Huîtres Stendhaliennes.

Traditionally, for New Year, a lot of French folks do an oyster feast. It's easy to prepare* , a bit luxurious, and delicious with champagne, so what's not to like? Since we tend to eat oysters a couple times a week,** the question was, how to make it a bit different for the reveillon?

Inspiration struck at the market after a visit to the bookstore. I'd just cleaned up on used copies of books by Stendhal, and the Frenchie, who could easily lecture on the guy, found cancales***.

"Oh, we're having cancales for dinner tonight. Absolutely. They're perfect."

Never having heard of these before and not knowing what the heck reference he was making, I asked why.

"They're Stendhalian oysters, of course! In Lucien Leeuwen he references going to Le Rocher de Cancale**** to eat oysters. I absolutely want oysters like Stendhal would have eaten himself in Paris."

So, that's what we're having for dinner tonight: oysters like our favorite writer would have had over on rue Montorgeuil back in the day and a nice, dry Crémant from the Loire Valley to wash them down with.

I can only hope for as good for all my friends; can't imagine better. Happy New Year.

***

* fishmongers will put together all sorts of plates with everything from oysters to crabs to langoustines and shrimps from all over the world, so no work at all if you want to pay.

** No, we're not high rollers; the Frenchie's Old School. He shucks them himself. I'm not nearly as good as he is, but can hold my own. With a bit more practice, am sure I could get a job somewhere opening oysters.

This in mind, biweekly plates of oysters are much more doable; the ones I like go for roughly 5-6€/dozen.

*** Cancales are like Belons - round and flat with toast colored shells. They are to Paris as Duxburies are to Boston.

**** As of last year, anyway, this restaurant still exists.

Pavel's on day three of cleaning out the kitchen; I just completed one of the bedrooms. Really, really strange. I'm not depressed over anything personal, just how the situation devolved so. It appears as though I've got the affairs of not one, but three people to take care of now.

Oh, the rosaries, too. Have found at least two dozen, probably more. Those and lots of mass books, both in Polish and English.

Yesterday, the Zen cleaning wave that I'm pretty sure most Polish females of strong body and sound enough mind can generally catch a ride on when they need to was broken with a sinister laugh from the kitchen:

"Come and Bake with us, Joanie. Come and Bake with us forever...and ever...and ever..."



My Mother was obsessed with him. Why? He was cute, I guess. She had a tee shirt that further explained that he smiled a lot and was "rolling in dough."

The refrigerator was full of packaged cookie dough and dinner rolls; the cupboard had six or seven different cake/baked good mixes. Kept the dry mixes, but had to toss the refrigerated stuff as it was starting to sprout.

Oh, and the collectors items: ornaments, wallpaper borders, kitchen linens, a cookie jar to name a few. I think there's something like three crates full of knicknacks. Most all of it's smoke damaged, so it's not like one could flog any of it on e-Bay, either.

Wish I could just toss it. Doesn't seem like I'm going to be able to, though. The thought of doing that makes me incredibly sad.

One of my big, long-gone crushes turned 450 today.

(Pictures from my pilgrimage to his home this Summer are here.)



Bonne Anniversaire. (Rock on.)

I'm Getting/I've Got This Year's Hit:



A blast from the past, ca. 2002. Don't think that much of this is happening in Iceland nowadays.

Eg = ich (ego)
kaupi/th/i = kaufe
ploetu = plat/plate/disk
arsins = jahr/year, sins/dieses = this

***

Neither Pavel nor I speak Icelandic. He seems to think that Kau/pi/thi is the imperative and that the title's exhorting us to buy the record. Have no idea. Fun to lazily conjecture after a good, warm meal on a cold night, though.

"Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises."

-Elizabeth Zimmermann

Got plenty to read, too. I want to knit, but if I can't keep track of the stitches or I'm not allowed to bring my needles on board (happened the last trip back from France), I'll read.

Finished the Tuchman book on the 14th Century and Audubon's collected writings. Didn't know which to follow up with first (The Tuchman was a great followup to the Amy Kelly book in Eleanor of Aquitaine - thought I might go back to what I'd read in college to hang onto the framework that both these books gave.). Decided on reading around Audubon, as the first contemporary who came to mind was another Frenchman doing pretty well both as a writer and a bureaucrat under Napoleon's reign: Stendhal. (Why not? It was either going to be him or Tocqueville.) Got my spanking new copy of Le Rouge et le Noir (lost the old one. Have 85 different copies of his treatise on Love, but don't much feel like that right now. Need some drama, some sharp wit, some biting social commentary. When I get tired of Stendhal, I have some Twain short stories to lift my spirits and some essays by Jeanne Kirkpatrick to bring me down (not that I'll be needing any of that this weekend).

Mostly, though, I hope to knit.

Loose Ends.

Weaving in a lot of them lately; guess the end of the year's got me in make-up mode:



That's Pavel, also known as the "Plaid Bomber," modeling a really ingenious little cowl that knitted up quickly, but took forever for me to seam. Got that off in the mail today for my friend with the perpetual air conditioner on the neck problem.



Since, at about the time when I got my diploma, I had very little in the way of mad grad money, decided to knit myself a present. Unfortunately, in the time it took me to (ahem) finish it, I lost *a lot* of weight (we're talking like 20 lbs). Don't look anywhere near as sophisticated as the model on the pattern does; actually feel kind of frumpy in it. Still, it's warm, very warm, and is kind of growing on me emotionally. Heck, I made it for me! (Also blew 10 balls of Wool Ease out of my stash. Hooray!)



