sucre a la creme

beautiful blue skies, cool, minus 7

A perfect, perfect, perfect winter day. Makes my heart sing. Had breakfast at Nick's, then bought bananas at the Cinq Saison (Trudy loves them and we're out at home), then jumped in the car and drove back to the country.

As we got further and further along the autoroute there was more and more snow. Clearly the Townships got far more than the dusting in Montreal. Arrived home about 1pm. Unloaded the car, and Lise showed up - with her Christmas basket filled with treats!!! We put on the kettle, cracked open her gift of home-made preserves (pickled beets - my favorite...but also jams and relishes) and home-made sweets, including truffles, butter mints and Sucre a la creme - the three of us devoured them. And Lise told us the story of having the sucre a la creme at her grandmother's when she was a child, christmas eve. After dinner and games, everyone was exhausted. The girls (11 children and all their children) would get the few bedrooms. Lise remembers eating the sucre candy (which is like maple fudge) and climbing the stairs - and looking back down to see all the men and boys asleep on the floor in front of the woodstove.

She herself hasn't had the candy for decades, but decided this year to dig out her grandmother's recipe and make it. I have to tell you, the sucre a la creme candy was fabulous. But the real joy was seeing Lise's face as she ate it. Almost brought tears to my eyes.

Christmas is like that, isn't it. So keen with memories, triggered by tastes and smells, by carols. And often unexpected things. I had a moment like that taking Trudy out after her dinner. It's dark now early, of course. Pitch black by 5pm. we decorated the tree this afternoon and as I left I turned and saw the tree through the living room window, and Michael sitting by the fire. And heard King's College Cambridge singing Oh Come All ye Faithful. Then I turned to trudy, and we walked through the crisp, still night. Snow smells, you know. There's an unmistakable fragrance to it. Clean, fresh. if I was blindfolded I'd know the scent of snow. And it was cold enough it creaked underfoot.

There was half a foot of fresh, fluffy snow on the trees, balancing there - and a bright moon. You should see moon shadows on a field of fresh snow. It is breathtaking. And I was reminded of the deep peace I always felt as a child on quiet winter nights, walking on snow under the moon and stars.

Other things remind me of christmas. The smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Mandarin oranges. Shortbread. Egg nog.

Michael and I don't exchange gifts anymore. We have no needs. No wants. We already have more than enough. What we give to each other at Christmas is peace. And I thought that was enough, until I tasted Lise's Sucre a la creme! Now, I'd like sucre a la creme, and peace for Christmas. In that order.

Before I go, one more thing - Happy Birthday Marjorie!!!! (Ha, bet you thought I forgot!!)

The Plan

sunny, hot, temps 31

Stunning day!!! Full on summer. Noticing that the temperature in NYC is 36. Wow...bet it feels way hotter than that too. We're planning to pack underwear, and that's all. If we weren't bashful Canadians, we wouldn't even pack that. Off to NYC Thursday, back Sunday.

It's our friend Gary's birthday. Happy birthday, Gary!!!

His wife, and my great friend, Cheryl and I had breakfast outside at le Cafetier in Sutton. Sitting on the terrasse with bowls of cafe au lait, and each of us had the fresh fruit plate with yoghurt and honey. Yum.

Cheryl and I talked about 'The Plan'. I think many women have it...perhaps men do too. But while my prayer is to go before Michael, the fact is most women outlive their husbands. And most women I know I have 'the plan'.

Here's mine...and Cheryl's. We start a community. Each of us, by the age of 70 let's say (it's a vague plan), has a small home of our own design. But we'd be together in a community...with a central gathering place, a communal kitchen if we want, a place where all of us (there'd be as many people there as we'd like...all good friends...all relaxed, kind, thoughtful, tolerant people...stress on tolerant!!) We'd visit each other for dinners, or eat on our own, or go to the communal gathering spot and eat with whoever else was there. We'd see people when we want. And be alone when we want.

My home would be small, cosy. A living/dining/kitchen area. With a fireplace. Not grand. A place to curl up and be comfortable. One bedroom and a lovely, large bathroom. I would write, and listen to music and watch movies. Visit friends. Be visited. Travel.

My friends in the community would have homes of their own design. And live lives of their own design. We would support each other, but not impose. There'd be, perhaps, a small chapel - non-denominational...for prayer or meditation, or just quiet reflection.

