This is my friend Michael.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWa

Back in The 'Kan EWA from the rain forests and beaches of Puerto Vallarta. Interesting week. It's very, very seldom that I do not connect with a people; this week I ruefully was reminded, again, of how Northern European I apparently am. Despite any language barrier anywhere, I never fail to feel a spark and be warmed by mothers with their children, teenagers waiting for the bus, waiters working hard, grandmothers on a walk. I always have all kinds of interesting, joyful, gracious encounters with people and their town, no matter what country.

Not this week. I was seen, unilaterally, as a money bearing, overbearing, irksome source of existence/subsistence not to be trusted or respected. I couldn't spend enough money in a shop; I couldn't smile wide enough or speak softly enough. Everything is negotiable. Anything is negotiable. They name their price, you name yours and the antagonism begins. All in the name of cultural merchantability, of course. When you hold your line, they say Don't play games and become sullen. Nothing is fair in Mexico. Everything is fair in Mexico. Game, that is.

And yet there is no industry, there is no commerce, there is virtually nothing in the lives of these people that isn't American-driven. Puerto Vallarta, like my hometown, is a beachtown and the business is tourism. I heard no French, German nor British English on the dusty streets of town this week; but I did hear six different dialects of American English. And the Americans were eating, drinking (Worst t-shirt: Maybe of all time: I AM SHY But I Have A Big Dick), shopping and soaking up the sun in the most gleeful of manners. And while I saw no ugly Americans this week I did see lots and lots of ugly souvenirs and cheaply made goods. Maybe the contrast was made all the more stark by the most exquisite of beaches--the North Shore of Oahu has nothing on Puerto Vallarta.

So it was a puzzling, confusing week. The bright exception was the professional, extremely competent guides in the rain forest, who expertly sent tourists flying 560 feet above the ground. I just can't think they are different people that all the other natives of Puerto Vallarta, but somehow the commonalities and similarities are lost on me.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

So where to begin?

I dunno. There were lots of preliminaries but the real stuff started on about the third zip line. I was in the rain forest with the guides, a climbing harness, a safety strap and the buckle thing. I am afraid of heights; always cry a little bit when I have to get on the step ladder to hang pictures at the office so I do it after everyone's gone. Never been much of a downhill skier; get cold and scared. So how did I find myself on the canopy tour zipping around the rain forest on thick wire cables high above the giant trees? This I don't know. I just really, really wanted to do it.

The first few lines really made me doubt the decision that had me get up early, go into town, transfer at the terminal place and head up the mountain with all these other American tourists. Although once we got into the truck and headed up the mountain, things started looking up. It was a big diesel, construction-dump type truck. They welded racks on it for sideboards, lashed a canopy on top, and put seats in the back. It was a completely open air ride. Cool! I liked this. Much, much better than some bus. The ocean air was in your nose and ears and the sun on your face and as this truck careened around the corners of the ocean cliffs, you thought, okay a motorcyle. I'm getting it. This is why they do it.

So we get to the place and the guides are quite impressive. The requisite charming, handsome, competent guides but this time quite, quite strong and funny--funny, funny, funny with kinky, self-deprecating humor these Jorges, Juans, Joses, Jesses and Jesuses. Very smart, fully in charge of the physics of the whole feat and making me easy, easy, easy from the moment they smiled and said, hooola.

Jesus was actually the photographer but his t-shirt did not have his name printed on it. He told me his name when I came 1/4 mile across the river gorge, the wind picking me up mid-cable and throwing me about a bit as I zoomed into the platform, shreiking JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH! I explained to my new best friends that it was an old Irish saying, when Jesus spoke up and said, you knooooooow, thas ma nay-aim.... That particular run was 560 feet above the river and yes, was really, really scarey. Serious rush. We crossed the river back and forth several times at that point to be sure that we were getting the real essence of having the living crap scared out of us. It all went very fast for me--I went fast, tucked my knees up, leaned waaay into the wind and let the sun fondle my face. Didn't want to see a thing, only feel it. So I slammed into platforms before I even had a good dread going on and the boys would say WHOA! And unbuckle me with pats and send me on.

whoa indeed. Going over the tree tops was fun and invigorating but you climb and climb up the side of the mountain, on a series of carefully carved paths, for the Main Event. By the time you get to that big one that goes across the river, there are no trees. It's too high up. It's you, the sun, the wind and the rocks below. And Jorge waits for you a quarter mile down the line. So they say to you are you ready? and you answer are you ready?! and push off before they let you go. Did not take the time to fully ponder the event and did not back out of being scared. Did not break my fall as I fell all the way into all of it. I can't wait to do it again. I may even downhill this winter.



