A Perfect Day

Colleen Dorian, mother of Roseanne, and grandmother of Ana

I had the most wonderful day yesterday!  Who would have thought?  The weather had been gloomy and chill recently, and I had to wake up early to go to a funeral.  Not such a great outlook for the day, I thought.  I decided to cycle, and once I got on my way, I realized that the day was October-perfect!  The sun was aglitter and the trees were aglow.  The air was crispy and a tiny bit crunchy. My favorite weather in my favorite month of the year, and I was able to breezily roll along in its perfection.

The perfect Seattle day

  I arrived at the church and looked around.  There was no one I knew, other than the family, and they were doing whatever families have to before funerals, part of which is not paying attention to the likes of me.  That comes afterwards.  I tried to fade from notice and seemed to be succeeding, when I saw the director from a choir I (and most of Coleen’s family) had sung in many years before, and whom I hadn’t been able to chat with for well over a decade.  He looked to be in the same situation as I – a little uncomfortable and not knowing most of the people there.  We made a bee line for one another.  “You can be my date for the day,” I said.  He readily agreed.  Soon others from our old choir arrived. I was so happy to see them.  It was as though no time had elapsed at all, and I felt wrapped in the warmth of their good feeling.  It is such a wonderful thing to meet old friends, not seen for years, and to be able to pick up where you left off as though no decade had intervened.

Coleen, the mother of my friend Roseanne, and grandmother of Ana, whom my faithful readers have met, if not in real life, at least virtually here in blogland, died last week after a long and rough illness.  Her funeral was one of the most moving I have been to, with her family’s love for her apparent in every nuance.  The service was perfect, the music was wonderful.  It included songs that Roseanne (an amazing soprano) and I had often done together in the past.  They had special meaning for both of us, and later, Roseanne said that she had thought of me when selecting the music.  I had been certain that this would have been the case, and had warm rushes when I heard the songs that had so bound us years ago.

Wonderful old friends

I am embarrassed to be sounding like the funeral was all about me, which of course it was not at all.  But the whole thing was such a wonderful experience for me – being with such kind and generous people from whom I had drifted away – and being with Roseanne and her family also, made this one of the best days in a long time. 

Flor - beautiful in every way

Maryanne and Bernadette haven't changed a bit

Celebratory Days

Dakki and Jackie

It’s been a busy few days!  On Saturday, Jackie O’Ryan, my something-eth cousin, something removed, and my Aunt Dakki came to lunch. They are both interested in our mutual ancient ancestors, seven Ryan siblings, who, in the 19th century, emigrated from County Tipperary, arriving in Boston, from whence they all traveled to Chicago, then Colorado, and finally ended up in Seattle in the 1880’s. One of the seven, my Great-grandfather, and his wife Sarah, arrived the day after the Great Seattle Fire, when much of the city was in ashes. Dakki is actually a fount of knowledge on the subject (and many other subjects, I might add.)  She is one of the few remaining folk who actually knew most the original seven and the resulting cousins – a group much like the vast array of Rabbit’s “friends-and-relations.”  It was a fun visit, with lots of family and ecclesiastical gossip – both of which, I adore.

The next day, Sunday was my birthday!  I celebrated by going to church, where we sang the most exquisite music with a little string orchestra.  What a lovely birthday Mass that was!  Then I came home, took a nap, got up, went to church again, came home and took another nap.  I totally missed all my congratulatory phone calls and messages, as I was either in church or sleeping the entire day.  

Today, The Twins came to lunch, and I forgot to take a picture. Then I went to Becca’s for a little birthday celebration with her, Rachael, Tommy, and dear Lillian.  A super yummy dinner (forgot to take pictures again,) and my traditional gingerbread cake.  Delish! 

On rereading this post, I realize that the info therein is the sort of thing of interest only to me.  Oh well!  I have been such a lax poster lately, that I thought I had better think of something to say, even if not up to my usual fascinating standards.

A Miraculous Day

Sr, Ann and Fr.Gallagher

About a week ago, Rebecca was feeling laid up and so we couldn’t do our morning jog.  Instead, I trotted to her house for tea, and then meant to trot home. But, alas, I had hardly gotten started on my way home, when I felt a little “whoosh” in my hip.  I know that a hip can’t really go whoosh, but that is exactly what it felt like. Immediately, my hip hurt – not terribly, but enough to slow me down and to give me a decided limp.  I hobbled home, feeling guilty for walking, as I had committed myself to Becca to jog, but it was just too uncomfortable.  I thought it was probably sciatica, but it didn’t feel exactly like that.  It was strange and unpleasant. About half of my patients have just gotten  new hips – hours before I meet them - and they are usually not terribly happy campers.  The specter of joining their ranks was haunting me. (It is a known fact that medical folk are often inclined to imagine the worst scenario for their own personal  ills.) For the week since, I have been hobbling around, achy, grumpy, and feeling like a very old thing. I even called in sick for half of a shift – although, I felt pretty yucky in other ways too, so the combination made me feel justified – sort of.  A week of shuffling about, whinging incessantly was getting discouraging. 

