Well, bollocks.

PM Tony Blair is really leaving. He bid the Labour Party goodbye this week with panache and class, something we Americans, some of us, ever crave in leadership. He owned his part of our friendship but acknowledged his own neighborhood by saying, "It's hard sometimes to be America's strongest ally. Europe can be a political headache." Detailing the myriad of challenges we face, he believes terrorism will take at least a generation to contain, Blair sums up by saying, "And the truth is that nothing we strive for...can be solved without America, without Europe." A brilliant man, graced with humility and strength but grounded in the here and now. He doesn't kid himself. That's why he's leaving.

The thing about Tony Blair is this: he speaks straight from the heart, speaks the truth as he knows it and let's the chips fall where they may. And I wouldn't be truthful if I didn't admit that one of Blair's most appealing qualities is that he's such a contrast to our own intellect-challenged and communicative disorder-proned President. The cerebral elegance this man easily employs is more than a tad seductive but as you examine his arguments, you realize he has a vision and a determination that looks different but feels much like Churchill: "The British people today are reluctant global citizens; I want them to be confident ones.". He makes a strong argument for the big picture of British change in the new millenium. These days sovereignty is textured and laced with collaboration and partnership, according to Blair. Hmmm.

And so it goes. Nuts.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

We're waiting for our friend Tom to get his call; first of the week, he hadn't eaten in a week and had been refusing water for four days. It started in his colon, moved to his liver, spread to his lungs, then his brain. He's had chemo, radiation, surgery.

He himself has saved so many lives in his line of work that we didn't take his cancer seriously, even as each stage brought new, more ominous information. With all the good that he did for so many people, there's no way he wouldn't beat this. But science is science; there was no way to beat this and so he will die early. Our funny, tough Boy Scout has done his last good deed.

We first knew him when he was a leader in the Scout troop the Christ Child joined. The Christ had gotten his first batch of new merit badges and at the meeting the following week, Tom stopped this little kid of mine and said, hey! where are those new merit badges? The Boy said, well, you know, my mom has been real busy and just didn't have time....Tom cut him off at the socks and said, THOSE AREN'T YOUR MAMA'S MERIT BADGES AND THAT ISN'T YOUR MAMA'S UNIFORM! As the Christ Child put it at his Eagle Court of Honor four years later, "...that was the year I learned to sew." And that's a true story. It was the first of many adventures and encounters in Scouts, with Tom, that helped our youngest child understand that we are eachl responsibile for our own well-being. How could we know that this delicious, wonderful man would donate generously to our little boy's psyche and his spirit? We couldn't know, we didn't know and even when it was all done and that little boy had grown up and moved away to go to school, we were astounded at the kismet of Tom in our lives. How did that happen? How did we all get so lucky as to know and love Tom Deilke?

And so he goes early, leaving us behind to clean up. Fortunately, he taught us how so we know what to do. But it's lonely here today as the bright light of sunshine peeks through the dull, gray afternoon horizon; it's still.

We wait.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Said goodbye to my friend Kitsy yesterday. Pretty much choked and snuffled it out, but it was definitely a goodbye. She, in her sunny Irish way, responded with a beautiful, fully-present-in-the-moment, eloquent toast to days past and days future. People and places and things and times change, they come and go, but this this one I will miss. I will miss Kitsy. Here's some of the things I will always remember:

Kitsy organizing her employees to each throw in 2 hours of vacation for their co-worker, who already exhausted her paid sick and vacation time in care of her cancer-ridden partner.

Kitsy knowing the words to any Beatles' song ever written.

Kitsy with love beyond love, compassion for ever, for her former abusive boss, who ended up homeless.

Kitsy in deep abiding pride at her childrens' college degrees.

Kitsy driving her housekeepers around to Social Security, garage sales, anywhere they needed to be, so they didn't have to walk or take the bus.

Kitsy working the night shift so she could personally greet the guests when they came in.

Kitsy and her swear jar. It was always full to the brim.

Kitsy with handsful of thank you notes from children of guests.

Kitsy and the Christmas parties she used to throw for her employees; she'd call me up to scam free stuff for them.

Kitsy treating the people in my office with honor and respect and being universally loved and acclaimed here.

Kitsy and hard times; she never once gave into despair.

Kitsy when she got to go to Ireland with her family.

for Mary Kristine

Give us, Lord, a bit o sun,

A bit o work and a bit o fun,

Give us in all the struggle and sputter,

Our daily bread and a bit o butter.

Give us health our keep to make

And a bit to spare for other's sake.

