I’ll start with a comment from Lady Hardcastle … Pish and Fiddlesticks.
I have no idea how I managed to delete last week’s blog.
It was probably the best blog I’ve ever written (insert giggling face here).
However, I will do my best to reconstruct …
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As I recall, it started with weather of which I had been making note day by day.
Oh well …
This try at re-creation has to be a mishmash.
Rain
Snow showers
Sunny day
Cloud cover
Scattered clouds
Clear blue sky
Light rain showers
Intermittent sun
Yer pays yer nickel and takes yer choice.
This morning it was raining too hard for me to chance a walkaround.
~~~
Next (?) in the lost post came a review of the Lady Hardcastle books …
They had been suggested to me by a cousin in Florida. I seem to have cousins and other family (as well as book reading friends) in a multitude of places.
Lady Hardcastle is a widow whose “ladies maid” is more of a friend and an accessory to solving interesting crimes (usually murder) with giggle causing references and asides.
Such as a local butcher named Spratt.
But the books are also scattered with some lyrical bits such as “It had been a difficult winter. The trees were already in bud … and the temperature was struggling to reach the bearable side of chilly with a definite promise in the air of the summer to come.”
So if you enjoy a giggle or two, an occasional stroll through the English countryside, and local colour such as market days, give the books by T E Kinsey a bit of a go.
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I previously told you of my first foray into an English public house (while on my long ago trip to southwestern England ) about my encounters with faggots on the menu and restrooms vs. toilets (loos) and “bath” rooms.
Two things I failed to mention (forgive me if I am actually repeating myself) were leeks broiled with Stilton topping (try it, you’ll like it) and my interest in small pitchers (not to be confused with American pronunciation between “pitchers” and “pictures”) which are set out for tea. Pitchers were what I hung from the ceiling in my dining area rather than pub mugs.
My pitcher collection varied from plastic tchotchkes of all sizes to antiques such as a small one from the San Franciso earthquake and fire in early 1900s (1904? 1906?), to a special pitcher given away (filled with packets of loose tea) as opening gifts to the first few customers of a local tea shop in the Northridge area of the San Fernando area of LA, to brand new ones brought to me by traveling friends from Ireland and some other places.
I never counted them but they gave me much pleasure. I couldn’t bring them with me into my new life … and I miss them.
A couple of local newcomers to Mt Shasta managed to open an eatery on the main street (Mt Shasta Blvd) just before the appearance of Covid which they said was a copy of an English pub. I haven’t yet had an occasion to sample their effort and can neither pretend to know the accuracy of that or say “Don’t bother”.
However, it is on my to-do list now that going out is once again an option.
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Something that recently came to my attention, especially during sleep and when brushing my hair, was that the humidity in my house was too low.
As a result of dry air causing me to breathe through my mouth at night (with top-of-the-mouth discomfort) and flyaway hair.
Yesterday I set a pot of water to a slow boil on the kitchen stove , using a timer to prevent the pot boiling dry, and was able to raise the humidity to between 35% and 40%. That was pretty good since I wasn’t able to open windows to the rainy atmosphere (the outdoor temps were too low).
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And a final reminder for this week …
Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you’d drop dead in ten seconds. See your world. It’s more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories.
… Ray Bradbury
So,‘til next week …