JBelle
On Location
Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco
Mexico

Mama JD stopped by with an offer to play I'll Show You Mine if You Show Me Yours. It's been my experience that noone ever really shows you theirs but as MamaJ is a Viking and a Vandal, as am I, it would be unseemly not to play. Downright unsociable! Herewith are 7 random things about JBelle from The 'Kan EWA.


1. I hate to cook.


2. The thing I love about the city, any city, and the woods are one and the same: you go on foot and survive on your wits. Love the city. Love the woods.

3. Don't like driving. Like to drive. Don't like driving. The car is such a bothersome annoyance of day to day living in The 'Kan EWA. I would happily go on foot from the bus. Well, that's not totally true now, is it? I'd love to have a driver. I'd sit in the back seat and fiddle with my iPod and my Treo and hop out and then back in again. Yup, a driver. Would love it. Although let it be know that I LOVE to walk to work.

4. My ideal job: perennial gardener at Manito Park. It's completely true they are doing some lovely things with annuals around the park lately; nevertheless, I want to be in the perennials. And their rose garden is lovely, but they use buckets and buckets of chemicals, making it a highly toxic no fly zone for birds and bugs and bees. sigh. I want to be in the perennials. 12 months a year. In the seventies, the gardeners used to work with their dogs, who of course, had the ubiqutous red bandana tied around their neck.

5. My favorite non-native artists are Chagall and Klimpt. But that figures, right? My favorite local artists in this order are: Horswill, McCudden and Grimes.

6. Which brings up another point: although I have met Michael Horswill (and he IS from Montana), usually I do not have a desire to meet people whose work I deeply admire. Or people I admire. Would rather read their books, know their work, watch them in action.

7. Finally, I am riding my bike through Viet Nam in November with 8 other people I do not know. In through Ho Chi Minh, out through Hanoi. Renting my bike when I get there. Trek. We'll see; we'll see....

JBelle
On Location
Puerta Vallarta, Jalisco
MEXICO

P.S.

(i love you too)

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

He always was this. From Day 1. He was a beloved only grandson. Do you remember me telling you about the day he was born?




I like to think about him when he was in about the fourth grade. That was his hair and teeth period.
















They were a famous duo; sometimes more "famous" than others.

Halloween












Looking damned good

















The new baby

A party with the boys on May 12 about 23 years ago.

Happy Birthday, Ben. I hope #33 is

the best year of your entire life!

aam

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Chickin

A personal technique from the Executive Chef at Bellemaison

You only need two things for good fried chicken. A good pan and locally grown chicken. If I had to do without one, I'd use a different pan. What makes good chicken is grain-fed, fresh chicken. Not slop-fed shipped chicken from Arkansas. I beg your pardon, my dear readers in Arkansas and I assure you, this is how it is in The Kan 'EWA. And if I was in Arkansas, and you agreed to feed the chickens grain, I'd HAPPILY use your chicken as I'm sure it would be the freshest, most wholesome alternative. But here, for good chicken we use Washington grown, fresh, not frozen.

In a dutch oven, preferably cast iron, heat canola oil until a small fleck of flour sizzles and sparks. After having washed, cut up and floured boneless, skinless chicken breasts, place in hot oil and salt and pepper. Cook on high until a nice crust forms. Turn chicken with tongs, not a fork, and salt and pepper again. Now turn heat down to medium low, cover the pan, and let chicken steam until done. You can tell because the color of the meat will change and the flesh will not be flexible. Be careful on boneless chicken not to overcook. Transfer to a pan covered with foil and keep in the oven at 250 until you have finished cooking all the chicken. Here at Bellemaison, we go for the drumsticks for the dark meat, because that's what the kids like. Joe Montana is a bit of a thigh man and from time to time, I indulge him. The thighs don't seem to do as well if they are skinned and I have a philosophical difference with chicken skin. I give the drumsticks a special dispensation however. If you are looking for the logic, let me assure on that point: there is none. The chicken here at Bellemaison is the bedrock of comfort food and we offer it to you with our highest assurance.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

JBelle's Mac and Cheese

There was a brief, brief period of time where we used the box. It's not something we're proud of. It was a weird time in our life. If anything, it gave us an overriding appreciation and value for good cheese and a properly salted and oiled water. Thank God those days are long gone. This will please every little kid who ever graces your door and many of the big kids, too. But know this: they will eat like truck drivers.