Give us, too, a bit of song

And a tale and a book to help us along.

Give us, Lord, a chance to be

Our goodly best, brave, wise and free,

Our goodly best for ourselves and others

Till all men learn to live as brothers.

--Old Irish Prayer

I'll remember you; you remember me.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Well, okay, The Christ Child is leaving. Yes, I know. Here's all the things I am gonna get done once he's gone: get his room straightened up again, reclaim my car, give his clothes to the housekeeper's kids, put his truck in storage, put his cell phone number on inactive status, read, read, read, reread all my favorites on the UK, plan Christmas, finish my new library, store my handbags on his bed, walk the Chows to Manito and back once a day, see how low I can get the grocery bill here, go back to mass daily. there.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Judy Fernandez was at work; she was 27 years old. She was from Parlin, New Jersey which means she came in on the PATH train to her job with Cantor Fitzgerald at the World Trade Center Tower 1, 107th floor. It was a beautiful, beautiful late summer day in New York and she had absolutely no way to knowing that when she climbed out of the train that morning that she would never, ever go back to Parlin again.

Judy was one of 2, 996 heroes that were murdered that day; everyday heroes who were at work, making a living, taking care of business. It is the cruelest of all fates that she had plenty of time to await the Angel of Death; plenty of time to know that something was dreadfully, fatally wrong; plenty of time to hear the screams and anguish of her co-workers and to watch some of them jump. We'll never know how or when she died; they never found her. She was vaporized off the face of this earth.

She had a family in New Jersey; they gave her a wonderful Sweet 16 party. They lived with her in a wonderful neighborhood where the kids surfaced far and wide after Judy died to console her parents, recalling the golden childhood they all had together. She was a benefits specialist; can't know what kind of education she had. But do know it must have been a source of enormous pride to her close-knit Fillipino family to watch their little girl go to the city and work for The Man every morning. It all happens that fast. They are your sun, your moon, your stars and your whole understanding of the universe. And then they get the call. I pray for Judy and her mother and father now, in the tradition of our faith. A prayer of St. Joseph, the patron saint of families, in hopes that we will all be together again soon:


Lord have mercy on us all.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Lord, have mercy on us.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.
God, the Father of Heaven,
Have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
Have mercy on us.
God the Holy Ghost,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, one God,
Have mercy on us.
Holy Mary,
Pray for us.
Holy Joseph,
Pray for us.
Noble Son of the House of David,
Pray for us.
Light of the Patriarchs,
Pray for us.
Husband of the Mother of God,
Pray for us.
Chaste Guardian of the Virgin,
Pray for us.
Foster-father of the Son of God,
Pray for us.
Sedulous Defender of Christ,
Pray for us.
Head of the Holy Family,
Pray for us.
Joseph most just,
Pray for us.
Joseph most chaste,
Pray for us.
Joseph most prudent,
Pray for us.
Joseph most valiant,
Pray for us.
Joseph most obedient,
Pray for us.
Joseph most faithful,
Pray for us.
Mirror of patience,
Pray for us.
Lover of poverty,
Pray for us.
Model of all who labor,
Pray for us.
Glory of family life,
Pray for us.
Protector of Virgins,
Pray for us.
Pillar of families,
Pray for us.
Consolation of the afflicted,
Pray for us.
Hope of the sick,
Pray for us.
Patron of the dying,
Pray for us.
Terror of the demons,
Pray for us.
Protector of the holy Church,
Pray for us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us.
He made him master of his house,
and ruler of all his possesions. O God, You were pleased to choose Saint Joseph as the husband of Mary and the guardian of your Son. Grant that, as we venerate him as our protector on earth, we may deserve to have him as our intercessor in heaven. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Full moon last night. Even though it's still summer, that harvest moon gives it away: change is around the corner. This had to be the fastest summer of my life; I ran the entire way.

I really, really like living in The 'Kan. I love adventure and I love travel and it's the best day of the week when I can find out something new and learn a whole lot more. And therein lies the conundrum of each and every day as I pull the soft, smooth sheets away and slip out of bed to survey the morning sky, panoramic in my bedroom window. That horizon bids me ever onward and succumbing to the call of the Sirens, much as Odysseus, I find to my dismay that when I come home to The 'Kan, the roses have bloomed and gone.

I planted the roses and made a garden in memory of my mother, in honor of my friends, in hopes for my children. I lined the paths of the garden with the most used of bricks and filled them with the tiny rainbow pebbles of the Mission Valley. Along the way, I culled and collected birdhouses and benches and feeders and fountains and my most favorite of rocks from everywhere and poked and placed them along the path, for respite and reflection. It's a wonderful garden, built by me.

