It's Saturday
Supposed to be the hottest day of this season, so far. 32 degrees (Centigrade), high humidity, plenty of smog. Yesterday was hot too, but in the morning I baked a strawberry cake. Reason was we had a surplus of strawberries. I'd bought imported berries when shopping, then discovered that local strawberries were being harvested and we bought two 6-quart baskets of those, one for us, one for our daughter. Thus, the strawberry cake. Sumptuous. Cut 4 to 5 cups of strawberries into chunks, dredge with 1/3 cup brown sugar mixed with a tablespoon of cornstarch and let it sit. Beat 3 eggs with a cup of sugar, add a tablespoon of orange juice, a teaspoon of vanilla, a half-cup of good quality cooking oil. Sift one and a half cups of flour with two teaspoons baking powder, and beat into the liquid. Spread half the cake mixture on the bottom of a generous baking pan, then the strawberries (I did drain off some of the strawberry liquid first), top with the balance of the cake batter and bake at about 350 degrees (Fahrenheit) until brown on top. Yummy, doesn't need anything else, not ice cream, not whipped cream. We had a serving each after dinner, then I carefully wrapped the cake pan with two layers of Saran, and placed it on one of the kitchen counters. We have, um, developed an ant problem. Noticed them several days ago, and put down a few ant traps.Saturday morning while preparing our breakfast (of cantaloupe, banana, bacon and eggs, toast, orange juice, coffee/tea) I saw an ant on the counter top holding the cake. Then I looked closer at the Saran-topped cake pan and cursed a silent shriek. My husband carried the offending item from the kitchen to the table on the deck to be attended to, later. Here's the funny part: I thought the ants were on top of the Saran; they were not. They were scurrying happily about under the damn Saran, congratulating themselves on their good fortune. Into the composter, dammit.
My Saturday morning appetite was slightly dampened, sad to say. But despite the impending heat with all its attendant miseries we thought why not go up to Gatineau Park to hike a trail up there, instead of our daily ravine walk, as we hadn't been there since early spring. We did just that, drove up to Gatineau, not a long drive. On the way we saw brilliant spikes of purple Lupin adorning the sides of the highway. Once into the park almost at our destination we wondered at the sanity of bicyclists churning their tires under the pitiless sun, sharing the road with us. Then - at the side of the road, a beautiful fawn-coloured doe, placidly grazing, ostensibly unaware, or at least uncaring at the traffic whizzing past her.
At the trail head we noted the proliferation of Cornflowers in full, startling-blue bloom, and thought how early it seemed for them this year. They were companioned with cowslips, fleabane, and yellow/orange hawkweed. In amongst this wild colour was the delicate pink heads of tiny wild geraniums. And there, further along the trail was two mounds of that wonderfully leafed plant I always admired, and vowed I'd one day dig up a piece of, for our garden. It's a large, dark green leaf, deeply cut, similar to Ligularia.
There was a slight breeze, and as long as we were shaded by the deep woods canopy the temperature was not bad at all, allowing us to really enjoy our walk. Our older, female dog is always permitted to go along off leash, as she stays with us. Our younger, male, testosterone-loaded little toy wears a harness and stays leashed, lest we encounter an elephant and the silly little bugger decides to demonstrate dominance techniques. When we'd been on the trail long enough we offered them fresh water, and they were tepidly receptive. When, some fifteen minutes later, we finally descended to a full creek bed, they displayed considerably more enthusiasm, dibbling and dabbling in the fast-flowing water, and relishing their freedom to drink at leisure. (Guardia? hope not.)
By the time we completed our trek, having laboured up two more very long slopes, we were drenched in sweat (that's my husband; perspiration for me) and Button and Riley were in full tongue-lolling mode. We thought how nice it was that the car was still in dappled shade and its interior wasn't a blazing oven, then settled in for the pleasant drive home. How fortunate we are.
It wasn't until we arrived back in the city that the true depth of the skin-drenching heat hit us. For we had several stops to make. The first at a ceramics-painting and handicrafting shop where we registered our granddaughter, who turned to the ripe old age of 9 this very day. She will attend a half-day, full week summer day camp. First three days (9:00 to 12:00 p.m.) will be painting ceramics, the fourth day will be devoted to mosaics, the last day to painting fabrics. That should prove of interest to her and entertain her for a small fraction of the summer. She is still resisting our blandishments in describing how wonderful a time she would have, attending full-day swim camps. We're working on her.
Her uncle, who lives in Vancouver, suggests that we ship her out to him for a week. He will pay the airfare. No problem, he says, having her fly over is little different than her taking the bus daily to school. I've told him she would never want to go so far and for so long, away from her mother. I've told him he has no real idea based on past experience how difficult it is to look after a (now) 9-year-old girl (especially this particular 9-year-old girl who, as sweet natured as she is, is also hair-pullingly stubborn). He scorns this as being over-protective, and that we're instilling in her a fear of adventure rather than encouraging her natural sense of curiosity - and, he's quite capable of looking out for her, and after her. Could be, but on the basis of her mother's fearful reluctance to join us in Japan and her near-hysterical behaviour just flying out to be with us for a while in Atlanta, I'd say the child comes by her lack of enthusiasm for adventure quite explicably.
Now, how did we get from there to here, then from here to there? Is this tangential or is it not? Are you still with me? Am I still there? Was I ever there?
Did I yet mention that just as we were entering the video store (not my husband, he went elsewhere for some bubbly) there was a terrific clap of thunder, followed shortly after by rainfall of the torrential variety. So heavy was the rain that, looking out the large plate window of the shop one had the distinct impression of being under water.
And the day's not over yet!
posted by Pieface @ Saturday, June 25, 2005
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