1 pkg salad macaroni,

cooked with oil and salt to al dente,

draining in colander in sink

2 pounds sharp cheddar, grated

1 cube butter

1 cup flour

2 cans evaporated milk

Heat a large saute pan until hot and melt butter. Immediately turn heat way down as butter will burn quite easily. Using a small mesh strainer, sift flour into the bubbling butter and stir in quickly with wire whip to avoid lumps. The heat should be very low at this stage. Once the bubbling butter has absorbed the flour, add one can of milk in a very small steady stream, stirring very fast. Continue to whip and stir until milk is absorbed. Stir in next can of milk similarly as butter/flour mixture cooks. Repeat: heat is very low. If your timing is off and you end up with lumps, pour the butter/flour mixture into the sieve and strain into another bowl, using the wire whip to eliminate all lumps. Turn back into saute pan. Turn heat off. Season with salt and cayenne pepper. You have to be careful with the cayenne. I always forget a little goes a long way and that even the slightest bit too much cayenne will ravage those little taste buds even if the teenage boys and their daddys love the cayenne. Slightly undersalt to taste as the sharp cheese will force a technical correction to proper seasoning. Turning heat back on, add all the grated cheese except for two healthy handsful. With a wooden spoon, stir in cheese to melt, getting to the bottom of the pan and turning the cheese into and over the sauce. You should have a perfect cheese sauce at this stage. Turn the macaroni back into cooking pan and pour cheese sauce over, incorporating into the macaroni with wooden spoon. Turn into a sprayed casserole and top with the remaining cheese. Bake 350 degrees until cheese browns and bubble. More hugs. Lots and lots of smiles. Very few preservatives.

Note: I use salad macaroni because the little spoons seem to get it into the little mouths better.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

The Jello of Bellemaison

It's true. We have served jello on the Patio at JBelle's for many years. Many of guests we've had were little kids so we developed what they tell me is the best jello in the history of civilization. The Chows and I don't eat too much jello so we take it under advisement. Herewith is our recipe for Jello of the Gods:

2 large boxes strawberry jello

3 large bananas, mashed

1 small carton sour cream at room temperature

16 oz frozen sweetened strawberries

In a 9 x 13 pan, make the first box of jello as directed on the box, except cut the cold water in half. After the cold water step, add the 3 bananas and whip moderately to bind the jello and bananas. Refrigerate for one hour. Remove from refrigerator and frost with sour cream. Refrigerate for an additional two hours. Prepare second box of jello, omitting cold water and substituting frozen strawberries. Remove jello pan from refrigerator and carefully pour liquid jello/strawberry mixture over set jello being carefully not to divot the sour cream. Refrigerate for at least four hours. Cut and serve. Stand back and watch ear-to-ear smiles. Collect your hugs.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Inspired by Fresh Rhubarb Cake over at Gardener Girl's and fresh strawberries in the produce section, here's one of our favorites. This practically evaporates once it's out of the oven.

The Pound Cake of Bellemaison

(with all praise and glory to Millie)

1 1/2 cups unsalted butter at room temp

3 cups all -purpose flour

8 ounces cream cheese at room temp

3 cups granulated sugar

1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

1 teaspoon almond extract

6 large eggs at room temp

Position rack in lower third of the oven and preheat oven to 325 degrees. Spray a 10-inch tube pan with non-stick spray. I use a long loaf pan that I purchased at a garage sale. It's perfect.

In a large bowl, using an electric mixer set on high speed, beat together the 1 1/2 cups butter, cream cheese, and granulated sugar until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and almond extracts and beat until incorporated. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each. Stop the mixer, scrape down the sides using a rubber spatula, and then beat on high speed for 1 minute longer. Reduce the speed to low and add the flour 1 cup at a time, beating after each addition just until the flour disappears. Do not overmix. Spoon the batter into the prepared pan and spread it evenly with a rubber spatula.

