day 4: aphid-ooze honey...

i saw a squirrel shivering on a windowsill this morning, and i almost felt sorry for it. Winter is wacky enough in Canada, but when you factor in being on an island in the middle of massive river, it is downright insane. the overnight temperatures are in the mid thirties... mid minus thirties, that is... with the wind-chill making it feel like the minus-mid-forties. you know that has to be cold, even if you do not speak Celsius.

the local news is splashed with weather-advisory warnings in bold red letters, and constant suggestions to remain indoors unless absolutely necessary. hypothermia sets in quickly under such conditions, so the police even take the extraordinary step of rounding up the homeless population, and transporting them to the shelters around the city. simply put, there is no playing around in these kinds of temperatures.

we are weathering the cold spell by avoiding the outdoors. there are currently three notices on the table for packages to be picked up at the local post office, two of which i know for a fact contain yarn, and they are going to have to remain there until it warms up by at least ten or fifteen degrees. yep... i am not going out for yarn. that is when you know that it is insanely cold.

we are also drinking absurd amounts of tea. this is a common practice around here in the colder months, but the cups-per-day count has almost doubled over the past week... which brings me to the point of today's post.

we do not get into the whole "watch me eat this piece of meat that has been fermenting in a sewer pipe for the past six months" type of nonsense that seems to rank only second to cat videos in the domination of social media. however we do occasionally come across something that is so genuinely intriguing, it has to be tasted. this was the case when i was watching some random food-related thing on You Tube, and the guy in the video made a passing reference to using pine honey in the dish. pine... what???

me: uhm... sweetie... have you ever heard of something called pine honey?
him: i didn't know pines had flowers. do butterflies even live near pine trees? 

this, naturally, led to lots of googling, as i exist in a constant state of needing too much information about... well... everything. in short, the honey is indeed produced by bees, but unlike the more common honey-production which begins with nectar collected from flowers, this variety begins with waste material collected from lots of bugs.

[full disclosure: this part is potentially a bit gross.] honeydew is a sugary substance that is secreted by some insects that feed on the sap of plants. if you have ever seen a bug with a clear droplet of liquid on some part of its body, or found sticky drops of what looks like dew on a leaf, then you were likely looking at honeydew. bugs drink the sap from the plants, and they excrete waste in the form of a sugary liquid from special glands at their mouth, rear end, or along their skin. honeybees then collect said liquid, and take it back to their hives to begin the magic of honey-making. the resulting product is referred to as a "honeydew honey". like i said, kinda gross.

i love love love honey. it is one of those things that i enjoy trying from different places, as the local plant life has a lot of influence on the taste. try a light, floral clover honey (the more common variety in this area) alongside a dark, malty buckwheat honey, and you will instantly see what i mean.

in the case of pine honey, the honeydew is collected from aphids that feed on the pine resin. resin is lower in water content than nectar, so the resulting honey tends to be thicker than conventional honey. most of the sites i visited also suggested a certain element of "piney-ness" in the end product. oh, yes... i was deeply intrigued.

pine honey is produced chiefly in the Mediterranean region, which meant it would be an imported product... which meant it would be pricey. there is a running joke in our household about echeloning our lifestyle by getting hooked on things that are outside of our usual price range (i spoke about this back when he bought some marmalade made with ten-year-old scotch whiskey). i found a few places selling pine honey online, but most of them had shipping costs that were almost as high as the price of the honey, and a few came with warnings that you may be charged additional import taxes depending on where you live. finally, i found a Canadian company selling pine honey from Greece. so i put it in my shopping cart... then i stared at the "order" button for a while.

him: what if you really like it, and you can't go back to the squeeze bottle of Billy Bee honey from the supermarket?
me: i know. that's why i'm afraid. 

we got a 1kg (roughly, two-and-a-quarter pounds) can of honey, cat sold separately.

it cost $28 (Canadian), not including shipping, which was quite reasonable, as some of the pine honeys i found cost almost twice as much... and that was before you include the tariff and shipping.

the can was full when it arrived, but we have already used quite a bit of it. the first impression upon opening the can was the intensity of the smell. fragrances can be powerful triggers for forgotten memories, and this one took me right back to the many jars of stewed plums my grandmother used to make back in the Caribbean. it is a deep, earthy fruit flavor, like opening a package of really plump prunes, mixed with the rich, sweetness of  dark-brown sugar or a dark maple syrup.

the can had one of those easy-open tops, where you lift the metal ring and peel it back, plus a plastic top for after it was opened. this was quite convenient, as the metal top doubled as a tasting tray. i would love to say that i did not resort to licking the last few drops of honey from said surface before tossing it in the recycling bin, but that would be a lie. the stuff is seriously tasty, and it delivers precisely the profile of flavor you would expect from the smell. most surprisingly, it was slightly less sweet than with most other types of honey, and there was a trace of the earthy, mineral taste you get in maple syrup, and the slightest echo of something reminiscent of a pine tree. who knew aphid-ooze honey would taste so nice!

i plunged a wooden stir-stick into the can, and i was surprised at the resistance with which it was met. the stick leaves an indentation in the honey that takes a few seconds to disappear, and when you lift the stick, the honey seems reluctant to let go. [i had to get my assistant to hold the stir stick while i took these photos.]

this stuff is seriously thick. it has a tackiness similar to the pine resin from which it originated, and it behaves like a taffy mixture near the end stage of candy-making.

you know that candy they make by pouring hot maple syrup onto packed snow? well, i am sure you would get the same result with this stuff, even without heating it up.

this thought occurred to me as i stared through the frosted-over windows at the balcony full of untouched snow... then the wind blew, and i remembered that this is still Canada, and it is still cold. this would be a good time for another cup of tea.

day 3: hats and hair...

you know those girls who wake up an extra hour early in the morning so they can apply ten layers of makeup and shellac their hair? i have never been one of them, not even for a single day. so, when i decided to try a new hairstyle, i skipped the (logical) salon route, opting instead to give my favorite animator some very vague instructions, before letting him loose in my hair. if it all went wrong, then at least i would have an excuse to knit lots of hats. 

i expected to wake up the next morning full of regret, but when i stepped in front of the bathroom mirror, i was completely amazed.

me: wow! this actually looks okay. i like it!!!

him: it does... and that's the problem.

me: what is that supposed to mean? 

him: don't get me wrong. you can pull it off with the crazy high cheekbones and that thing you do with the eyeliner.

me: you mean, occasionally putting some on?

him: yeah, that thing. do that and anyone who looks at you would think that you're all trendy and hip...

me: which i am!

him: [ignoring my last comment] ...but the second you start talking, they'd realize that you are the biggest nerd on the planet. 

...then he grinned and hurried away, which was very wise.

i did end up knitting a new hat, but not for me. despite his repeated requests to move to a hand-knit-only sock lifestyle (my fault for knitting him a pair), i cannot seem to muster the enthusiasm to knit more of them, so i copped out and made him a hat instead. 

i knitted him a hat last year out of some of my own hand-dyed yarn, which he wears everywhere (inside and out) during the cold months.

me: why are you wearing a hat... at three in the morning... in the studio... in your underwear?

him: i like this hat. 

me: fair enough.

it feels good to have your handiwork so well received, but i figure he could always use a spare for when he (inevitably) loses... or washes... that one. 

the new hat features a simple textured stitch, and a generous brim, as he likes to wear his hats folded and pulled down over his ears. 

 

the pattern is Violet Waffles, and it is (currently) FREE on Ravelry. i knit this one in some Knit Picks Swish DK in the colorway Garnet Heather. i found a few balls of this yarn at the back of my stash closet, leftover from some old project (though i could not begin to guess what that might have been). the yarn is 100% superwash (washable) wool, but his hat is at least 3% cat hair. 

speaking of which... it is a scientifically proven fact that taking a photo of knitwear is guaranteed to summon a cat. 

 

the end.

day 2: a slightly larger nuisance...

i recently learned one of the oldest magic tricks in the world. it is the one where the guy (or girl) reaches into his pocket and pulls out a handkerchief, but there is another handkerchief tied to it, and another one... and another one. you get the idea. this goes on for an hour or so, unil you hear the musical ta da, and the audience awakens to find the magician standing there, holding a rope of kerchiefs longer than the Great Wall. well, i have mastered said trick. except in my version, the rope of kerchiefs is replaced with a meter (a yard or so) of yarn, and instead of pulling it out of my pocket... i am pulling it out of a cat's bum. ta da!!!

the bum in question belongs to Baby Bear, the grey, long-haired lunatic of our furry twosome. this cat exists in a near-constant state of getting into trouble, and i knew something was wrong when i went to feed them that morning, and she did not show up to nip impatiently at my legs while i opened the can. i found her in the studio, under a chair, in a dark corner, and i did not notice the end of the orange string dangling below her tail until i stood in front of a mirror with her in my arms. naturally, it had to be some of my own precious hand-spun yarn, which he and i dyed during one of those sleepless nights when i was busy being disappointed in the world.

my favorite animator was fast asleep during the magic show, but he (literally) laughed until it hurt when i recounted the story later that day.

him: and you want another one.
me: i do...

...so we did! drum roll, please.

introducing the newest member of our nuisance. this is Cordelia ("Cordy"), our intensely energetic Little One.

she was part of a litter of one his parents' (many) cats had near the end of the Summer. she came to us at about two months old, and, never having cared for so young a kitten, i was equal parts intimidated and enchanted by her tininess. he took this little ball of fur out of the carrier, and laid her against my chest... whereupon, she crawled into the collar of my shirt, and fell fast asleep nested in my cleavage. that kind of behavior usually results in resignation from elected office, but she was a baby, so i gave her a pass. she may have also taken a tiny poo while in said space, but i was far too busy falling in love to hold a grudge.

she likes running and jumping and knocking stuff over, especially at like three in the morning when we are trying to sleep, and she recently discovered that sitting in a flowerpot makes bird-watching even more fun.

when her battery runs out, the Little One likes to spend most of her time curled up on the furry brown lap blanket on my favorite sofa. this has led to a few minor heart attacks, as it is sometimes difficult to see where the cat ends and the blanket begins. to avoid having to explain a crushed cat to the vet, i have adopted a policy of "feeling before sitting", especially in low light. seriously... she looks just like the blanket.

my cats are  all girls, and all named after Shakespeare characters. Cordelia joins Ophelia ("Philly"... a.k.a. Baby Bear... a.k.a. Yarn Bum), seen here bird-watching from the comfort of a basket of clean laundry. she does these things just to hurt me.

then there is our calico grand dame, Titania ("Titty"... a.k.a. Mama Kitty... a.k.a. Drooly McDroolDrool). if there is such a thing as a spirit animal, then this cat is definitely mine... minus all the drool. while the other two are running around, perfecting their parkour skills and causing general mayhem, she sits in a quiet spot, pondering thoughts the depths of which would leave Archimedes confused. to a casual observer, this is just a cat lazing atop a box, but you actually caught her on the brink of disproving Newton's second law of motion. take that, momentum! and i wonder why the cool kids never invite me to their parties.

 

 i fully admit that three cats may be one cat too many for our space, and while i threaten daily to trade one (or all) of them in for a plastic bag of goldfish, they really do bring so much happiness to our home. i even made a special Christmas gift random-Monday-in December treat for them in the form of an 8-inch clay pot planted with cat grass.

it is like eating spaghetti without using your hands. i think they approved.

see the "unamused" look on Mama's face? that is pretty much me... all of the time! seriously, we could be twins.

day 1: more of the same...

i was considering doing something i called "twelve days of Scroogemas", which would be my take on the whole "twelve days of Christmas" thing (which begins on Christmas Day, in case you are confused). except, my version would center on me complaining daily about wholly pointless things that annoy me (like teas that taste like desserts, and people who use phrases like "conversation piece" to describe items in their wardrobe). yes... i do have some problems. luckily, my favorite animator talked me out of said crazy notion, so i will instead fill my 'twelve days' with intensely dull non-happenings in my life. basically, more of the same.

so, it is December twenty-fifth, and people keep using the word "holiday", so i guess there must be something happening. i tend to get my fill of seasonal cheer by mid-October, so December usually finds me sulking in a corner, asking the same question. is it over yet? so, "happy..." and "merry..." to all of you who celebrate such things, but that is about as cheerful as i get. oh, and for those of you who get excited about such things, i opened the drapes this morning to find this view... and it is still snowing as it nears five in the afternoon (or, maybe i should say evening, as night comes early at this time of year).

it is hard to imagine that this space was packed solid with greenery just a few short months ago.

while we do not get excited about Christmas, the arrival of the New Year is a whole different thing. we genuinely enjoy spending New Year's Eve together, which we have done every single year since we met fourteen (or was it fifteen...?) years ago. we always make some sort of adventurous meal together, or (once or twice) we had dinner at some special place. this is usually when we break out the recipe for some crazy dish that involves new (to us) ingredients or cooking techniques, or we dust off an old favorite that would take far too much time/effort to make on a regular day. my very first post was a recap (three weeks later) of the vulgar display of meat that went into making my first ever batch of sarma (Croatian stuffed cabbage rolls) that New Year's Eve.

we had so much fun with that whole experience, that we still joke that if we ever have a daughter, we will name her Sarma (which sounds like an Indian name—which happens to be part of my paternal lineage—so it would be a meeting of sorts of two delicious cultures). conversely, if we ever have a son, we will name him Grah... which is a Croatian bean stew. and this, ladies and gentlemen, is why we are not responsible enough to ever have children. where was i? oh, yes... New Year's Eve and food.