Cheryl and I had a wonderful breakfast talking about that, and trying to decide where it would be. Anywhere in the world, presumably, since this is as much a dream as a plan. South of FRance? Italy? New mexico? Maine? the Cotswolds?

But we agreed we're daughters of Canada, and love to live here and would love to die here. So we got to thinking...we'd like to be within walking distance of a village. A place that was beautiful and peaceful. Where we could have a cafe au lait on a terrasse. We both stared into the distance...where, oh, where in Canada would be find such a place?

And then Cheryl started to laugh. She stared at me, clearly inviting me to join in, but it took me a full thirty seconds or more to get it. We already have it! And then we both laughed.

How funny....the thing we both yearn for, dream of, we already have. How perfect is that? How typical? I have all I want or need...I just need to be aware of it. And I think I am...until wake-up moments like that. Wonderful.

this 'plan' though was brought to the fore of my mind by a phone call we received Saturday. From Michael's cousin Marjorie, in Elora, Ontario. We visit her every year at least once. Amazing woman. Now 83 - never married...born and raised in Montreal but lived most of her adult life in New York City...worked at Fortune Magazine, and helped launch Money Magazine. A smart, funny, kind woman. A woman with a great gift for friendship. Who travelled around the world and took the time and effort to keep up with friends. Though she had two especially great friends in her life. margo and kay. Kay was a friend from childhood, and they did everything together...roomed together in NYC, traveled Europe together shortly after the war. When Marjorie retired she moved from NYC to Elora because that's where Kay and her husband lived. There she met Margo, recently widowed.

Margo's name was Morgan, but she went by the name Margo Oliver, and was famous in Canada as the food columnist for Canadian Living and was syndicated across the country for decades. Wrote many fine cookbooks. Marjorie loves, loves, loves food and Kay was indifferent to it...so when Marjorie met margo it was like a gift from the gods...for both of them.

Soon all three women, elderly by now, were almost inseparable. Except that they were all independent, in mind and spirit. Kay was the intellectual, the clipping service...who read the New Yorker, The Economist, the Manchester Guardian first, and highlighted the articles she felt the others should read. Margo and Marjorie traveled Canada and the US going to great restaurants. All three had seasons tickets together to the opera in Toronto, to Stratford festival...to the Elora music festival. All put up choristers for the festival and volunteered at the book sale.

Every time we visited Elora we got together with them - and I grew to be in awe of this friendship. to admire it. And even envy it. Indeed, in DEAD COLD/A FATAL GRACE, the Three Graces were inspired by Marjorie, Kay and Margo.

But, of course, there's a terrible price to pay for a friendship like that.

Marjorie called Saturday to say that both Kay and Margo had died. Suddenly.

They were both in fragile health, but still their deaths stunned Marjorie. And Michael. And me. I can't begin to imagine what it must be like for her, to lose not one, but both. To be the one left - the one to turn off the lights.

And yes, it is right and appropriate to concentrate on the great blessing of having that relationship - one I've seen a few people achieve, but not many. But, dear Lord, the price. Worth it, certainly. But I wonder if it's selfish to pray to be the first, not the last, to go?

Something else to add to The Plan.

the crucial missing letter...

overcast, cool, then sunny and warm! temps 17-25

Another unpredictable day! But now it's mainly sunny and warm. Lovely. Marjorie arrived...since it was going to be rainy and cool I planned a claypot chicken for dinner...but then it's become the most beautiful day. Oh well.

It's lovely to be sitting with Michael and Marjorie on the screen porch, eating chocolate ice cream and drinking pink lemonade! An unexpected summer gift.

Had a quiet day today, now that the editing's done...just percolating...tiny little things occur. A better word here...a slight theme that could be subtly enhanced there. The book's at that wonderful, light polish stage.

Will polish for most of this week.

By the way, I mentioned in yesterday's blog a dessert Pat is making for tomorrow's luncheon. When I went back to re-read the post I roared with laughter to find I'd described it as a blueberry and pea crumble. Blech.

It's actually a blueberry and pear crumble. Much better.

Talk to you soon...

What remains

sunny, warm, temps 26

We're in Toronto. Had a fun day today. Checked in to the InterContinental, Front Street. McArthur, my Canadian publisher, has very generously put us on the Club floor, which means a private lounge with breakfasts, afternoon tea, cocktails, DVD's, newspapers etc. It's like a British Airways lounge (by which I now measure every aspect of my life).