Bake the cake until a toothpick inserted into the top comes out clean, about 1 1/4 hours. Remove from the over and let the cake rest in the pan on a wire rack for 15 minutes. Invert a rack on top of the cake, invert the cake and rack, and then lift off the pan. Let cool slightly.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Chows and I are still pretty much beside ourselves with this virus that renders us unable to post new pictures. We walked in the garden this morning and it was so nice to see that despite the cold weather, spring is here. The roses are putting out new growth, the daffodils and tulips are up, the forsythia, the alyssum, yellow, white and purple, and the forget me nots make the garden a wonderful place to be on a Saturday morning. The magnolia tree is starting to bloom. I have some new ideas for Joe Montana's mother's iris. My order from Edmunds' Roses in Tualatin, Oregon is in: Fragrant Cloud, of course, Moondance, Miss All American Beauty, Royal William AND Royal Amethyst. Sheila's Perfume, too. We're going to replace one of the fences that the early winter storm destroyed and create some new portals. We're also going to do some different things by the pet graveyard--gasp, take some roses out. So all this and more gives us much inspiration. And hope. Ya need yer hope.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

The Notable and Special Roses of Bellemaison. Some are notable in and of themselves, most are special because of someone else. We will do that you know. Plant roses in honor of someone. The Chows and I grow 'Gruss an Aachen' for Julie; she LOVES this rose. 'Golden Showers' for that wild man in Pasadena. He loves that rose. 'Dolly Parton' for Tisa. 'Sunsprite' for Hope. 'Altissimo' for Julia. 'Bow Bells' for Jane. "Sombrueil" for Vonny. I also planted one for Ken, who is gone now, having left too early. 'Joseph's Coat' for Gerry. 'Angel Face' for YouKnowWho and 'Happy Child' for, well, guess.

Once I got a note from Malcolm, in Florida, asking if I wanted a cutting from his grandmother's white rose. He moved it from Pennsylvania down to the Orlando area and after a time, decided that the rose really wasn't too happy. So he made a series of cuttings for his friends and then shoveled pruned Grandma's rose. I was thrilled to get a piece of her rose here in Bellemaison and it's done well. And it's white. Other than that, Malcolm can't tell me much about it and he has a PhD in horticulture. And so these things go. We share these sensual embodiments of friendship and fulfillment with each other and year after year, try to remember them in winter and dutifully stalk them in summer, on recon for aphids and mildew. How is it we get so attached? Why do they mean so much?

The Romans were smitten with roses, to the point that their infatuation became idolatry. Julius Caesar popularized wearing rose chaplets in public to camouflage his premature baldness. Nero spent 6,000,000 sesterces on roses for a dinner party--a sum that would pay one full Roman legion for an entire year. Heliogabalus created to the rose petal drop, causing rose petals to flutter over the dining room as his guests feasted. The Romans grew 'Campania', described by Pliny as the most famous; 'Milesian', a vibrant red named for a Greek town on the Aegean; and 'Praeneste', a longer blooming variety that gave them roses well past the season. Their cultural dispositions toward roses are still held today, with some roses, 'Peace', selling widely still after being introduced 70 years ago. It's said that 'Peace' is the most famous rose of our time. Today, the hybridizers give the roses names for people and places--John Paul II just got his rose, a white, highly-acclaimed recent release of Jackson Perkins. I grow 'Barbara Bush', a tall, sturdy, forgiving pink hybrid tea. And of course, with global distributions networks what they are in 2007, I can have lovely, inexpensive roses of any variety in a vase in my kitchen twelve months of the year. Read that: South America.


The French do things today with roses that I do not see anywhere. They acknowledge the rose as a component of the good life, the life to be lived. And to see a red rose in bloom on a July day in Paris is a sensual experience practically unparallelled. Is it the light? Is it the red? The Chows and I grow the same rose here in Bellemaison, but it's not the same. Just isn't. The Empress Josephine made it her life's work, turning her avocation into a vocation, to grow and catalogue all existing species of roses in perhaps the most famous rose garden of all time, Malmaison. She scoured the world for new and unacquired species and as she had certain connections, ships laden with roses from far and wide enjoyed diplomatic immunity on the high seas, giving them safe passage back Josephine as her husband, Emperor Napoleon waged war. Ships and navys came and went but Josephine's roses remained untouched to thrive and flourish at Malmaison. She engaged Redoute to make drawings of each species and variety, such drawings now having become art treasures. Josephine and Redoute made one of history's all time most notable gardens, with immaculate illustrations and botanical records that exist to this day, but she still died young when she caught a cold at a party. And so this is life, then as now.

I grow 'Miss All American Beauty' for my mother. I grow the White Rose of York and The Red Rose of Lancashire. Yes, the same icons of Tudor England. I have 'Quatre Saison' which grew in Pompeii. I have 'Coeur d'Alene', a hot pink, crinkly leaved, tissue paper rose named for my beloved hometown. I have one whole bed planted in purple roses, for the National Champions Portland Pilots Women's Soccer Team. The two lions that stand guard at the garden gate are Bill and Clive, the coaches of the team. Clive is gone now, too; early; from cancer. But his roses remain and this year, they will bloom again in fragrant reminder of how dear and how unique each season of life is. And what grace we get with notable and special people and experiences in our life. So I think of you today.