It's been alone much of the summer and as a result, my eye is clouded and corroded and weary. I sit in my office and watch the planes fly east to Chicago and south to Denver. The little ones head straight for Seattle. The American flag waves languidly off a crane of the big project down the street and the sky sits a pale gray, still in the September summer. I can't see and understand how the gray of the morning air makes me feel and so I know again, that the benches in my garden have sat too long in the summer sun without me.

I need a mast made of the finest hardwood and the strongest of rope; to lash me, to hold me, to protect me from the seductive call of the Sirens, ever singing a beautiful, mysterious melody of odyssey. I will plant this mast deep in my garden in the cool shade among the tall ferns and in the thickest of the mosses, and hold dear to its ropes that bind me--and keep me near the roses, who bloom fragrant and spicy each and every day of the year, just for me.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

And so it's Labor Day, again. A summer of mighty memories, yet it's the small moments that stack up as the most valuable: floating the north fork of the CdA, coffee in the morning sun, riding the Trail of the CdAs when the cottonwoods are blooming, Sandpoint on a Saturday afternoon, listening to the still of those hot, hot August nights. Came home to a note from a dear one who says he's pondering the meaning of life; I've been trying to figure out the meaning of life for 15 years but I don't think I'm any closer to understanding. But one thing I do notice, increasingly, is that life gets more beautiful with each day. I have always lived right here and I do not know when I have enjoyed the blue sky and the pine trees more. The waters of the rivers and lakes are deep and clear. But Pat Flammia died. My childhood gets farther and farther away as the exquisite landscape around me comes into finer and finer focus....

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

okay, you know the other thing I love to collect lately? that I just LOVE? Starbucks Coffee Cards. Told ya I had collection affliction. My friend Robbie came through mega*bigtime with Hawaii. It's awesome.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Coins
Richard Newman 'Borrowed Towns' 2005

My change: a nickel caked with finger grime;
two nicked quarters not long for this life, worth
more for keeping dead eyes shut than bus fare;
a dime, shining in sunshine like a new dime;
grubby pennies, one stamped the year of my birth,
no brighter than I from 40 years of wear.

What purses, piggy banks, and window sills
have these coins known, their presidential heads
pinched into what beggar's chalky palm--
they circulate like tarnished red blood cells,
all of us exhanging the merest film
of our lives, and the lives of those long dead.

And now my turn in the convenience store,
I hand over my fist of change, still warm,
to the bored, lip-pierced check-out girl, once more
to be spun down cigarette machines, hurled
in fountains, flipped for luck--these dirty charms
chiming in the dark pockets of the world.

~for Curt, whose karma awaits him


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

...until:

The small package arrived in the morning mail, lathered in brightly colored stamps and prepared with meticulous deliberation and foresight. The printing was neat and tidy, yet urgent: get me to the right person right away because there's justice to be served. A justice richly deserved I might add.

I opened the care package slowly and shining brightly like little stars, looking up at me with big dazzling smiles were, among others, Iowa, Illinois, Alabama, Missouri, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. My friend Curt had come to the rescue. He sent a note, which said in part,

' I included a couple of bonus items. The two new nickles and a Bicentennial Quarter I had hangin about. The Indian Head Penny is for a good luck charm to ward off thieving neer do wells. Let's hope it works. If not, I will send off a lucky charm baseball bat.'

See? This is why he's my friend.

So ends the saga of the Quarters Heist of Summer 2006; I'll not be so generous with my art any time again soon. The Chows love those new nickels Curt sent and say they fully expect to see Chow Chows on the new 2007 nickels. The Chow Nation Nickel, of course. They say that their new best friend Curt is going to see that they get some of the first run. I wouldn't be a bit surprised.



JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Yes, what happened next was so horrible I am certain no one could have seen it coming. Surely not me. It was a deed dastardly by any measure. In an effort to provide appropriate touching experiences in an office chock full of visual and sensual pleasures, I took my glazed terra cotta dish full of the States Quarters collection and put it at the end of the reception counter, that patch of semi-precious real estate that denotes the portals of the Inner Sanctum. You can' t get to my office without passing through this hallowed spot; not many at all are invited. Fewer yet get to come in. But those that do would see the quarters and would be enticed, implicitly invited, to explore the quarters. Maybe not the most adventurous opportunity of any given day, but an opportunity nonetheless and certainly a tactile pleasure. And a generous gesture by the collector of the house, to be certain. And how is this generosity rewarded? ha.

