Pinky Tuscadero

Wow, there’s a name that brings back memories. Happy Days! If you don’t recall, Pinky was a gorgeous red head that wore pink, rode a pink motorcycle (and jumped over Shriners on it), and drove a pink demolition derby car.  She was also Fonzie’s sweetheart. Featured in a few brief episodes, she was a name that I’ll always remember. She was tough, she was spunky, and she was cool.

She had a little sister that appeared a few later episodes, Leather Tuscadero. She played bass guitar and sang.

A pretty cool pair of TV-land sisters, if I say so myself.

Last night I stopped at a local nursery looking for a “Lenten Rose”. This plant is also known as a Christmas Rose , or by the botanical name of Hellebore. This plant is not a rose by any means, but it does bloom in the winter. Being hardy to -30F (yes, that minus sign is intentional), winter blooming and animals leave it alone, it seems a great addition to the dreary winter landscape. They come in many colors, but the only one available had pale pink/light green five petal flowers; all the foliage is a dark shiny green.  Mine is a color they call Rosemary, which seems entirely incongruous for the coloration, but that is just my opinion.

Hellebore, Rosemary coloration

It is also in excellent company as an extremely toxic plant; classed as heart poison, extremely hazardous. This darling is not joking around. Hellebrin is the active component in the plant. It seems ok to touch it, but you definitely do not want to eat this one. Symptoms of ingestion include such fun like colic, exhaustion, excessive GI tract distress, paralysis and various heart problems; death by respiratory distress. Modern physicians do actually use some of the hellebrin components for medicinal reasons.

Many plants in this world are not for human use or consumption. Just because it came from Mother Earth do not mean it is your friend. Be aware what you keep in your house and yard. You’d best be every bit as concerned about your plants as you are about chemical cleaners. Hellebore is poison; this is why animals leave it alone. I have a cat, Voodoo, that likes to tempt fate and chews on any lily flowers in a vase…then I get to clean up vomit. This is why we have no plants in the house.

Unfortunately, the nursery worker had no idea about the toxicity of this species.

Currently, my lovely pink hellebore is residing in my bathtub. I don’t quite know where to keep her yet; away from the cat, and away from my curious stallion. He tries to eat hamburgers, for crying out loud.

I’ve decided my plant is a “she”, and I’ve picked out her name. Pinky Tuscadero. Tough, pretty, and if you mess with her, you won’t like it.

Of beauty and apple trees

I think fondly of my mother. I don't see her often enough, and I feel guilty for it. We spent Christmas day with her, and she made a fabulous dinner that we enjoyed very much. After the dishes were cleared, we had more time to talk.

Day to day life leaves me harried, sometimes short-tempered or too succinct for good conversation at the end of the day. Some days work just wears me out. On these days, my occasional, brief conversations with her are punctuated with "uh-huh", "yeah" and "ok". Not a very good real conversation. But on this day, we easily went past that continued on to genuine discussion, rekindling some mutual interests and we made promises to "get together again soon". I intend to keep that promise, for I treasure my mother.

She was always my role model as a child/young woman/adult woman, and in so many ways. Beautiful, independent, vivacious, fun, intelligent...those are a few words I would select to describe her. She mostly raised me herself, at a time when society looked down upon divorcees, she worked hard and diligently in her medical career. I remember her heading to work in her nurse whites. Seeing her old nursing school cape takes me way back...she probably doesn’t know that I used to sneak it out of her closet and wear it a little bit. I admired her. I knew that she wasn't perfect, and never was; I never really held that childlike belief. I knew her as a person.

I'm biased, I have the most beautiful mother.



My favorite photo of my mom. <3



From my mother, I learned many things. I did not understand that women had a certain role in the workplace that was different than that of men. My mother worked alongside both men and women; she was respected and did well for herself. Her hobbies included several non-traditional things too. She had hotrods! She liked to fish, hunt and camp. I learned to love many of these same things, even if I do not actively pursue them at this juncture of my life.

I have to admit that my grandmother played a large part in this too, as an influence on my mother. Gram was also a nurse, a hunter, fisher, camper. Also very independent, she was the rebellious, beautiful daughter of Prohibitionist Great-Gram. Gram was glamorous and I was always amazed to see photos of her as a younger lady. I'll try get one from Mom and post it here.

Mom was also my first beauty role model. She isn't tall, leggy or scrawny like today's version of beauty. She's short-ish (thanks for the height Dad!), she's curvy but shapely. She has a fast smile and an easy laugh. She always looked great, even if she was wearing hunting clothes and no makeup. Again, she was my first fashion idol: independent, free, fun, comfortable, healthy, beautiful naturally.

As I grew older, I saw what "society" considered beautiful. I saw photos of Farrah Fawcett (RIP), I watched Linda Carter in Wonder Woman; I found them likewise beautiful. I never thought Twiggy was...attractive. Now, I'm not condemning what others consider beautiful, this was just from my young teen perspective. I was always a little odd; I started wearing black lipstick and dying my hair. My mother always stood beside me, chastising others for judging me based upon appearance without knowing me. My own HS principal called her once..."your daughter is a....a....a...Goth". My mom's response? "So? She's a good student, a lettered athlete. Why does this matter?" I will, mind you, always applaud her pluck when it came to defending me. I felt I was beautiful too.

I don't Mom knows how much I have always idolized her. I waxed eloquent on the subject after returning home after Christmas dinner; I doubt I can, or have, recaptured that feeling here. I've always loved and respected her as a child should, but I also love and admire her so greatly as an adult. She's everything I aspire to be. Beautiful, inside and out. Fiercely intelligent. A great friend. Oh, and she doesn't take anyone's shit.