And when the fall comes and we prune each rose back, strip it and shroud it with dirt and pine needles, the Chows and I will huddle up together and wait for the winter snows as the wind howls around us. But we'll remember.

We'll remember.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

It's Garden Week here at Bellemaison. The Chows are practically giddy with joy because with all the comings and going of bags of steer and peat and the lugging of big pots around and the replacement of bird houses and planting of seeds, there is plenty of time to get in some good games of ball. Previously this spring, against all good advice, we pruned the Loch Ness of Roses, New Dawn. This rose is flat crazy. She is a rambler, bred by Somerset. She is hardy, she is wild, she throws canes around like a drunken sailor on a Saturday night and she produces the most delicately beautiful, delightfully feminine, dainty roses of an exquisite shell pink. The first time I saw her ablaze in bloom was in St. Alban's Hertfordshire in the UK at the headquarters of the Royal Horticulture Society Headquarters. She is royal in every sense of the word. She rambles along the walls of the garden and comprises the arch to the garden entrance. She creates such a tangle of fierce thorns that the birds like to nest in mine, atop the fence, where I can look out my bedroom window, right into their turquoise blue eggs. Ah, spring. So New Dawn is a favorite, on many levels.







Another favorite is 'Paradise', (Weeks). Paradise is a lovely bluey lavender, whose petals are tipped in soft ruby red. It has exquisite fragrance, as most lavender roses do, and such a beautiful presence with these lovely red-tipped lavender blooms nestled in a shiny, dark leathery bush of foliage. 'Paradise' is a secret gift that I give to me. No one knows....

Oh, and Fragrant Cloud. What a rose! She also is magnificently fragrant (are you beginning to see a trend here?) and a funny, corrally-reddy color that looks like a grandma color to me. I would never pick this color. But I love this rose. God, what a fragrance. It's citrus and fresh and soft, but sharp? See, that's the thing with this rose: contradicts me and itself on every level and just won't leave my consciousness. I will cross 4 lanes of traffic to buy a Fragrant Cloud rose on sale and have been know to buy 2 dozen at a shot. True, I'm afraid. sigh.



Okay, let's talk about white roses, my very favorites. The favorite of the favorites is 'Jacqueline du Pre', bred by Peter Harkness, whom I have met. In St. Alban's. Why do I love this rose? Oh my word. First, it is a creamy white, like cream from the carton, not a startling white, like copy paper from the printer. It has delicate purple stamens and orangey centers. It's fragrant with a lovely, musky, sexy scent. It's a cupped rose, which means the petals form a little cup as they unfold. It has beautiful dark green leaves. This rose is a masterpiece, white or not, and for you who need to know, is the cross between 'Radox Boqet' and 'Maigold' and of course, was named for the cellist who died from Multiple Sclerosis in 1987. If you are going to grow one rose, grow this one. full stop.



And then there's Eden. Oh I know some of you will tell me she balls. Yes, we rosarians talk about our roses this way. Perfectly acceptable. Means if it rains as she is beginning to bloom, she changes her mind, balks and balls up. Undoubtedly a phrase the English coined. To help her get past her stubbornness, you have to take the rose bloom in your clean hands, and gently coax the petals into unfolding with your thumbs. Hmmm. Eden is a delicate ivory and pink cabbage rose, with no scent, but with apple green leaves. She is a perfect wedding rose, the perfect bathroom sink rose, the perfect evening stroll rose. I grow her on the other side of the fence and she crawls up and flops over to my side, giving the Chows and me a spectacular cascade of blooms and foliage. I LOVE Eden.


And yellow roses, along with the lavenders, the most fragrant of all roses: I am particularly fond of Austin's 'Charlotte' and his 'Happy Child', too. Both wonderfully fragrant, lovely, well-behaved roses with good garden-behavior habits.



Next up: The Notable and Special Roses of Bellemaison
~many thanks to rosarians of the world for their Google images

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Chow Nation is quite inspired by Gardener Girl's Garden 101 over at her place. They called me out to Club Chow, where we composed our own Garden 101. It's going to be the best year yet at Bellemaison.

We are a coffee grounds-banana peel-epsom salt operation here. We plant with 'em; we amend the soil with 'em; we swear by 'em. Potassium, rich, leathery foliage and sturdy new growth. Yum.