A brute, a Cretan, a monster of a person surely with putrid breath, greasy hair, bleeding gums and cuticles stole my quarters! Unbelievable, is it not? I was out of the office on business for two days and came back to a whirlwind of faxes and mail and only casually glanced at my little treasure trove of engraving at end of business on the first day back. I staggered when I saw my little terra cotta dish only partially full, not brimming full as when I had positioned it so carefully, only 3 business days previous. Some rat bastard took my change!

I fumed. I frantically sorted and resorted, wanting to believe I wasn't seeing what I really was seeing: no Iowa, Illinois, Alabama, Missouri, North Carolina, Pennsylvania or New Jersey. Who took Iowa, Illinois, Alabama, Missouri, North Carolina, Pennsylvania and New Jersey? I cursed my fate to the gods, damning them for giving me collection affliction, cursing them for giving me imbeciles for clients and employees, snarling at my vulnerability and exposure in this cruel world. How does bad shit happen to good people?

In the morning, my furor had turned to sober introspection. What would make a person steal another person's beloved art? Why would any person scoff at another person's generosity in providing an uncommon art experience for the touching afflicted? I know what it's like to be afflicted; I have been plagued with collection affliction for years. My suffering is real. This was a beautiful gesture of outreach--answered with humiliating scorn and degradation. Now I could only hope for victims' recompense. I was sadder but wiser as the remainder of my quarters came back to the Inner Sanctum. I had cast my pearls before swine and was feeling the stinging fist of rebuke.

Until....

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Zesty Chicken Soup
JL of Seattle

Doesn't this sound good?

1 T olive oil

3/4 c chopped onion

4 cloves garlic, chopped

1 T curry powder

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
or
6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs,
cut into 1/2 inch pieces

1/2 c chopped red bell pepper

1 tsp grated or minced ginger

1/4 tsp dried red pepper flakes

2 14 oz cans chicken broth

1 14 oz can diced tomatoes, with their liquid

1 large Granny Smith apple, cored, peeled and coarsely chopped

1/2 cup orzo

3 T dried currants or cranberries or raisins

salt and freshly ground pepper
chopped cilantro
plain yogurt or sour creamn

Heat the oil in a large stockpot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and saute until tender and aromatic, about 3 to 5 minutes, then add the garlic and saute 1 minutes longer. Stir in the curry and saute for 1 minute, then add the chicken, red pepper, ginger and red pepper flakes and stir for 2 minutes. Add the broth, tomatoes and apple and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes.

Add the orzo and currants to the soup and simmer until the orzo is tender, about 10 minutes. Season the soup to taste with salt and pepper and ladle it into bowls. Garnish with cilantro and a dollop of yogurt or sour cream.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Chows are very busy today as there is much going on. First, they are anticipating a houseguest that they are quite excited about; this particular guest will be here for several weeks and the Chows are just tickled pink over the prospect. Silvie got out all the cookbooks and has already scratched out dozens of different menu possibilites, Do' is scurrying around collecting all the miscellaneous balls that lay everywhere in Bellemaison in an effort to tidy the place up and Cle is supervisign P33t in an over-all police up of the area. Oh those Chows are excited!





But something else: we are going rafting this weekend and will cook the dutch oven. yes, yes, yes. It's true. We are dutching up. We will have the world-renoun Dutch Oven Mac. We will have Jose's Lasagna. We will have the smacos. And the pineapple upside-down cake. Man, I hope these people we are going with have adequate crowd control measures in place because once people up and down the river get a whiff of our campsite....



But first, off to Costco. In The General! He came back too! How did he know we're having a houseguest?!


Bonus Round: what's the name of that sunny, yellow rose photoed only this morning in the gardens at Bellemaison?


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Salmon Corn Chowder
from the JL of Seattle

1 1/4 pounds salmon fillet, skin and pin bones removed, cut into 1 inch pieces


salt and freshly ground black pepper

5 ears tender sweet corn, husks and silk removed

2 T unsalted butter

1 C diced onion

3/4 C dry white wine

2 c fish stock or canned or bottled clam juice

2 tsp minced fresh savory or thyme
or
1/2 tsp dried savory or thyme

1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

5 med red potatoes, peeled and cut into 3/4 inch dice

1 c whipping cream

2 c milk

1/4 c minced fresh chives, divided


Set the salmon pieces on a plate, season lightly with salt and pepper, wrap in plastic, and refrigerate while preparing the chowder base.