Today, our choir sang at the funeral of Father William Gallagher, the former pastor of the Cathedral.  He was a pretty spectacular fellow, transforming the Cathedral from a slightly shabby inner-city parish with 400 families – and one that folks were nervous about going to lest they get mugged as they approached the door – to a sparkling inne-rcity parish with 1200 families, a first-rate and nationally noted music program, and many outreach programs to assist the nearby needy. This latter included the Catholic Worker’s Family Kitchen (now the Cathedral Kitchen) where a an excellent, healthy, and free meal is served every weekday of the year.  He was loved by so many – a kind man who did not distinguish or judge.  I recall that once, when I was distress about my troubles with my mother, who could at times, be a real pill, I attended Mass at St James, and his homily, which had something to do with a jar of beans, brought me real peace of mind.  This was probably thirty years ago, but I have not forgotten the profound effect of his words.  I have tried and tried to remember what he said about the jar of beans, but that jar is the only thing of the homily that I remember.  Besides, of course, its solacing effect on me.

What does this have to do with my hip, you might ask.  Well, at the conclusion of the funeral, I was walking down the aisle, toward the exit, when my hip gave a little inner “click.”  Mirabile dictu, the pain was instantly gone!  This was perhaps Father Gallagher’s first saintly miracle!   I strode home in much better spirits than those with which I had limped to church a few hours earlier. 

Our beautiful Cathedral

A Shopping Day

Whenever Rebecca and I go shopping, she has all sorts of ideas about things I really, really need.  “Look at this,” she says.  “You certainly should get this. You need it.  Just think of how happy you will be when you have it!”  I usually resist her exhortations, having a pretty good idea of what I do and don’t need, but again, I  often cave in to these temptations, so alluringly presented.  I have a few items about which I wonder how I let her convince me of their future value in my life, but to tell the truth, I can’t think of one just now.  On the other hand, there are some, that I can’t imagine life without.  Well, that’s not really true, of course.  One can get on nicely without lots of things, but there are some I use all the time.  I think this magazine will be one of them.  When we saw it in the store, she zeroed in on it.  “I don’t need another magazine,” I said.  “It won’t be a magazine.  It’ll be a valuable cookbook.  You love cookies.  You love to make cookies.  You will be so happy when you’re baking cookies from this book.  Just look at how cute some of them are.  Yum!  Listen to this……”   Needless to say, I bought it.  And I am happy I did.  She was correct on all counts.  I made the first batch from it the other day.  I wanted some cookies that were tasty but sort of dull so that I would not gobble them up all at once.  And a friend had given me a huge bag of quick-cooking oats.  I never use these for oatmeal, and so have been trying to use them up in recipes, adding a bit to bread, biscotti, etc, to healthen things up.  These oatmeal cookies were just the ticket!  The resulting cookies were perfect, except for being a little over salty.  The teaspoon of salt gave me pause when making them, but I decided to have faith.  Next time, I will use less – maybe ¾ teaspoon.

Yummy Oatmeal Shortbreads  (very quick and easy!!)

 (Quick and easy, but there is chill in the refrigerator time to take into account.)

1 cup softened butter

1 cup brown sugar, packed

¼ cup water

1tsp vanilla

3 cups quick cooking oats

1 ¼ cup all-purpose flour

1 tsp salt (too much – try ¾)

¼ tsp baking soda.  (I had to have faith about this too.  It didn’t seem like it would be enough, but it was.) 

Cream the butter and sugar.  Add the water and vanilla, stir in the oats, and then stir in the combined dry ingredients.  Mix it up nicely, and chill for half an hour.   Then form it into two foot long rolls, which you wrap in waxed paper and chill in the refrigerator for at least two hours. 

Heat the oven to 375°, cut the rolls into ½ inch coins, bake them on greased cookie sheets (or of course silpats!) for 12 – 15 minutes or until they begin to brown.  Let them cool.  Enjoy with tea or milk (or whatever you enjoy cookies with.)  Yum!

I think I need a cuppa tea and a cookie right now. 

The Man of the House says they look okay, but he prefers tunafish.

A Sweaty Day

When Becca was in grammar school, she was, like her mother, likely to be one of those chosen last for the athletic teams.  I actually was once the very last selected for the basketball team, and it was humiliating, to say the least. I can still picture the awful scene, and remember how I felt – cold, clammy, and wishing I could disappear through the gymnasium floor. I thought at the time, that it was too bad there wasn’t a geometry team.  I would have done much better there.  But who besides me cared about geometry?  Becca, while not good at sports requiring coordination, unlike her mother, shone in anything that took staying power and overall fitness.  This may have been because she either rode her bike or walked the three miles to school every day, and was a super swimmer. 