We don't do chemicals here. We use steer manure and peat moss. But I know I mentioned that now peat moss is ecologically irresponsible. Good lord, what are we ever gonna do without peat moss? We bath most everything regularly; if the pesty bugs remain, we wash them with soap water. We farm lady bugs who are ravenous and will eat the nasties right up. We plant companions in an effort to encourage natural predators, as we use the food chain to help Bellemaison flourish. We love the birds and the bees and the birds and do whatever we can to maintain a healthy environment for them and for the plants. No chemicals.

We are fearsome deadheaders, pruners, shovel pruners. No weak links to attract pests. We mulch up. Keep an eye on the water supply, although we just don't ever have water issues here at Bellemaion.

We brew alfalfa tea for the roses. They love it. We fertilize them every two weeks with a weak solution of fish oil fertilizer. They will be dressed in two weeks with coffee grounds, steer, and peat. They got epsom salts today. They will get more June 1. Again August 15. And I will water and fertilize the hell out of them. But I will stop all fertilizer and soil amendments September 1 but continue to water and in fact, begin to deep water them. In return, they will produce prodigious armsful of fragrant pink, yellow, white, orange, purple and red roses until October 15. sigh.

This year I will hard prune the rhoddies after the 4th of July in an effort to talk some sense into them. The grow thing they do has to get some order and purpose to it! god! Next weekend, I will dress the hydrangeas with ammonium sulfate to make the blues bluer. mmmmm.

I have bird baths and water features literally everywhere in Bellemaison. Everyone loves 'em. They need 'em too. I also have houses every place I can put a house. For the bats, the butterflies and all the birds.

I'll feed those razorbacks that some people call squirrels. Maybe they'll leave the vegetables and everything else alone?

We do a few annuals and lots of perennials and bet the farm on flowering shrubs. I think one of the most admirable professions in all of the world is Head Gardener in a garden anywhere in the United Kingdom.

Next up: favorite roses.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The broken are not always gathered together, of course, and not all mysteries of the flesh are solved. We speak of "senseless tragedies,", but really: Is there any other kind? Mothers and wives disappear without a trace. Children are killed. Madmen ravage the world, leaving wounds immeasurably deep, and endlessly mourned. Loved ones whose presence once filled us move into the distance; our eyes follow them as long as possible as they recede from view. Maybe we chase them -- clumsily, across railroad tracks and trafficked streets; over roads new-printed with their footsteps, the dust still whirling in the wake of them; through impossibly big cities people with strangers whose faces and bodies carry fragments of their faces and bodies, whose laughter, steadiness, pluck , stubbornness, remind us of the beloved we seek. Maybe we stay put, left behind, and look for them in our dreams. But we never stop looking, not even after those we love become part of the unreachable horizon. We can never top carrying the heavy weight of love on this pilgrimage; we can only transfigure what we carry. We can only shatter it and send it whirling into the world so that it can take shape in some new way.


--Stephanie Kallos
'Broken For You'


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Extreme
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Low
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante's" Inferno Hell Test

Oh, I loved this one. Got it from Gayle over at Scribal Terror. Guess those peanut butter cup smores and that dessert wine are skewing my score. And like Gayle, I'm just not sorry. And you will never, ever know for sure why I'm moderately lustful.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

For Wendy

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

okay. This from Julia. I thought it was amusing. Don't like green so much anyway. Had a terrible time getting it posted as my HTML sucks. Link that works is below the link that seduces you into thinking it works. so what color green are you? You Are Emerald Green

Deep and mysterious, it often seems like no one truly gets you.Inside, you are very emotional and moody - though you don't let it show.People usually have a strong reaction to you... profound love or deep hate.But you can even get those who hate you to come around. There's something naturally harmonious about you.

What Color Green Are You?

http://www.blogthings.com/whatcolorgreenareyouquiz/

We are genuinely unapproachable this week but it concerns us that you may think we don't think of you. Untrue. We think of you every morning, with thankfulness and amazement. You inspire us. So you know, here's some of one of my favorites:



Spring
Song, from Act V, Scene 2 of Love’s Labors Lost by William Shakespeare (1598)

When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he: “Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
And merry larks are ploughmen’s clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men, for thus sings he: “Cuckoo!
Cuckoo, cuckoo!” O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

[WE ARE AN EASTER PEOPLE AND ALLELUIA IS OUR SONG!]
~St. Augustine


i thank You God for this most amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
~e.e. cummings


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA