This years mosaic isn't very bright, but if you take the time to look at each piece in the mosaic there is much beauty to be found.
I haven't written for quite some time. Not that I lack things to write about — but I lack the energy to transfer the thoughts from the head to the paper — screen. That is also the reason that I'm slow in answering comments and mail. I know that many of you have been waiting VERY long for mail and/or letters. Hold out — I dare not promise any anything but I do think of you all. It has been a strange year in many respects — and I have a feeling that I have to get used to it, as it isn't likely to change.
I know, it sounds as I detest November, which I don't. But I do miss the sun — we didn't see much of it during the summer, and I just heard on the radio that so far in November our area has had one (1) hour of sun! Yes, I know, you get better photos in this kind of weather — but I don't care, I rather have sunshine and get photos that are smarmy...
It is Claude Monet's birthday today, so why not take tea with him. I found this recipe for Madeleines in "The Easiest Way in Housekeeping and Cooking Adapted to Domestic Use or Study in Classes" by Helen Campbell.
. Madeleines.—Four ounces of butter, four ounces of the best flour, three ounces of sugar, a teaspoonful of orange-flower water, the yolks of four eggs, and rind of a lemon. Beat butter, sugar, and yolks of eggs together, then add the other ingredients; grate in the rind of half a lemon, and add the well-beaten whites of eggs last of all. Fill little moulds that have been buttered with washed butter, cover the tops with split almonds and sifted sugar; bake from thirty to forty minutes in a moderate oven. These cakes are sometimes served hot with apricot sauce.
Miss Henry's Shrewsbury cakes comes from "My Pet Recipes, Tried and True" Contributed by the Ladies and Friends of St. Andrew's Church, Quebec
SHREWSBURY CAKES. Rub to a cream six ounces of sugar, with six ounces of butter, add two well beaten eggs and work in twelve ounces flour, adding a teaspoonful of rose water. Roll out thin and cut into small cakes.
Claude Monet .
If you still are hungry I suggest you make a galette. There are quite a few recipes on the web, this is one of them.
I've always enjoyed reading William Hazlitt, so I consider his "Table-Talk, Essays on Men and Manners", that I found today, a find. I read the first paragraph:
'There is a pleasure in painting which none but painters know.' In writing, you have to contend with the world; in painting, you have only to carry on a friendly strife with Nature. You sit down to your task, and are happy. From the moment that you take up the pencil, and look Nature in the face, you are at peace with your own heart. No angry passions rise to disturb the silent progress of the work, to shake the hand, or dim the brow: no irritable humours are set afloat: you have no absurd opinions to combat, no point to strain, no adversary to crush, no fool to annoy—you are actuated by fear or favour to no man. There is 'no juggling here,' no sophistry, no intrigue, no tampering with the evidence, no attempt to make black white, or white black: but you resign yourself into the hands of a greater power, that of Nature, with the simplicity of a child, and the devotion of an enthusiast—'study with joy her manner, and with rapture taste her style.' The mind is calm, and full at the same time. The hand and eye are equally employed. In tracing the commonest object, a plant or the stump of a tree, you learn something every moment. You perceive unexpected differences, and discover likenesses where you looked for no such thing. You try to set down what you see—find out your error, and correct it. You need not play tricks, or purposely mistake: with all your pains, you are still far short of the mark. Patience grows out of the endless pursuit, and turns it into a luxury. A streak in a flower, a wrinkle in a leaf, a tinge in a cloud, a stain in an old wall or ruin grey, are seized with avidity as the spolia opima of this sort of mental warfare, and furnish out labour for another half-day. The hours pass away untold, without chagrin, and without weariness; nor would you ever wish to pass them otherwise. Innocence is joined with industry, pleasure with business; and the mind is satisfied, though it is not engaged in thinking or in doing any mischief.
Charles Lamb, by William Hazlitt
My first thought was that he either must have been a very skilled painter or never tried to paint or draw. I realized that I knew very little about him, so I made a detour on the web and learned that he indeed knew how to paint.
Today's other find was "All the Way to Fairyland, Fairy Stories" by Evelyn Sharp and with illustrations by Mrs. Percy Dearmer. I knew her mainly as a suffragette and although I've read some of her books for girls, I didn't know that she had written fairy tales.
"London ... where all people under
thirty find so much amusement." ............................ Gray.
THE (REPUTED) "OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.
"There is also a book from 1903 about "Dickens' London by Francis Miltoun. But this is a book I have to return to — and also a book that probably is of more interest to someone who knows London better than I do.
DICKENS' STUDY AT GAD'S HILL PLACE. From a painting by Luke Fildes, R. A.
It is so much much November — inside and out. It has been snowing tonight — so far only a thin layer of white on the ground, and I hope that's all we get! I'm a terrible grouser, when I'm not sleeping I'm complaining. Which probably is my main reason for not blogging much.
I thought I'd picked all currents — but there still are a few on the bushes.
Embrace change even if you want to run from it. Ralph Shrader
stugkatt at yahoo dot com
It is easier to say what and who I'm not. — I'm not my profession — I'm not my salay — I'm not my age — I'm not my illness — I'm not my civil status So who am I? — a person just the right size and age — an untidy pedant — a conservative radical And what do I do? — weave — read — listen to music, classical preferably baroque