Days of Zucchini and Roses

"What a lovely thing a rose is!"

Arthur Conan Doyle

Outside my window clouds cover the sun and a light breeze stirs the leaves and ripples through the garden. A couple of cooler days are here before the temperatures warm up to summer weather on the weekend. The first flush of rose blooms is over, but some, like Boscobel, are producing more beautiful blossoms the second time round. This soft pink colour is such a delight and the scent simply amazing. 

From my garden I pick a several slender, dark green zucchini two or three times a week. I spent a couple of mellow hours one morning making ratatouille. Each vegetable is sauteed separately, then combined at the end with fresh basil and a bit of lemon juice. We enjoyed it with a grating of Parmesan as part of our dinner. I froze three containers of it for a quick hit of summer when it's raining and cold outside in a few months. 

When we were in Wales four years ago, we enjoyed a delicious Courgette, Garlic and Stilton Soup in the tea room at Newton House. I found the recipe on the National Trust website and made it exactly as it reads for a simple tasty meal. I hope we'll be able to return to the UK one day. For now, I'm finding contentment in reading my travel journals and reliving some of the wonderful trips we've taken. I'm enjoying this quieter summer and have been spending more time in the garden. 

To serve alongside the soup I made a sourdough focaccia bread that turned out well. There is really nothing like fresh bread and soup for satisfying the tummy. 

"...it's a blessed thing to love, and to feel loved in return."

E. A. Buchhianeri

Who are these kids? They thought they were all grown up 43 years ago. I'm so thankful to God for my husband and for the life we've spent together. We're venturing out to a restaurant to celebrate this anniversary. 

Last year we celebrated in Leonding (Linz), Austria. How the world has changed for all of us since then. Still we live and love, and try to make the most of each day. 

The days pass, a mixture of the sublime and the mundane. Beauty exists in both. 

Fussing for the Two of Us

A special day. A special dinner. A little fuss. Last night's dinner à deux. A host of memories on the table alone - a pale blue damask linen table cloth given to Tim's parents on their wedding day more than 60 years ago. White linen napkins from the same era. China salad plates and later, for dessert, tea cups from the set started by my mother when I was 16. Flatware given by my parents for our first wedding anniversary. Crystal water goblets chosen for our wedding (I only have 6 for they ceased production soon after.) The table itself, built by Tim in Ecuador 28 years ago. How many people have sat here, lingering, laughing, talking?
 

Candlelight on a summer evening. White flowers and greenery gathered from the garden. All this fuss for just the two of us.  You know, it didn't take long to pull together. I started cooking and table setting at 3:00 and all the prep was done by 5:00, except for the last minute cooking after he arrived home.

I use to save "special' for company. During our years in Ecuador there were always the special treats brought down from Canada or the USA. I would hoard them in the freezer and use them rarely, then only for company. One day I read or heard, "Use the things you love on the people you love." Well, of course. 

My children remind me occasionally of the time I tried to grow raspberries in Ecuador. Our crop was very very small. I used these same china salad plates, one for each of us, and in the center of each plate I placed one single raspberry. That was dessert. How we laughed. 
 

First course, Watermelon with Feta Cheese and basil. Simple. Juicy.

Main course: Shrimp with Garlic, Parsley and Lemon, Roasted Asparagus, Sauteed Mushrooms, and an Onion Carbonara from a cookbook by Patricia Wells (The French Kitchen Cookbook) that will be going into my regular repertoire of recipes. He had a glass of Malbec, I had Riesling.
 

We like to wait a little for dessert. Tim had an exhausting day so he took a little rest on the couch while I cleared away the food and dishes. Very 1950s. Then dessert - a Flourless Chocolate Cake with Whipped Cream and Raspberries. Earl Grey tea. The cake is from Laura Calder's book, French Taste. Dark intense chocolate flavour. 
 

I let the candles burn down even after dessert was done. We watched an episode of The Good Wife on Netflix. My sister called to wish us Happy Anniversary and we Skyped with our youngest daughter and her husband in Vancouver. There are cards on the mantel.

And so another year is marked. Today I'll be watching two little grand-people while their mother goes to an appointment. Good times ahead, always.

Daisy Memories

"Daisies are such friendly flowers." (Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail)

 Daisies in glass bowls decorated the tables at our wedding, 37 years ago today. My aunt volunteered to do them for us. 

Tim and I looked at each other this morning and marveled how the years have marched by. Those young, young people committing to each other and to God are not the same people as they are now. The years have taken their toll on physical bodies. Careers have changed. Children were born, grew up and now form families of their own. Darling little ones now call us Nana and Grandpa. There's been much, much joy and a large portion of tears during these years. The joy far outweighs the tears, but this morning, I'm feeling a little pensive.

Our dreams were not grandiose. We envisioned a family, settling down in the town we met in, building our own home and living there forever. Tim has his carpentry papers and envisioned himself as a contractor one day. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. 

How God must have smiled at us then. Instead, we've traveled and lived overseas for 21 of those 37 years, raising our family in circumstances wildly different from our own childhoods. Tim now sits behind a desk in meetings that affect many people. He's off to Salt Spring Island for the day for work. I did stay at home while the children were small, later began teaching, and love it to this day.  We never did build our own house and it's unlikely to happen now. But wherever we've lived, we've made a home.

There is no pre-figuring the future. Yet each step we take in life leads us along a pathway. Sometimes, we play the "what if?" game. What if we hadn't gone to Ecuador? What if we had done this, or that? Life would be very different. I don't regret any of the major decisions we've made. Life is richer for our experiences, both the good and the bad.  Thanks be to God.

And so I come back to the daisies. Our anniversary celebration will be on Friday, but for tonight I'm making a special dinner. I think I'll pick some daisies for the table. 


 

On Dreams and Marriage

Lest anyone should think, after my last post, that my vacation dreams take second place to my husband's, let me assure you otherwise. We make decisions together. Because he loves boating and I love him, I'm thrilled that he has a boat. Because I love Europe and he loves me, I've been to Paris three times.  

We live in an amazing part of the world and I'm thrilled to explore it with him. I'm excited about going to remote areas accessible only by boat to see fjords and mountains, waterfalls and running tides. To sit in silence and hear the loons call at night in a quiet anchorage, while I'm lulled to sleep by the rocking waves. It's no sacrifice for me. Nor is going to Europe one for him. We respect each other's dreams and plan ways to make them both work.

I did a quick search on the words "compromise and dreams" before writing this post. Without fail the advice was "never compromise." So I ask myself, and you, is it compromise to see another's dream fulfilled while yours waits awhile in the wings? Is compromise giving up a dream? Is compromise a weak and nasty word, or a bridge between two widely differing viewpoints?  

October Moose Memory

This morning I read Jill's post about her moose encounter. Since then, I've been thinking about a moose meeting of my own. The photo above has nothing to do with my story, but looks kind of fall-ish, don't you think?

On a very early morning in October, in the first year of our marriage, I went out hunting with Tim. He usually hunted with his brother, Ron, but this time, the two of them brought their wives. We planned to divide any resulting moose meat between us.

We left town while it was still dark, arriving at Willow River at dawn. Tim's grandparents had had a farm in the area, and Tim and his siblings spent several summers there, so he knew the area well. Ron and Donna went one direction and Tim and I another, agreeing to meet at a certain spot later. Tim and I headed down an old corduroy road across Sam's field. Beavers had taken over the abandoned field and created a very boggy environment, just the sort of place that moose love. 

Ethereal clouds of mist rose from the field. My nose felt the chill of frost. We walked as softly as possible, not talking. The fog-softened shape of an old barn formed in the near distance. Suddenly, as if by the most wonderful magic ever, a moose materialized. Leggy and elegant, she stepped through the marshy field, her long nose upright as she looked about. Slowly, gracefully, she passed in front of us. We held our breath, not wanting to disturb the magic. It was like a scene from Narnia. 

No, we didn't shoot the moose - it wasn't cow season. And we were both glad. It's been over 35 years since that October morning, but it's a scene we've talked about many times. Tim and his brother got a moose to fill the freezer on a later trip, without their wives.

That's my October Moose Memory. Do you have a moose or other wildlife story? 

   

Our First Valentine's Day Together

We attended a very conservative Christian college in Saskatchewan. Boys were not permitted on the girls' floor.  A central lounge area and porch separated the dorms. To contact someone from the opposite sex, you asked someone entering the dorm to take a message. No cell phones or personal computers back then.

On Valentine's Day, which happened to fall on a Saturday that year, I was in my room when I heard someone in the hall calling my name. I poked my head out the door and the messenger handed me a single red rose and a card. Other girls experienced the same, but I remember most of the girls in the dorm coming by to see MY card because it was so different, and almost risqué - referring to kisses and all. The inside of the card reads, "But you can keep trying."

That night we attended a concert in Regina, about an hour's drive away. Back then a date with just the two of us counted for more than a double date, and date points were strictly rationed by the month. We had saved enough points for a "just-the-two-of-us" date and planned to have dinner out before the concert. 

En route to town, we saw a fellow classmate's car pulled over beside the road. Two couples stood beside it looking lost. We knew we had to stop and help, but we saw our "just-the-two-of-us" date disappearing fast. Sure enough, the car couldn't be started. We offered to take the couples into town and to drop them off wherever they wanted to have dinner, then pick them up again and take them to the concert. Being polite young Canadians, they insisted that wherever we were going was fine with them. 

It wasn't fine with us. We wanted "just-the-two-of-us" for dinner. But Tim headed the car in the direction of our intended restaurant.

As we drove along, one of our passengers said sotto voce to another, "Isn't that where we were going to eat?"

Tim overheard, turned as soon as he could, and before anyone could say, "happy valentine's day," our erstwhile passengers were standing in front of their restaurant and we had arranged to pick them up to take them to the concert. We carried on to our own dinner à deux, glad for the escape and feeling only slightly guilty at ditching our companions.

Last week, while rummaging in a cupboard, I came across the old scrapbook containing the above page. No acid-free paper or tape. No fancy papers or stickers. The rose came wrapped in the green paper behind the card. The hearts were cut from some scrap. The caption is from a magazine. On the next page there is a placemat from the restaurant and ticket stubs from the concert. No words tell the story I've told here, but just looking at the pages brings it all back. I think of throwing away these old, crumbling scrapbooks, but I don't have the heart to do so. Maybe someday.

I'm so thankful for a love that has lasted a lifetime. I don't take it for granted. I know of so many aching hearts for whom such love does not exist. I have no secrets beyond mutual respect, shared values and a commitment to love even when love is not felt.

Happy Valentine's Day to my readers.