that everyone is shouting at everyone else, if not directly then by proxy. The name-calling and the scurrilous remarks are characteristic of schoolyard behavior. This becomes all the more serious when adults refine and routinely practice these rhetorical vices in the name of tribalism. That's the beginning of real trouble and what begins as local gang warfare becomes a model for international behavior, and you know where that leads.

We have lived through many disagreements in this country on very broad topics and some have led to war. That was a terrible time when the nation was riven. Throughout those travails the citizen-statesman was a person to be respected, someone who offered his time, energy and beliefs for the common good. The professional politician of today has usurped this mantle of formerly noble service and winks at his financial backers with an eye to re-election only. It is small wonder that there is so much mistrust of and anger at our elected representatives. Their class has been smeared recently by the conduct of too many of their number.

In keeping with my rating scheme for gauging the value of aspects of modern living, I had expected to offer worthiness rankings on the political front by awarding up to three tall hats for excellence. It now seems I will have to hold them in my top desk drawer until the tone of the current political discourse improves considerably.

Many kisses, Celeste

And it's not even February!

What is it about the winter blahs? Some of us suffer more severely than others beginning in September when the sun begins its grimly lowering arcs in earnest. Does your mood shift into low gear? Do you feel despondent, discouraged and depressed? For many of us this is a naturally occurring phenomenon and if your heritage is not of the Scandinavian or Eskimo origin, you may feel all of the above in noticeable intensity. Right now it’s time to cheer up with a little self-help!

Probably the acronym SAD preceded the naming of Seasonal Affective Disorder in an obvious attempt at linguistic cuteness. Nonetheless there are some well publicized strategies such as increasing your vitamin D intake and placing artificial light sources in your face which promise to offer simple solutions to attenuate the effects of this pernicious condition. Really it can be debilitating and make one feel like lying in bed all day. Don’t turn your face to the wall! Snap out of it! The first step is to recognize that this condition exists and that you may be a victim of it. Ha! Does that sound like certain other programs? Of course it does but it doesn’t make it any less meaningful.

Here are a couple of my tried and true strategies: See live theater, browse the seed catalogues, feed the birds and have tea at 4 pm. Stay engaged by any and all means. Whether it is for a cabaret, black box or big venue you should go to the effort of dressing and going out and being among your people. Loneliness is not your friend at this time and mingling is prescribed. Just the sight of those luxurious garden blooms can lift spirits, no matter that you have thrown away too much money in the past on gardening projects. It is about optimism for goodness sake! Go ahead and indulge yourself in some more hopefulness. It is worth the price. Those titmouses are pure pleasure in song and activity at any feeder. Put out the good stuff, the hulled sunflower chips and seeds, and guard as best you can against the silly squirrels whose craftiness in the end has to be admired. Chickadees, house finches, nuthatches, blue jays, cardinals and goldfinches will find you too so revel in the sight of them all. Enjoy a pleasant cup of Darjeeling tea in your favorite chair and perhaps butter a scone to go with it at the precise time of day when darkness begins its subtle intrusion and before you repair to the kitchen for any evening preparations.

In addition to these modest proposals, you might also create a windowsill kitchen garden of herbs. I admit that these are notoriously difficult to maintain with any success; however, the satisfaction from adding freshly grown seasoning to your dishes is not to be denied. Choose marjoram, thyme, parsley and rosemary to begin. Give them as much window light as you possibly can to prevent them from paling and stretching. You might also consider a weekly massage and frequent manicures or pedicures in order to boost your immunity against the blahs. Don’t forget to pick some bright and surprising colors. Be daring! These treatments do cost money so any home styling or care is to be encouraged and time set aside for them is well worth it. All of those colors you pay for are available elsewhere, the nail kits are affordable and there are some clever massage devices on the market too, as you well know. Banish the blahs!

So,

Celeste