the perfect bath

the perfect bath comes after a long day, in the sun, playing sport with your friends. (ok, does drinking cider while playing pétanque qualify for this?)
the perfect bath usually has some things in it to alleviate sunburn, sore muscles, fatigue
for this alone i'd add 1/4 c baking soda, 1/4 c epsom salts, lavender and sandalwood oils, about 5 drops each...
then of course i'd add my 2 favourite men
and put the whole lot in my garden

who needs a bathroom?
xxx
mama b
(squeeky clean)

a revolution in the air

the night sky was heavy with the aroma of gunpowder, but there was no revolution to be had. at least not this night.
what a strange thing to be celebrating though- some spanish dude trying to blow up the british parliament. good on him, i say. not that i've actually got any political opinions, but why not express yourselves if it means that one hundred odd years later we have the right to ignite fireworks and dress the heavens in gold and silver.
the crowd goes oooh
and aaah
and calix, witnessing his first lot of pyrotechnics was asking two questions:
where's his buddy max?
and was there any more?
who knows what acts of terrorism we'll be celebrating in years to come
xx
mama b
(perhaps one part green, one part anarchist)

waiting for the train

c and his good friend aramaya.
obviously uptonogood.

xx
mama b

preserves

what was once a driveway full of poorly performing leeks has made its way towards an afternoon of pickling and now we have to wait, once again until the leeks are ready.
2 weeks, they say.
i've waited months already.
perhaps the tiny piece of soil beside the driveway was not the best position for my winter leeks, but we did try. we parked the car at inconvenient angles for months on end and still they didn't grow. i mounded them up, i observed them. but those lazy-arsed leeks just wouldn't move. i'd almost given up hope when one of my edible garden buddies told me -if you don't pay attention they might bolt!
bolt indeed. these leeks would be the only creatures in the world who didn't fatten through not moving. bolt? bolt! i'd be lucky!
but bolt they did. in their waif-ish way those skinny leeks lept skyward all of a sudden and so i was obliged to pull them out all at once. and being as it's not soup season i had to come up with a cunning plan b.
my pickling and preserving book had a recipe within for leek and cashew pickle.
i assembled the ingredients
i busied myself sterilising jars, chopping leeks and other technical stuff.
i pretty much did everything but read the recipe from beginning to end.

what is it about us humans that we think we can get away with this sort of behaviour?
we have a go at it before we read the instructions and invariably have to refer to them halfway, with some sort of mystery part in the left hand and the screwdriver nowhere to be seen. or in this case, realising that the leeks needed blanching minutes before i was about to put them into the jar.

well, problem is now i've done it. the lids are on and the book says i've gotta wait! 2 weeks. all sorts of things could happen in 2 weeks.

-so just how do you eat these pickles? asks p
-with cheese?
he snorts; he is insulted with this reply.
to his approval the book suggests coupling with pork or beef of some description... great.

i reckon it'll go great with some wine ;)
xxx
mama b

mon château fort et mon bac à sable

coocoo! regarde moi! j'ai une boite spéciale que mon grandad m'a guardée et papa a decoupé ce trou... maintenant c'est un chateau fort!

mama, un verre s'il te plait pour célébrer!!

a+
c

developing

do you ever wonder the origin of words?
i'm not talking about from the etymologists view point, i'm talking about from 80-something centimetres, from the prospective of a 19 month old friwi.
our wee man has a series of words that we can understand. take hmmhmm -this we know to mean dog, or chien, depending on who you're talking to. (he's recently shortened this to hmmm) the origin of this word is obvious, as it's the noise a dog makes. likewise mao, bokbok and tweee.
but how does ah-ee mean ouef? when we point out to calix that the correct word for egg is ouef, he then repeats 'ach'.
it took me a while to figure our that 'didit' was voiture, but 'wewo' being velo should have been obvious!
our son, the mini polyglot, has even ventured into translation. his granny insists that cheese is the correct word for momage, that car is the correct word for didit. perhaps calix thinks that maybe it's just granny that uses these words as he always points out things in his language to grandad.
he calls a telephone 'bye', and honey and jam are both 'ma-ees', but there's no mistaking marmite or pain, yaourt or jjjjjjjjjja (chocolate).
he'll happily point out the bain, douche, bottes, couche, and he's ecstatic when you mention going to la plage.

but the greatest joy has been his recent ability to express his gratitude with his own little way of saying merchi.

his little community of friends include a swiwi (swedish kiwi), diwi (german, or deutsch kiwi) a briwi (brazilian kiwi) and i'm not sure how to describe an english-kiwi.
as max points out something to calix 'teeta caca!' he says, calix is happy to repeat it. and little aramaya says 'zu' when he shuts the gate, calix repeats that as well.
our little men, are they the future of united nations peace talks? or a super football team with a language all of their own....

xx
mama b

admiring the greenery

we welcome spring to the republic, with open arms. we rejoice with the traditional barefooted peasant dance, we drink cider on the terrace until our cheeks glow a rosey red and we picnic on the grass.
from the window, on the chillier days (cos it's still only spring) we watch the buds fatten and burst. the green becomes greener until it's as green as can be.
which is pretty green.
the shade of grass.
or, new leaves.
or aphids.
not bothered with immigration formalities these clandestine insects snuck into the garden and hid amongst my lettuce, disguised themselves on the sage leaves.
obviously these freeloaders haven't read the book on companion planting as they've made a home not 30 cm from my garlic.
so now, i wonder to myself, do i wait for their natural predators to arrive? as nature would have it that's the logical next step. or do i make up some sort of witches potion to kill them all (and disregard nature)? or do i just ask them, politely, to move on (using my best britishpoliceman voice)?

so far, i'm using the zen approach to gardening- that it's their darma to be eaten & that someone else will be along shortly...

in the meantime, we have been blessed with rain. august was unseasonally hot and dry; but what it offered in unseasonal parchiness september countered with its damp and cold: do not pass go, go directly back to winter...
alas, without the spring rain the spectacle would be short lived! but while each droplet was filled with the promise of new life (not in the biblical sense, of course), it also imported certain fungal blooms, known to the gardener as powdery mildew (and silently cursed under the breath).

aiie aiie aiie! already!

quickly i mixed up a teaspoon of baking soda in a litre of water, and sprayed it over the leaves.

nature countered with rain.

i picked some comfrey, nettles and chamomile and set to soak in a bucket with seaweed tea for 2 days. comfrey, stinging nettles and seaweed contain silica, which adhers to the leaves and makes it's difficult for the fungi to spread, the chamomile contains a mild anti-bacterial action... they'll also help fortify the plant's general health...

and it rained some more.

and they forecast more.

so even before my plans for being selfsufficient in the vegetable department have germinated it appears that it is going to be more difficult than i first imagined...
it's not quite a case of counting your chickens before they hatch...

xx
mama b