The Frenchie needed a gift for his organisation's annual swap, so decided on a handmade filet with a pot of feral grape jelly. The pattern's called "Grrlfriend," so since mine's green and destined for France, am calling it "Grrenouille." (Really love this pattern; knits up quickly and makes a very sturdy, expansive pouch for whatever. Love the satchel strap styling, too. Really need to make one of these for myself one of these days.)



The pieces for this little guy (comprised mainly of some rope-gauge acrylic that Hal found in/at/around a dumpster years ago) languished in my project bag for *months* before I finally got it together fill him with rags and put him together. Don't think I could ever give away this little misfit; I identify too much with him. (Got the pattern from Debbie Bliss. Love her stuff; don't really like making a lot of these toys, though. Too much fiddling around with a sewing needle. Oh well.)

A friend of mine asked if he was a pickpocket and if he liked oysters and periwinkles. I figured that I wasn't sure on either account. Decided to name him Olivier, just in case.

***

So that's what's done now. Have a lot more left to finish before the year's out. For the trip to Buffalo, am bringing along two lace projects: Hemlock Ring (am just about finished with the center bloom. Kind of slow going with the three last lace rows before one goes to feather and fan.), and my beautiful stork's nest lace scarf.

If I can get these two things done by the time I get back from Buffalo (leaving tonight, returning on Monday night), will be very happy.

The first memories of my mother, when I heard that she'd passed, were not the best. Have been trying like the devil to find good ones. Thank heavens for a friend who asked the all important question, "yes, but did your mother cook? Was she a good one?"

Have been focusing on that.

Crazy Quilting.

Stuff was at a standstill for a minute, sorry about that. Am just starting to crawl out from under my rock and sniff the air a bit. The house is still standing, I'm still alive and sentient. Family, though still reeling (it's only been a week), are managing.

The best part of this all is that we're trying to come together to find the best way to work everything out. It doesn't feel like salvaging; more like taking bits of beautiful stuff acquired here and there and reconfiguring, stitching, embroidering to make a new something. Maybe I'm being optimistic, but we'll see.

Just got word that my mother passed away tonight at about 9:00. Amazing how she held on as she did. Hopefully she's found her parents up there by now. (Missed them terribly. Though I don't think she'd admit it, I think she missed her sister, too.) Hopefully she's found some peace.

In Flanders Fields.

Pet Shop Boys -Always on my mind
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My love to my dad, my uncle, my brother. To the folks who came Here to avoid fighting horrible wars There.

Difficulty sleeping. Small wonder, I guess.

Just Got Word.

Kidneys shut down, unconscious. It's a matter of hours now. There's no way for me to get back in time for this. Am actually pretty relieved (God strike me down). Will have to go back to sift through stuff, though, but that's not immediate.

God protect her and keep her. I never hated her, though I'm still terribly afraid of her. I wish her the peace she probably never had in this life.

Back Again.

Was actually a good, constructive visit. Will probably be returning around Christmastime. Hopefully by then we'll have some more stuff chipped away at from this side of things.

As for being back stateside, am glad to be back in Boston. Not so pleased at what awaits in the Heimatstadt. Need to play it really careful, as family's involved (large part of the reason why I'm here and not there).

Bags packed, house cleaned, cat cuddled. I'm off. (Tired and jet lagged already.)

Tomorrow, leave again for France. Am not feeling particularly excited or happy about it, though. Just feels like I'm trying to run away from life/obligations/the future here. Am not really sure that I'd find a much better life over there, either, with the cost of living, the perpetually depressed society, the problems of government there that make things look like positively rosy here...

We'll see what sort of luck we have looking at schools, sorting out visa and money stuff, etc. Feels kind of daunting.

Monetize Me.

So, I was attempting to put some ads up on my site again (why not, can use the income, small as it is), but found that the simple push-button system wreaks absolute *havoc* on the blog layout and would probably stand to turn the few folks who visit off. So much for that until I get the urge to go spelunking again in the HTML.

The day wasn't a total loss, though: went north to the wilds of Woburn to pick up some more cat medicine and got to visit the Starbucks Drive Thru again. (Love that thing). Took a state route back instead of 93 just to take a look around. Held a spectacular sunset to the right shoulder all the way home.

Ran into the neighbors who were heading out to dinner, so joined them at the Highland Kitchen a little ways away. Dinner was darn good (comfort food), but the real attraction was the company.

Took some valerian and, while waiting for that to kick in, will continue to read about Audubon's adventures in England after he finally convinced his wife to join him.

(Good night.)

Broke the required fruit fast with something completely new and kind of exotic this morning: an Asian pear. Was both tart and rich; reminded me a little bit of apple, somewhat of a pear, and a smidge of the mayhaw jelly that Karen sent from Texas. The texture was slightly grainy, but also smooth. It was very juicy. I think I might have to go get a couple more of them while they're on sale at Star (at $1 apiece). Such a treat; such a way to ring in 'phase II' of the diet.

Had a rough night sleeping last night, followed by a couple panic attacks in the morning. As the chest is killing me and I'm feeling pretty tired and unhappy, I'm thinking that this has to be hormonal. Got all of it written down on the calendar and am going to chart it from here on in, as it seems to be happening fairly regularly.