The virtues of watermelon


Let me tell you how much I like watermelon. It’s sweet! It’s juicy! I like watermelon doused in lime juice and sprinkled with mint. I like the cool crunch of it, especially as July shoulders into August and the heat gathers its dull fury.

But why so small a domestic rave?

Well, otherwise I might find myself complaining about the relentless, interfering noise in my neighborhood. When I went out to pick the mint, I leaned into the street to see what racket had just begun, thinking it might be the planned driveway installation next door. But no, it was tree work two doors down. That’s usually good for at least three hours. Not long after I clopped my headphones on, the excavator that has been working sporadically across the street for weeks fired up its engine.

And if I weren’t complaining about noise, I’d be feeling some responsibility to articulate my rage and despondency about racism and unwarranted death and policing and gridlock and…  and… and… For a while now, I’ve believed that speaking out in clear anger was part of the solution, because, you know, ‘denying racism is a form of racism’. I’m not so sure right now. I’ve hit some sort of wall and silence feels like the better response, or maybe, the only one I’m capable of right now.

It occurs to me: America needs an etiquette for mass shootings. America needs an etiquette for racist murders. Think about that for a minute. “Dear Miss Manners, I can’t seem to wrap my head around the recent spate of race-driven murders. What is the most thoughtful response — too old to march. Signed, Weary White Woman.”

I “liked” the woman on FB who said (not completely jesting) that she ought to be able to “call in black” to work, just to give herself a few hours to grieve or find her own humanity (if you’re on FB, look for ‘Evelyn from the Internets’ and scroll down a couple of posts, or search #callinginblack).

Shaun King of the NY Daily News can always be relied upon to inform and respond in outrage. I follow him on twitter so that I will know when another atrocity has taken place (@shaunking). His recent article spoke about the need to end the despicable practice of asking African Americans who have just lost a loved one whether they forgive the perpetrator or not.

If you haven’t read the recent NY Times article by Charles Blow, I recommend it.

Otherwise, find your cool, crunchy sweets where you can?

Even though I’ve been writing at the kitchen table today, I’m going to escape the clammy, noisy air by descending into the basement. It’s cool down there. And quiet. I’ll enjoy my bowl of watermelon standing at the sewing table, with my laptop set up among the pins and scraps.

Then I’ll turn my attention back to mid-eighteenth century, South Carolina.It is strange to feel the permeability of history, which is another way of saying: it’s awful to acknowledge how the hate from those years lives on.

Friday in June

Morning face.
Done with wind and overall tacking down, plus I added white stitches to lighten house. It disappears a little too much. Maybe for this week, the house ought to take on the shape of England? I mean, WTF?

Later on, it was nice to start the weekend with another bday celebration. Out on the deck. Beautiful light. Perfect temps. QUIET. School is out for the year.

 This barley salad was soooo good. Made several modifications. Very tasty with salmon done on the grill.
I modified the salad both because of available ingredients and taste preferences. I didn’t have any black beans, so none went in. I only used red peppers, not both green and red. I skipped the called-for carrots because I thought they’d be overly crunchy. And, instead of canned corn, I cooked up a fresh ear.

Probably the most important modification flavor-wise was substituting about a quarter teaspoon of Truvia in lieu of corn syrup and adding quite a bit more oil. Recipe calls for scant amount of canola. I added at least 3 more tablespoons of olive oil. This, from someone who likes a very acidic dressing.

Surprisingly, my pantry did contain a can of chipotle peppers in adobe sauce. That, along with the cilantro, cumin, and citrus juices were essential to the slightly smoky, but bright taste of the salad. Also surprising (to me): no garlic.

The next day I used the same dressing on a mix of chopped cherry tomatoes, red onion, and avocado and it was equally delicious.

Have a nice weekend all!

P.S. One of the nice benefits of a grain salad is how they keep overnight. And since the barley salad didn’t feature the olive oil very centrally, I could eat it straight out of the fridge. So good!

P.P.S. Brexit fucking floored me and made the realization that the xenophobia highlighted by Trump is not limited to our side of the Atlantic. I spent a fair amount of time on Twitter first thing that morning. Last night, K. and I re-watched “Children of Men” and all the ways that movie is scarily prescient were doubly so… the vans full of refugees being carted off to detention centers, shocking lack of resources, the vast poor and scant people of means, plots and counterplots, police working counter to the public’s interests, the human species on the brink of extinction. So much rubble, despair, and violence! I hope the Brits re-do the vote. What a stupid risk Cameron took with England’s future.

If you’re interested (I took twitter feed off side bar of the blog), my moniker is deeamallon: stream is here.

Stitching the wind


Another landscape in progress on the right.


I am surviving a basement being excavated across the street, a patio being installed by back neighbor and the usual round of yard crews and year end celebrations over at the school (accompanied by booming music out in the field). By 5 yesterday, I was fried. Today will be better because kitty-corner neighbor’s hedges are now trimmed (two hours yesterday, electric trimmer).


These headphones were the best gift ever!

Unmoored


Laying down a strip at the base of Moon House quilt just now, I set the structure momentarily aside. And it struck me how apt that is: known angles canting off, the roof tumbling away in willful contrary movement, the house either about to crash back to earth leaving a splintered, uninhabitable pile of refuse or to improbably float off into the ether.


I think I’ll stitch it there. As I do, it will be a chance to sit with a conundrum. For what is anchoring down with thread that which is in free fall but a conundrum? Finn returning the ball poses a glad image of being airborne. I wish you could experience his grace, his enthusiasm, his boundless joy, how effortlessly he dwells in the moment. The house tipping over vs. the dog flying back to me for another throw.

First person shooter


Little did I know when I started a quilt based on a figure from a first person shooter video game, how ugly its relevance would become.

It began as a visual expression of the need to defend my personal boundaries. And also, a bit of a sad wondering about what our children will be doing decades from now to protect their own sacred selves. Or their access to water. Or their privacy. Or or or. The first time I used this image was in a Sketchbook Project.

This is what I think every day, many times a day: If we don’t get money out of politics, things will continue to go to shit.Does anyone else think the slide to ruin has picked up its pace? The way I see it, corporate interests are contaminating democracy more and more quickly such that we are approaching a tipping point — in a parallel rhythm to the quickening pile-up of the consequences of climate change. Needless to say, overturning Citizens United would represent only a baby step in the right direction. And Trump? I can’t watch election coverage right now.

Who are we as a nation if gun reform cannot be achieved after the Pulse massacre? If we lack the political will to ignore the money, I kinda think we’re doomed — to revolution or extinction or both. No wonder I wake up nights. And that’s not even getting near the personal turmoil that keeps me wringing my hands. No wonder I’m now stitching a saccharine cliche. Something about the key to my heart.

(Those whitish lines are made by couching two rows of floss with a fair number of stitches — I can’t wait to try Jude’s wandering running stitch, but this is not that).

OMG – so tasty 

Making lunch just now I found myself thinking, “if food were the only thing I lived for (and it’s not), it would be enough.” I’ll share today’s one-bowl lunch.

Take some baby bok choy and even if clean rinse so there’s a little water in the pan to aid cooking. Sauté in olive oil. Add a chopped garlic and scallions at the end. Off heat, squeeze half a lemon over the greens.

Prepare basil butter. I used about three tablespoons of butter and the tops of three basil plants from my porch. Since I keep unsalted butter in the house, I added salt (pink Himalayan, of course).

Use about half of the butter for a serving. I used Barilla’s gluten free spaghetti  — it’s delicious and no, I do not get paid to say that.

Oh so good!