Alicia's Shower

In March, I co-hosted, with the indispensable help of my mom, my sister, my cousin, and her friend, a bridal shower for my baby sister. Here are some of the pics, taken by my funny and talented cousin Liz, because I literally could not fit one more item into my carry-on luggage, including a camera.

Liz make whoopy-pie cupcakes that we decorated with pansies; they turned out delicious and beautiful. She also made chocolate-covered strawberries while I was making quiche, quiche, and more quiche, including one with butternut squash, caramelized onions, and goat cheese.

As a time-saver for the bride, guests self-addressed envelopes for thank-you cards that my friends and I made when we made the invitations. Then, as a memento, guests wrote messages and notes to the bride on decorative pieces of paper that I'd cut out and then modge-podged onto the collage that is framed in the background of this pic. I should have the bride send me the after picture.

Here's the beautiful bride kissing her inflatable husband, one of her gag gifts from my always hilarious cousin Liz. And here's a great pic of my sisters and I laughing at the giant underpants that Liz also ordered for Alicia, thanks to Alicia's love of an old Pee Wee's playhouse sketch about all the things you can do with giant underpants.

R.I.P. Migas2

Our black australorp was brutally killed by a racoon early Friday morning. She was my new favorite, docile and gentle with black feathers that were teal in the sunlight. I was really looking forward to seeing her as a fat, feathered hen, and we were anticipating many delicious eggs from her. Now she is no more, and our little Rhode Island Red is all alone, trying to survive against two bitchy hens who seem like they would gladly peck her to death.

While we don't name our chickens in life, this one has been named in death Migas2, after my neighbor's black australorp who was murdered by the neighbor's dog two years ago. I remember her being a dazzling chicken in the sunlight, and I chose this little bird in anticipation of seeing another chicken like the original Migas. Sadly, neither chicken lived for long.

Tend

I have not written or published about my own world of petals and roots in a long while. Here's a blurry shot of our little white house, my mister heading up to the side door. The white cherry blossoms are still in bloom, the old cherry tree in our back yard in regal beauty. But these pink, early blossoms are long since done.

Early tulips are also finished, although shaded ones or later varieties are still blooming. I've noticed that purple tulips, like purple crocuses, seem to bloom later. These pictured above are some of my earliest tulips to bloom and are now just headless stalks next to some budding lavender.

Daffodils had a wonderful run in our cold spring, although they may be finished by now.

 Pansies and violas are and have been flourishing. Lavender is starting to bloom. My foxglove is growing tall and healthy. One of the joys this spring has been wandering around my garden, discovering that which is still alive or made it through the winter: my hawthorn and ginko trees, my echinacea, Chinese hyssop, lavender, lupine, hollyhock, salmon berries, strawberries, lemon verbena (over-wintered in the cellar), goldenrod, calendula (reseeded), peppermint (reseeded), chives, a sole leek, collard greens and kales (the flowers of which the bees love), sage, oregano, a variety of thyme, pansies, and columbine.

Right now, lavender, lilac, and bluebells are blooming which means I can plant my cucumbers and beans. In the woods, I found lots of wild columbine, bleeding heart, this mysterious yellow flower:

And a dozen wild orchids:

"Margarita-love and destroy"

I just finished Mikhail Bulgakov's novel The Master and Margarita. I feel a bit intoxicated from it; I want to turn back and reread it with more care and attention. This first time through was mostly for plot. I had to struggle with who was who and how they were connected. I still don't understand all of the connections and relations. I need to let the book settle within me a bit, but I want to include some enticements and some support for the curious reader.

Margarita's flight:
Margarita gave the broom another upward prod, and the mass of rooftops fell away, replaced by a lake of quivering electric lights. Suddenly this lake rose up vertically, and then appeared above Margarita's head, while the moon shone beneath her feet. Realizing that she had turned a somersault, she resumed her normal position, and when she turned to look, she saw that the lake was no longer there and that in the distance behind her there remained only a rosy glow on the horizon. A second later and it, too, had vanished, and Margarita saw that she was alone with the moon, which was flying above her to her left. Margarita's hair continued to stand up like a haystack, and the moonlight whistled as it washed over her body. Judging by how two rows of widely spaced lights below had merged into two unbroken fiery lines, and by how rapidly they vanished behind her, Margarita surmised that she was traveling at monstrous speed and was amazed that she was not gasping for breath.


