AGATHA CHRISTIE'S LEMON

As Lemon Week winds down, with nary a lemon related craft project, Agatha Christie's Miss Lemon, Poirot's efficient secretary comes to mind. It is her destiny to play  no larger role in Poirot's daily life than that of appointment keeper and fetcher of tisannes.Her greatest ambition is to come up with  up with the perfect filing system. While she  she waits for inspiration, her routine is only interrupted by  Poirot and and his sidekick  Arthur Hastings' s adventures.
 I had  hoped  to run this blog in Miss Lemon's minimalist manner. That is, I would fetch tea and dream of the perfect filing system while  talented artists and artisans discussed their work ad shared projects.   It is too early in the game to know whether this is a good plan. Judging from Lemon Week, I need to to be a bit more aggressive in my search for guest bloggers.  For the moment, I offer a couple of recipes for lemony delights. The first, Preserved Lemons--lemons pickled in salt-- is embarassingly simple. The glorious part only becomes apparent when one dds the results to other dishes, such as an eggplant, tomato, onion and cheese casserole.Then it packs terrific olfactory and gustory punch--think sunshine, blue skies, green seas and tropical flowers in a spoon.

PRESERVED LEMONS
6 lemons, scrubbed and seeded
1 cup of lemon juice
1 cup of kosher salt

Sterilyse a canning jar. Fill it with alternate layers of lemons and kosher. Add lemon juice. Seal jar and let it sit for a day or two, turning it upside down, occasionally. Store in the refrigerator for three weeks before using the pickled lemons. Remove pulp before use. Pickles will keep for up to six months.


Tomorrow I will post a recipe for lemon curd, which my daughter used with great success as  filler for Linzer cookies and as a topping for scones.

GARNISH, GLASS AND GOETHE

What does Goethe have to do with crafts? Not much, besides a poem that expresses longing for warmth and beauty, both of which are common themes in the work of artisans. The poem in question is "Mignons Sehnsuch-- Mignon's Longing",
"Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn,

Do you know the land where the lemon-trees grow,

Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen glühn,

In darkened leaves the gold-oranges glow, 

 Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht, 

A soft wind blows from the pure blue sky,

 
Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht?

 The myrtle stands mute, and the bay tree high?

Kennst du es wohl?

Do you know it well?

Dahin! dahin

 It’s there

 Möcht ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn.

 I’d be gone,

to be there with you, O, my beloved one!"

This is what I had in mind when I made the earrings pictured above. The day was chilly and grey, and phototropic creature that I am, I needed a reminder of my native place, in northeast Brazil, where lemon trees do bloom. The beads I used were made in the mid-1900s by a gifted glassblower who must have been aided by elves, such is the sweet shimmer and the nearly evanescent quality of the fruit and leaves he created. 

My work was simple. All I did was add aventurine roundels, yellow freshwater pearls and sterling silver finds to the glass beads. The result is jewelry might not be as enduring as Goethe's poetry, but I am sure that it will last through many winters.

DO LIMAO QUERO UM PEDACO

John Everett Millais

Limão nutre, cicatriza, limpa e perfuma. E me lembra sempre a evocação à deusa pomareira: Leva-me, Pomona, aos teus bosques, onde o limão e amarga lima, mais a laranja brilhando no meio do  verde, misturam suas cores mais claras. Ou a poção feita com arsênico e presenteada à Rainha de Sabá pelo Rei Poeta. Para Clarice Lispector, as palavras, às vezes, são como pingar limão na ostra viva. Que palavras ela teria ouvido para formular semelhante comparação? Algum insulto velado, ao redor da Praça Maciel Pinheiro, chamada carinhosamente por seu povo de "Pletzele"? Insinuações malévolas nos meios diplomáticos onde viveu, em Nápoles, Berna, Torquay ou Washington? Jamais saberemos. Trata-se, porém de uma boa símile.

 E para além da casca e do sumo, vamos pensar na parte mais suave do vegetal: as flores.  É certo que não carregam a simbologia  dos botões de laranjeiras ofertados aos deuses na Grécia Antiga, por ocasião dos Himeneus, mas são imaculadas, olorosas e cheia de frescor.

O fruto também me recorda as " margaritas" de Jack Kerouac ou a Lira do Amor Romântico de  Carlos Drummond de Andrade, calcada na poética popular: Atirei um limão n'água/ o rio ficou vermelho/ e cada peixinho viu/meu coração num espelho. Atirei um limão n'água/como faço todo ano/ senti que os peixes diziam/ todo amor vive de engano. E ainda os poderes do óleo essencial empregado na Aromaterapia como um ativador eficaz da alegria de viver. Além do "espírito do vegetal", estudado por Paracelso, o limão por sua própria cor é fundamental para o tratamento do stress, fazendo-nos sentir um grande bem-estar ao termos contato com ele nos campos.