 Nonetheless, I was surprised when she recently started running for fun.  I have always viewed this as a slightly ridiculous pursuit, absolutely not fun, and had only personally encountered it in some of the detectives in the novels I read.  Kinsey Millhone stands out in this respect.  She is always running to buck up her spirits after getting her apartment blown up, or having a near miss in a shootout. When Becca and Rachael started running in 5 and 10K races, I was secretly jealous, but not so jealous that I would actually do anything about it.  But then, after much nagging on her part, I reluctantly let Rebecca take me in hand, and I have been jogging along two times a week, whinging, gasping, and begging to stop and rest “just for a few minutes” all the way.  Any excuse to spend some quality time with my girl, I tell myself.  So when a 5K event came along and she suggested that we make it a fun family event, I was all for it.  Rachael, Tommy, and Tina were to join us for the fun day.  I was pretty excited, and so was Tina – we two total non-runners.  As we started out, Tina got a pebble in her shoe.  Becca and Rachael, who had promised to stick with us in our tortoise like pace, showed no mercy, and shot off, leaving us in the dust.  Without Becca to prod and crack her whip, we were not as inspired to hurry as we might have been.  They called us from the finish line to see if we had met disaster, and were shocked that we were just approaching the 2M marker.  They trotted back, all fresh and frisky, to spur us on, but by this time, we were pretty unspurable.  Despite our poor showing, speed-wise, we enjoyed a fun day, and a Birthday Lunch afterwards for my dear girl.  I have to say that I found this birthday of Becca’s far less grueling than the very first one.  But that one had its positive side too.  What a wonder she is!!! And how lucky I am to have her.

Someone is not amused!

Tina and her handsome Apolinario

Our other handsome menfolk

A Couple of Days in Delightful Company

Begorrah!  Are we on the Auld Sod?  Or is it a Bellevue golf course with Seattle peeking up in the distance?

It looks like I haven’t been keeping you very well updated recently.  Life has been a bit on the humdrum side, but very pleasantly humdrum.  I had a lovely morning knitting and drinking tea with my friend Peggy, but I was so excited about her visit, our knitting, and the opportunity to serve popovers, that I utterly failed to take any pictures.  I hadn’t made popovers in years, maybe even ten years or more, and I do love to eat them.  What’s the problem?  Not sure.  I think it’s a matter of timing logistics.  They take about 3 minutes to mix up, but over an hour for the oven to heat up (it has to be really, really hot) and then for them to bake. The guest has to be there and hungry when they come out of the oven, as their deliciousness lifespan is very limited.  But the guest must not be so hungry that an hour is too long to wait. No problem when cooking for oneself, but who wants to eat a whole batch of popovers alone?  Not I.  So our knitting setting was perfect.  We drank a bit of tea,  knitted a bit, and then the popovers were ready!  Buttery jammy goodness!  Sigh, I do wish I had taken pictures of our popovers, our mittis, and us knitting.

Yesterday afternoon, I got to volunteer again at the annual Hunthausen Golf Tournament.  I look forward to this every year, and feel like I am privileged to be there, rather than being a volunteer.  It is always a gathering of lovely people in a beautiful setting, a delicious dinner, and a tiny bit of actual work. Such fun!

An infinite number of Joannas in the posh ladies lounge

A Fun Filled Day

Well, an unprecedented, but long anticipated event!  I met one of my internet friends in real life!  I’ve been a member of one large internet knitting group for I don’t know how many years – probably more than ten.   Then another small splinter group formed several years ago for a knitalong on particular Alice Starmore sweater, and since the sweater was finished – mine was a total flop, by the way – we have stayed on contact.  Rebecca is a part of this small group too.  (Her sweater turned out splendidly, and is one of her favorites.) Rebecca mainly shyly lurks, but feels fully committed to the little knitting clan.  So, we were thrilled to learn that Pru was coming from the other far off Washington – the D.C. one – to visit Seattle.  She brought several shawls she had knitted - all exquisite - but one was one of the loveliest things I have ever seen.   A similar one is next on my knitting agenda, and I only hope mine turns half as well.  

We planned to visit knitting stores, since knitting is our common purpose in life, but never quite made it.  Nonetheless, it was a super fun day, visiting downtown Seattle and the Pike Place Market, which, with such beautiful weather at the tail end of tourist season, was humming with energy, and as brimming with life as I always imagine those eastern bazaars to be.  Then a humongous lunch at a local “greasy spoon” type café.  “Greasy Spoon” could seem to translate not into "yucky," but really, it translates into "comfort."  Maybe a little greasy, but mostly comfortable  

– not that we needed comfort after our super fun day.