Then, as Michael cringed and tried to teleport himself somewhere else, I asked if there were any suites available. Can you believe it, there was! So they upgraded us to a suite.

Then we hopped out and caught an early showing of the new Indiana Jones film nearby. I love matinees! Always feel like such luxury. We got buckets of popcorn and diet cokes and sat in the near empty cinema. Heaven.

Loved the movie - but the bar isn't very high for Harrison Ford. Anything he's in is fine with me. My favorite Indiana Jones was the previous one, with Sean Connery. We own the DVD and I watch it every 6 months or so. I can practically mouth the lines. What fun. As you see, we run a vigorously intellectual household.

Just got out of a shower. Had dirt wedged under my fingernails. It's been a while since I had the earth smeared on my hands - and it felt good. We were in the village of Elora for the past two days. Visiting Cousin Marjorie.

Elora was one of the principle inspirations for Three Pines. In fact, Gabri is loosely based on a man named Steven in Elora, and Cousin Marjorie inspired both Ruth and one of the Three Graces from the second book. She has two very close friends and they did almost everything together. If you saw one there was a pretty good chance another was close. Like a pack. Marjorie, Margo and Kay. All over 80. The Three Graces.

This trip, though, was quite different. Margo has sold her lovely old stone home in the centre of the village and moved into a brand new seniors residence. Kay has left Elora for Toronto to be closer to family. And Wednesday when we arrived at Marjorie's from Montreal, for the first time ever she wasn't at the door waiting.

The inside door was open and we opened the screen door and called. No answer. Called again. This time we heard a shuffling.

It was Marjorie. With a smile, but looking weary. Then it came out. She'd only the day before returned from a week in the hospital. We were horrified. That we didn't know and that now this suddenly frail older woman had two guests. We immediately asked the obvious.

What was wrong? What happened? Afraid of the answer.

Atrial fibrillation. I could see Michael relax. He knew what it meant, and while it wasn't brilliant news it wasn't the disaster it might have been.

A lot of people have it. It's when the heart speeds up, and won't slow down. It can be extremely serious, if not treated. But Marjorie came home from the hospital with lots of drugs.

Still, this once energetic woman who zoomed all over the world, helped organize the local book sale, played bridge, gardened and has countless friends was suddenly weak and exhausted.

We sat with her and asked questions. Michael looked at her drugs, and took her pulse-rate. But I couldn't shake the feeling we shouldn't be there. We would be a burden when all she wanted to do was rest.

I made dinner. (No, not peanut butter sandwiches - I surprised even myself by producing chicken breasts with fresh tarragon and elderflower and newly cut asparagus.) Michael made a salad - we washed up and all went to bed early.

The next morning we made breakfast then Marjorie asked me to put in her vegetable garden. She could have given me the winning lottery ticket. I was relieved and thrilled. We could actually do something useful. So under Marjorie's stern, percise and exacting eye in went the lettuce, basil, parsley, red onions, zucchini, squash, scarlet runner beans and another sort of bean. Then I weeded for 2 hours while Marjorie napped on the sofa and Michael, bless him, called her doctor and talked to him, doctor to doctor.

As I weeded I realized how sad I was. That the vacations to see Marjorie had clearly changed. She who always met us and had a gourmet meal prepared and had planned dinner parties and trips to the theatre and restaurants, was human after all. And needed our help.

Of course, there's every reason to believe once the medication is adjusted and she gets some rest, she'll be fine. Perhaps better than ever.

But it was a wake-up. And it was a feeling I suddenly recognized. From visits to my grandmother many, many years ago, as she aged. And to my mother, who went from striding ahead of us even in our adulthood, to falling behind until we needed to walk very slowly and pretend we weren't so as not to upset her.

Roles naturally change. But we don't have to like it. We do need to accept it, though.

And it felt good to get dirt on my knees and see the earth under my nails, and have a few hours to reflect on what really matters.

Michael came out and watered the new vegetable garden and as I watched him I remembered a prayer he told me about. One someone told him when he thought he'd die from sorrow when his first wife died.

Thank you God for everything you've given me,
Everything you've taken away,
And everything that remains.


This too I've learned in the garden.

Be well, please. I'll talk to you tomorrow.