Monday patchwork

Cooking:

The other day I was making candied orange slices for panforte and I made some extras to dip in very dark chocolate as a Christmas treat. The smell of them! And the anticipation of eating one at some point, with a glass of wine.

Listening:

Pablo Casals playing the Bach Cello Suites. The story of Casals finding the sheet music for the Suites at the age of 13 in a second-hand store in Barcelona in 1890 is an interesting one in itself, the music relatively unknown and seldom performed, and this particular score (a 1866 concert edition) much annotated by German cellist Friedrich Grützmacher. I have many recordings of these pieces but this is my favourite, or at least it’s my favourite for a mild day in December when the wind is blowing and chickadees are haunting the feeder.

Thinking:

As I swam my slow laps this morning, alone in the pool for half of them, I was thinking about love, how it sometimes fills the heart to the point of pain. I was swimming the backstroke and thinking about how this time of year always contains every Christmas I’ve known, the early ones when my brothers and I woke at 5, the later ones when my children woke early but waited until their dad put on the Chieftains recording, The Bells of Dublin, the title song (with the bell ringers of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin) bringing our Christmas morning to life. The ones away from home (Ireland, Italy), the lonely ones, the noisy ones, the ones where family and friends, now gone from this earth, ate at our table, the sweet ones, the ones yet to come.

Watching:

I have been watching the Anna’s hummingbirds dart back and forth to the feeder by my kitchen window, the cerise crown and throat of the male brilliant in the grey air.

Enjoying:

The warmth of wood fires, here every day, at the Backeddy the other night, how the heat is unlike any other, reaching the bones.

Finishing:

I thought I’d be finished this current quilt by now, thought I’d be working on one I’ve promised a grandchild, but somehow the stitching is slow (like my swimming), my needle finding a meandering line through the indigo-dyed linen, the rose madder-dyed linen, attaching a little shell button here, and here, and here.

Reading:

I somehow missed Leanne Shapton’s Swimming Studies when it first came out in 2012, maybe because I wasn’t swimming regularly then, but I read it last week, caught up in both the prose and the illustrations: swimming pools, bathing suits, old team members from her time as a competitive swimmer. A very original and fascinating meditation.

Appreciating:

The generous words of those who’ve commented on my forthcoming book, most recently (this morning) Evelyn Lau: https://thornapplepress.ca/books/the-art-of-looking-back/

Wishing:

I wish I had my life to live again, knowing what I know.

Remembering:

The moment, years ago, when I was sitting by the fire and turned to see a weasel standing on its hind legs, looking through the glass doors at me.