The Queen:
The march was being played in Margarita's honor. She was given the most gala reception. Diaphanous mermaids stopped their round dance over the river and waved to Margarita with seaweed. Their moaning salutations carried out over the deserted, greenish shore and could be heard from far away. Naked witches jumped out from behind the willows, formed a line, and began to bow and curtsy in courtly fashion. A goat-legged creature rushed up to Margarita and kissed her hand. Spreading silk on the grass, he inquired whether the queen had enjoyed her swim, and suggested that she lie down and rest.


Satan's ball:
Margarita's head began to spin from the smell of the wine, and she was about to leave when the cat performed a trick in the pool which detained her. Behemoth cast a spell on something near the maw of  Neptune, and hissing and bubbling, the bubbly sea of champagne drained from the pool at once, and Neptune started spewing forth a foamless, bubble-less, dark-amber wave. The ladies shrieked and squealed, "Brandy!"--as they rushed away from the edges of the pool and took refuge behind the columns. The pool was filled in a few seconds, and the cat, after turning three somersaults in the air, landed in the billowing brandy. He crawled out, shaking himself off, his necktie shrunk, his opera glasses, and the gilt on his whiskers gone.


The Moon:
Night began covering the forests and meadows with its black kerchief. The night ignited sad little lights somewhere far below, alien lights that were no longer of any interest or use either to Margarita or the Master. Night overtook the cavalcade, spreading over them from above and scattering white specks of stars here and there in the saddened sky.
Night was thickening, flying alongside the riders, grabbing at their cloaks and pulling them off, unmasking all illusions... And when the crimson full moon rose up to meet them from behind the edge of the forest, all illusions vanished and the magical, mutable clothing fell into the swamp and drowned in the mist.


Cast of characters (I compiled this for my own sanity while reading. It is not exhaustive and may not be 100% correct):

Berlioz: literary editor (Mikhail Alexandrovich Berlioz or Misha)
Ivan: poet (Ivan Nikolayevich Ponyrov or Bezdomny)
Rimsky: financial director of theater
Varenukha: theater manager (Ivan Savelyevich)
Latunsky: the Master's editor
Styopa: theater employee; Berlioz's roommate (also Likehodeyev)
Andrei Fokich: bartender at Variety Theater
Vasily Stepanovich Lastochkin: bookkeeper of theater
Prokhor Petrovich: chairman of the commission
Anna Richardovna: Petrovich's secretary
Nikanor Ivanovich Bosoi: chairman of the house committee
Maximilian Andreyevich Poplavsky: Berlioz's uncle
Woland: Satan
Korovyo: black magician, Woland's retinue
Hella: Woland's witch
Abaddon: figure Woland's retinue
Behemoth: the cat; Woland's retinue
Azazello: Woland's assistant
Natalya: Margarita's maid
Nikolai Ivanovich: Margarita's downstairs neighbor

the woes of a lazy gardener

My Catholic guilt is trying to poke out it's ugly little head. I will let the guilt speak for one line:

I am a lazy gardener.

Now, I will defend with this: I dream of a lush garden brimming with vegetables but have found no time to do anything to get there, because I've been too busy trying to host a shower on the East coast, work, be a part of a book club, exercise, and socialize with friends. Third quarter grades were due Monday which resulted in a weekend of grading rather than planting last weekend as well as two nights of being able to do little more than decompress afterwards by running, cooking, watching movies, and going to hear some free bluegrass.

This weekend, I am going to snowy Mt. Hood to camp out in a look-out cabin, hopefully surrounded by snow since there won't be much or any sun. So while I  hope to read, read, read, I will  not be able to dig, dig, dig. So, where does that leave my garden?

In a sad, neglected state. That's where. My seedlings are somewhat pathetic looking this year, in part because we attempted to put them under grow lights in the basement. I do not like this arrangement. I feel alienated from my plants, because I do not particularly like my basement. Plus, I think it's too chilly down there for them to thrive, and they seem rather stunted and plagued with powdery mildew. Ugh.

I have to read over 200 pgs. of our book club book by Thursday, which I'm hoping beyond hope to kick out this weekend, but after that, my project is to plant seeds outside and baby my little seedlings. I want to move them upstairs and repot them in newspaper. Hopefully, they will be okay.

Boo. I should be posting pictures of tulip magnolias and cherry blossoms. Instead, I rant. Next weekend, I will redeem my little garden.