Cut the kernels off 4 of the ears of corn: hold a cob upright on the chopping board with the broader end down. Slide the knife blade vertically down the length of the cob, cutting away a strip fo kermels. turn the cob slightly and repeat around the ear to remove all the kernels. Turn the knife and rub the back of the blade down the cob, all the way around, to remove the milky tender flesh that remians. Grate the corn from the fifth ear on the large holes of a hand grater. Set the corn aside.

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender and aromatic, about 5 to 7 minutes. Add the wine and boil over medium-high heat until reduced by half, about 3 minutes. Add the fish stock, savory, and cayenne and bring to s a simmer. Add the potatoes, reduce the heat to medium, and simmer until the potatoes are nearly tender when pierced with a fork, about 8 to 10 minutes. Add the corn and cream and cook until the corn is almost tender but still slightly crunchy, about 3 to 5 minutes longer.

Add the salmon and simmer until the fish is opaque throughout, about 5 to 7 minutes. Stir in the milk with 2 tablespoons of the chives. Heat until warmed through, but do not boil. Season the chowder to taste with salt and pepper, ladle into individual bowls, and serve right away, with the remaining chives sprinkled on top.

MAKES 6 SERVINGS.


Nuff said!

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Had a trauma recently that I'm only up to talking about just now. It all started with that guy who's in my office quite often and enjoys my art collection by...walking around and touching everything. True story. He loves to touch and touch he does, the assemblage, the acrylic, the paper, the ceramic, the water color, the textile, all of it. He touches.

As he is a valued source of revenue for this office, I maintain my composure no matter how I want to snap his grubby mitts as they probe, finger and caress my muses, my wellsprings of inspiration and devotion that aid me in communing with the numbers. I love this guy. I hate his hands.

So. I say to myself, JBelle, old girl, he's gotta touch. Since you're definitely out of bounds, put something else out. What can he touch that would give him pleasure and satisfy his need to tactilely explore and express himself? Cretan that he is.

Having had the collection affliction from a very young age, there is a wide variety of distraction possibilities around the office, a big assortment of things to touch that won't suffer wear and will provide diversion from the other touching possibilities. And dang, if the exact right touchable thing didn't present itself immediately: the quarter collection. Yes, the 50 State Quarters Collection, began in 1999.

I love the quarters. I love 'em! And clean and polished to a high sheen, they are quite satisfying to roll around in the palm of your hand and to chink and to clutch. I love the quarters. I have them on my back desk in a ceramic dish, an early work of one of our premier artists fashioned in his pre-school art class. This particular ceramic dish could create a nicely serious head injury if used acccordingly and because it's heavy, I keep it on my desk and play with the quarters when I talk on the phone. The Chows say they go online every morning to count and play with their money and to make sure someone hasn't stolen their identity. But I digress.

I digress. Maybe because what happened next is too horrible to contemplate.


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Chows just haven't felt like writing much about the garden this year; they have spent alot of time in the pool and didn't even both to put the cushions on their poolside chairs, it's been so hot. The nights are much cooler now and they are getting organized again. Stay tuned. Garden chat to come.

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

Wish You Were Here

The Poet Laureate of Bellemaison sent a card, with a poem, and wrote a note, directing us to go here. You should go too. You'll know everyone.

Willie Metcalf

I was Willie Metcalf.
They used to call me "Doctor Meyers"
Because, they said, I looked like him.
And he was my father, according to Jack McGuire.
I lived in the livery stable,
Sleeping on the floor
Side by side with Roger Baughman's bulldog.
Or sometimes in a stall.
I could crawl between the legs of the wildest horses
Without getting kicked--we knew each other.
On spring days I tramped through the country
To get the feeling, which I sometimes lost,
That I was not a separate thing from the earth.
I used to lose myself, as if in sleep,
By lying with eyes half-open in the woods.
Sometime I talked with animals--even toads and snakes--
Anything that had an eye to look into.
Once I saw a stone in the sunshine
Trying to turn into jelly.
In April days in this cemetery
The dead people gathered all about me,
And grew still, like a congragation in silent prayer.
I never knew whether I was a part of the earth
With flowers growing in me, or whether Iwalked--
Now I know.

--Edgar Lee Masters
Spoon River Anthology


JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Faces

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

WA


What's not to love?

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

The Layers
Stanley Kunitz

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face.
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
"Live in the layers,
not on the litter."
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.




JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA