Friday, January 19, 2018

Over the Moon Chocolate Pie

Christmas was a blur to me after losing Otis and Milo and being sick myself so long.

I'm just now starting to play catchup.

I hope to post about our new dachshunds 
on Dewena's Window soon.

I feel badly that I've totally ignored the Window
but the good news is that Bree and Mason
are busy writing it for me.

Before all of Christmas escapes me,
I want to show a pie I made,
the only baking I did for Christmas.




It was from Southern Living magazine
and was called Over the Moon Chocolate Pie.

They based in on our state favorite--Moon Pies.

It calls for a Marshmallow Meringue topping and
I totally goofed it up.

The recipe said to cook the egg whites
(in a double boiler) only until the sugar dissolved.

I'm paranoid about raw eggs so cooked it and cooked it...

There were no raw eggs in my meringue,
but it was like eating saltwater taffy,
yummy and good exercise for your jaws.

Next time I'll trust the recipe--
or maybe I'll just make the delicious filling
on top of that wonderful crust and call it a day.

Or top it with real whipped cream, I mean REAL, folks.



 Have any of you ever made a marshmallow meringue?

And had it to succeed? 

Thursday, January 18, 2018

Frost Ferns



Frost ferns grow on glass here this morning when I open the kitchen door to let Bree and Mason out to go potty.

A sight I have not seen since a child living in Inglewood in a white clapboard two bedroom, one bath bungalow built after World War II, one of others along a street where the opposite side holds imposing pre-War brick homes.




I've lost count of the recent nights with single digit lows, faucets left to drip, frost on the storm door that opens to our kitchen porch. 

It is only this morning that ferns appear on the glass.




I could google this phenomena and tell you exactly what conditions cause this if I were so inclined. I'm not.

I grab my phone and snap pictures and call for RH to bring the camera.



I know the ferns won't stay long, and they don't.

But for a few moments we are lost in a magic world of crystal gardens that may never appear again.








Wednesday, January 17, 2018

The Snow Is Faling



"The snow is falling, silently, gently, beyond the panes.

Every branch is limned with snow.

There is no footprint across the wide lawn
among the great trees.

The field where the ground pine creeps is white
and the stone fence beyond it
is white also.

The woods are still and secret under the snow.

I have ever had the feeling that the
home of a true writer is in the 
center of a still snowfall,
where all his world is hidden,
so that he may discover it out of his own vision."

Nelia Gardner White

from The Pink House


Sunday, December 24, 2017

O Holy Night



From Claudia and David by Rose Franken, 1939:

"It never failed--people who believed in birthdays invariably believed in Christmas. Not that Claudia didn't believe in Christmas, as far as Christ was concerned.


"But she didn't think that He had anything to do with crowded stores, and suddenly polite elevator boys, and nervous wrecks. She didn't even think He would have liked the excitement and the to-do.





"She did think, however, that He'd have adored last Christmas on the farm. Snow had fallen during the night, and at dawn, Louella's second calf had been born.



"She and David and her mother and Fritz and Bertha, had all gathered in the barn, and as they had started to walk back to the house across the lawn, Bertha had suddenly begun to sing O Holy Night, and Fritz had taken it up in his rich thick voice.



"Before they knew it they were all singing. And it was less singing than some deep expression from within, like prayer.




"Claudia had felt the tears on her cheeks, but nobody asked, "Why are you crying?" Because it wasn't crying, anymore than it was singing. It was as if that same quality of prayer lay upon all of them, and it made Christmas the  Holy Day that it really was.





"They hadn't even remembered the presents until hours later."



May each of us experience that one moment during Christmas when the presents don't even matter.

Merry Christmas to all,
Dewena and RH


The following photograph is in memory of my Grandpa Mickle,
on the left with his brother on the right,
at the Nativity Scene of the city of Belle Isle, Florida
on December 18, 1955.





Thursday, December 21, 2017

The Shortest Day, Blankets and Books



I love the shortest day of the year, do you?




"The shortest day and thus,
by implication,
the darkest week."
Ronald Blythe

Do you know Ronald Blythe? I think of him as a British Father Tim, resembling Jan Karon's dear parish priest, but not a character of fiction--then again, not many Karon fans think of Tim as fictional, do we?


Word from Wormingford is my favorite Blythe book, and it has stayed on my bed table since November of 1998.



Blythe uses illustrations by the World War II artist John Nash. Blythe was a close friend of Nash's and his wife Christine. I especially love the above illustration, as I am very fond of art with window views.

Here's more of Blythe's words written on the shortest day of the year, and I think you'll understand why I love them:

"Now I have to read.
Reading has always been my way to the Way,
always my way of knowing anything."
Ronald Blythe

That just hits the nail on the head for me. If there's one thing I know for sure it is that the Word led me to Christ, and the Word is the only way I find my way along life's path.

In my time away from blogging after we lost our darling dachshunds Otis and Milo, I turned to the Psalms for comfort. But I also turned to my collection of Christmas books, devouring them for comfort and escape, letting simple stories ease my heart.


Here are two that I took to bed with me this month of long dark nights, actual dark nights that fell early and dark nights of the spirit when I longed to pet the silky ears of Otis and Milo, missing from my bedroom.

Anything from Miss Read comforts my spirit and No Holly for Miss Quinn is a book I save for December each year. It's good, it's easy, and it's not stuffed with sentiment that would reduce me to mush this month.


"She recognized her own limitations.
She liked her own company.
She liked the tranquility of her natural surroundings.
She had more than enough people
around her during office hours,
and Holly Lodge she hoped 
would be her refuge from them.

She spent most of the evening by the fire,
relishing her solitude...
her posting was done.
A box containing Christmas presents,
to be given by hand to Joan
and other local friends,
was on a shelf in the kitchen cupboard.
The milkman was going to deliver
a small chicken in two days' time,
ready for her modest Christmas dinner."
Miss Read


Miss Read's books are illustrated by the famed and beloved artist J S Goodall.



I have one of his wordless books, An Edwardian Christmas, that I use each Christmas for my personal Advent Calendar.






Phyllis McGinley's poems were a part of my newlywed years and I needed their acerbic wit, spot on as much today as they were in the 1960s and 70s. McGinley was known as "the best writer of light verse" in the US in those days. I loved her because she was both a city mouse and country mouse, extolling the virtues and flaws of both with tongue in cheek.




City Christmas
Now is the time when the great urban heart
More warmly beats, exiling melancholy.
Turkey comes table d'hote or a la carte.

Our elevator wears a wreath of holly...

There is a promise--or a threat--of snow

Noised by the press. We pull our collars tighter.

And twenty thousand doormen hourly grow 

Politer and politer and politer. 
 Phyllis McGinley
 I remember being one of the capable wives and mothers of those years when I read McGinley. We put on our panty girdles, took a bus to the city and marched to the office, then went home and donned a frilly apron. We were feminists and homemakers.

What? You think only young women today are true feminists? Honey, we were demanding R-E-S-P-E-C-T in the 1960s too...not that we always got it, but then women today don't always either. It will come if we insist and teach our daughters to insist and our sons that it's the right thing to do.




















I don't often get on my soapbox so I'm a little tuckered out 
and it's 8:33 p.m. right now as I'm writing this on the shortest day of the year so I'm heading to bed.

Which brings me to one other thing I love....blankets.

100% wool blankets, to be precise, those comforting covers that get put on my bed November through March.

They have to have satin covered hems.

Satin to hold in my hands the same way I did when I was a child to soothe myself to sleep. Just the same, only I don't suck my thumb now. 


This red one is my favorite. I've had it for decades and it's shrunk through washings and dryings. I look forward to the day each fall that this beauty goes on my bed.



I've only had this lighter weight green blanket a few years, bought on eBay, made by the same company that made my red one. 

And the Fairbault Woolen Mills still make them but you might need to look at eBay for the beautiful ones like mine.

The one in the gorgeous illustration at the top is a St. Mary's blanket. Isn't it beautiful? Can you imagine pulling that one up to your chin on a frosty winter night? I'm looking for one like that too. 

Tonight may be the longest night this year but there are still quite a few ahead before Spring arrives. So grab a good book and a blanket and go to bed early. 

I am. I'm already 46 minutes past the time of my being offline rule so goodnight and sweet dreams, enjoy the rest of December.

Love to you,
Dewena


Friday, November 17, 2017

Otis



Now RH and I have lost our darling Otis as well as his brother Milo.

They were the most adorable and loving little dachshunds ever and our lives seem so empty without their presence.

The story of my sweet Otis as at my other blog:

Sunday, November 5, 2017

Milo



It is with so much sadness that I tell here of our loss of our little Milo.

Especially as one may read it who first spotted Milo and his twin brother Otis on the pages of petfinder.com and thought of me. 

Milo and Otis were daily joy to our hearts and RH and I miss him so very much.

Otis has been lost without his brother.

This is more difficult than I thought it would be as I just got through telling the whole story on my other blog.

For those who might want to know more, please visit me at http://dewenaswindow.blogspot.com/2017/11/milo.html


Hug someone now for me, please, hopefully a fur baby.