Enfim, ácidos ou adoçados, misturados à estonteante aguardent e (caipirinha), ou à aromática baunilha - o fruto e o verbo -  reclamam o seu espaço na mesa e no texto. Maria Eleonora Castelar Vasconcelos
Here, my own, imperfect translation, 

"Lemons nourish, heal and perfume.They bring to mind an invocation to Pomona, goddess of fruitfulness: Take me to your forests where the lemon and the bitter lime, plus the orange shimmering amid the green, mingle their brightest colours, Pomona. Or, the potion made with arsenic and given to the Queen of Sheba by the poet king. For (Jewish Brazilian writer) Clarice Lispector ,sometimes words are like lemon juice dripping on a live oyster. Which words would she have heard to come up with such a comparison? Was a veiled insult somewhere around the Maciel Pinheiro Square(in Recife, Brazil) which he people lovingly dubbed Pletzele? Ws it some malevolent innuendo in the diplomatic circles where she lived, in Naples, Bern, Torquay and Washington? We will ever know but it is a good simile. Besides peel and juice, let us think of flowers, the tenderest aspect of the plant. True, they are not freighted with the same symbolism that orange buds offered to the gods, in ancient Greece, at weddings, but they are  immaculate, pure and full of freshness.

The fruit reminds me of Kerouac's margaritas, and of (Brazilian poet) Carlos Drummond de Andrade's "Poetic Harp", which is based on on folk poetry, “I threw a lemon into the the river/ and the water turned red/and every little fish saw my heart in a mirror./ I threw a lemon into the river,/ as I do every year/All There is yet the the essential oil used in Aromatherapy, to promote joy in life. Besides the “ vegetable spirit” that Paracelsus studied, by  their  very colour,  lemons induce great joy in living when we come into contact with them  in the fields. To sum up, tart or sweetened, added to dizzying caipirinhas or to aromatic vanilla, fruit and verb merit space in text and at the table. Maria Eleonora Castelar Vasconcelos is a retired lawyer whose prize-winning writing has appeared in many Brazilian anthologies. 

CHALLENGE

This is a gentle challenge to gentle readers. Winter is so very  present in my village I wish for long sunny days filled with the fragrance of yellow roses and the sweetness of homemade lemonade.  What do you say we  make lemons  this coming  week's theme? Actual lemons re not required. The literary variety,   such as THE LEMON TABLE, by Julian Barnes,will do. Do you have your  your own version of the old folk song? Send it to me in Audacity format or Soundcloud and I will  post it here. Do you have a story,  recipe, a citrus yellow hat you knitted, a dress you made, a cake you baked,  a painting? How about sharing it here? There shall be a prize for the most popular contribution.

WOMEN'S WORK

A few months ago, a  good friend sent me a copy of THE SABBATHDAY RIVER, by Jean Hanff Korelitz. Having glance at the back cover blurbs, I put it aside until the proper time, which only arrived last week. I will save a detailed post about the story for my book blog. However this is a good place to mention that plot and exquisite writing aside, Korelitz places her characters a very believable world where women artisan struggle for recognition and respect. "The work of women--the sewing bees and quilting circles and nights hooking rugs before the winter fires--has values," she writes. This is a topic I would like to explore with your help. 

Handcrafts  rarely command a fair price. Artisans of either sex  find it hard to make a living from their work. But when the artisan is a woman, the public quite often categorizes what she does as hobby and hobbyists have no claim on decent wages, health insurance or paid vacations. I think that it would be interesting to discuss how society ascribes value to work, but I do not intend to write a treaty on economics, a subject in which I am vastly illiterate. Rather, I  would like to know how  artisans earn the right to be called workers.
In my case, the work I love is often s enjoyable I tend not take it very seriously. It is all good fun. It is just a necklace, a silly sketch, an ordinary photo. No big deal.  Clients who buy my jewelry, note cards, embroidery see the value of what I do  through the filter of my nonchalance. That some have come buy new products or  commission new projects, disregard my attempts at self-sabotage. That I have a horror of puffed up braggarts is no excuse fr my unprofessional attitude. There is a space for me to stand between the self-proclaimed geniuses and the  barely competent.How about you? How strong is your confidence in your ability? What do you think you deserve for your work? Are you a full-fledged worker or a dilettante?

PAINTED CLOUDS

                                                                               Sisley

                                                                              Constable

Lorrain

The human heart is a place of wonder. It has room for mineral vegetable and animal life. There is ample evidence of that on the Facebook wall of writer Joseph Finder, just below the photo of a  golden  Labrador retriever. Finders caption for the photo was,
"Unconditional live is so rare. "
Judging from the responses he got, the consensus is that dogs can be relied upon to love unconditionally. I know from experience that such is not always the case and I have the scars to prove it. Nevertheless,healthy dogs--the Chowchow that bit me was truly dysfunctional-- people are equally of living  love that " is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres."
Another writer, Louanne Rice, posted about her love of cloud watching, something many of us share I proposed that we form a club. Ideally, we would  fluffy lamb, that fierce dragon, that length of unravelling silk will travel. Ideally, painter Alfred Sisley would be part of that club. Many of his landscapes include fleecy clouds perhaps for that simple reason that that clouds were often present  present in French skies beneath which he worked.  Then again, it may be that clouds are an integral part of work of painters he  admired, such as Turner and Constable . The latter, in turn, was influenced by  cloud-loving Claude Lorrain.No matter. Sisley's death in 1899 might make it difficult to include him in the cloud watching club. The best I can do is look at his painting when the weather is inclement.

DOODLES