we have pretty much decided on this year's food-venture, although i am still resisting his request for homemade cinnamon buns. my go-to recipe involves about six hours in total of making/resting time, and i i am far too scatter-brained these days to keep track of anything for quite so long. still, there will be homemade cinnamon buns of a sort, though this particular variety will be made purely out of curiosity. that is all i am saying for now.

now, please pardon me while i resume sipping a cup of (non-dessert-flavored) tea and daydreaming against a backdrop of falling snow. maybe i will muster enough excitement to add a row or two to my latest knitting project. i can almost guarantee you that it will not be a "conversation piece". or, maybe i will just snuggle with the first passing cat and spend what remains of the afternoon in something approximating sleep. on second thoughts, if every twenty-fifth of December was like this one, i would gladly take more of the same.

a murder, an unkindness, and the murmuration that followed after...

watch one too many Alfred Hitchcock films, and you are guaranteed to be left with a lingering fear of some seemingly ridiculous things. from stairs to rope to low-flying planes, Hitchcock has rendered me frightened for life of all of this and more. be honest... you have drawn open a shower curtain at least once in your lifetime, fully expecting to see some wig-wearing lunatic standing there, holding a kitchen knife in mid-air. exactly! clearly i am not alone in this fear. however, nothing comes remotely near to the sheer dread i feel when confronted with two or more birds circling overhead... which brings me to the subject of this missive.

i got out of bed this morning, just as the sun was threatening to rise. sunlight was streaming through the south-facing windows by the time i finished making some tea and feeding the cats, so i went into the living room to open the drapes so that the indoor plants could take full advantage of what little sunshine we get at this time of year. that is when the trouble began.

i heard the noise just as i took hold of the first drape. it was the unmistakable cacophony of a murder of crows flying low overhead. that sound never fails to send a cold chill through my entire frame, and (yes) Alfred Hitchcock is entirely to be blamed. i steeled my nerves, pulled aside the drapes, and there they were. it was as if every single crow on the planet was circling in the air above our street. okay... so it was more like a hundred or so crows, which is ninety-nine crows too many for my peace of mind. they settled along the bare branches of the large maple tree next to our building, and it was relatively peaceful... for a (very) short while.

now, it should be noted that scavenger birds tend to evoke an extra level of creepiness most days. if i see an eagle (or some other bird of prey) swoop down from the sky and snatch up a squirrel that was in the middle of leaping from one treetop to another, i cheer, because 1) i do not like squirrels, and 2) that is just an awesome display of prowess. birds that hang around looking for dead things to eat, however, are just unnerving beyond belief. so, when the crows settled in, i knew something had to be dead, but then it got strange(r).

there was a sudden flurry of activity, and all the crows took to the air, sending out cries of alarm every which way. something was definitely wrong. i bent down to retrieve my cup from the small table, and by the time i stood back up, the crows were all gone. yep... nothing creepy about that, for sure. then i saw the cause of the sudden flight. there, at the very top of the maple tree was a pair of ravens. a small unkindness, some may say. then things got stranger still.

one of the ravens was clutching something in its claws, pressed against the branch of the tree. it was a bird of some kind, and the absence of resistance suggested that it was very much dead. as i stood there watching, the raven bent its head toward its prey and began to rip the feathers from the body, sending large clumps of bloody feathers drifting toward the ground.

me: uhm... sweetie... you need to come see this... QUICK!

i was so traumatized at this point, i returned my cup to the table, and sat in my favorite sofa, bending my head over into something approximating a fetal position. meanwhile, he stood there, narrating the rest of the proceedings for my benefit. i eventually steeled my nerves and tried to snap a few photos before they flew away, but the lighting was terrible at that time of day. i even considered going out onto the balcony for a better view, but they would have certainly flown away, and the only thing worse than watching a raven disembowel a dead bird from a short distance away would be to have bits of dead bird falling on me as the raven flew away with its prey. exactly.

(if you squint a bit, you should see a raven with the remains of a smaller bird in its mouth).

one of the ravens took off, and after a minute or two of treetop-butchery, the other raven balanced the de-feathered carcass in its beak and flew a short distance away, to settle into the old tree that overlooks the highway. it was about this time that i looked down to see one of the cats standing near me, watching this display, and she looked equally terrified. i can only imagine the puzzled expression of anyone passing below as they were blanketed by the flurry of bloody feathers.

i was disturbed at the doubly-foreboding start to my day, but Nature has a remedy for every possible thing. a short while later, a series of shadows went fluttering past the window, and i raised my eyes to find one of the most mesmerizing sights there is. a murmuration of a couple-few hundred starlings were engaged in that hypnotic, pulsing dance of theirs, a most welcome sight on such an omen-filled day. Hitchcock never filmed endings like this.