I hope this apple didn't fall far from the tree....

Holidaze

We are in the throes of the 2011 holiday craze. I remember as a child the time between Samhain/Halloween and Thanksgiving seemed a lifetime; between Thanksgiving, my birthday and Yule/Christmas was always a blur. Now, I see Christmas stuff up alongside the Halloween decorations and Valentine’s beside the Christmas stuff. Wow. Slow down a little here folks.

Holiday season brings many emotions out in people that aren’t always the cheerful ones. While most of us do remember and cherish our families, there are many out there that are recently missing loved ones and the holiday season makes this transition even more difficult for some. I feel for you.

I prefer the older traditions, the slower pace of the holidays. Enjoy the seasons, watch the autumn leaves fall, and watch the spring flowers bloom. We recently had a lovely Winter Solstice dinner with wonderful friends. Gifts of food, companionship and conversation were given, after all, isn’t our time the most valuable gift of all?

Speaking of old holiday traditions, let’s talk about my new favorite one: Krampusnacht (Night of Krampus).

Krampus is a very old figure, associated with Saint Nicholas and celebrated in Germanic countries or countries with a strong Germanic influence, notably Austria, Germany, Hungary, and Romania. The celebrations were kept alive and typically held in the mountainous regions because the Church didn’t deign to proselytize there due to geography and population.

Based upon the tradition, I’m sure I would have been a better behaved child around the holidays if two things had been different: Krampus was around, and my birthday wasn’t.

Krampus is generally described as basically a devil; a traditional, Christian devil, replete with horns and cloven hooves.

Vintage Krampus postcard

Krampusnacht is December 5^th, and Saint Nicholas’ Day is December 6^th.  On December 5^th, Krampus creatures take to the streets, burdened with chains and warning bell, and threatening naughty children with a switch. That switch is the least of the punishments, however. In some tales, Krampus takes naughty children, stuffs them in a bag and potentially takes them to hell….some say Krampus feasts on bad children.  The traditional offering to Krampus is schnapps. What holiday isn’t made better with drunk devils running about? Krampusnacht is held in Portland, Oregon and Seattle, Washington as well as other, more traditional, locations worldwide.

Here's one of my favorite videos from a Krampuslauf (Krampus Run): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLnl5ZWG4tg

Then, the next morning, Saint Nicholas comes in and rewards the good children. If you are in the Old Country, you get candy and fruit in your best pair of shoes, if you polish them and leave them by the door. Hmmm.

Here in the US, we’ve sanitized and amalgamated the punishment and reward system to a “good” and “bad” list overseen by Santa Claus. He’s nice, he’s happy, he’s fat and laughs a lot. If you’re bad, you get coal…not very fearsome in my book.

 Further, in our efforts to not offend anyone, we’ve further denigrated the American traditions….schools don’t have Halloween anymore, it’s a Harvest Festival (and I’m all about that, but let the kids dress up at least, jeez); this year some schools quit singing a line from Deck the Halls, because of the reference to “gay apparel”. Seriously, people? The song is an old Welsh melody dating back to the 16^th century and the lyrics are American and date back to the late 19^th century thereabouts.

I’m so tired of thin skins. I can appreciate others’ holidays, but why do I have to change mine to suit others? That’s not acceptance.

So, this year, I have decided to change up my holidays a little next year. I’m bringing Krampus back into our Germanic family. Let’s bring back the scary side of Yule.

Welcome....and quince.

Well, I suppose an introduction would be appropriate, I wouldn't want to be rude.

I'm Morrigan. Hazel eyed, raven haired, tattooed and possessed of a wandering spirit. Yes, I am part Rom.

There are many things that I enjoy, but my favorites would be travel, history, dance, genealogy and food. And single malt Scotch....in no particular order. I have two adult children though some days I am quite unsure how they made it to that status. Life is, all in all, pretty darned good; not easy, mind you, but good.

Currently, I reside in the Pacific Northwest (or PNW) of the United States, I was raised in this area and am used to fir trees, mountains, snow, drizzle and fog. I am less used to that bright thing in the sky called the Sun. Besides this great area, I've spent considerable time in the Republic of Korea, Europe mainland and the United Kingdom. I have further travels that I would love to undertake and will do so when the time is right.

I'm lucky in the fact that several of my consuming hobbies can be lumped together and I can enjoy many at once, and by that, I reference the history, travel, genealogy and food.

Which brings me to the next topic: Christmas and my oh-so-impossible mother. She's not impossible as in intolerable, she's simply impossible to select a gift for. This year, I decided to learn how to can preserves because I wanted to make my mother some quince jam for a gift.

What is quince? Why quince jam?

Well, let me address the "what". Quince, Cydonia oblonga, is related to both apples and pears and actually resembles a cross between the two. A ripe fruit is bright yellow, covered in fuzz and very aromatic with a scent vaguely like honeysuckle, apples, pears, and a summer day. They smell divine. Common in the Middle East and Asia, they spread to Europe, the UK, and both North and South America. You may still find them on old farmsteads and untended ancient orchards.

However delicious they smell, they are usually not eaten in-hand due to a very grainy texture and because they are bitter. Raw quince makes raw rhubarb seem like a treat. On a side note, there are a few varieties that are sweet enough to be eaten out-of-hand, but they are uncommon and you generally will not know until you taste it.

To make them delicious, they must be cooked, usually with sugar. Sometimes they are served as a sweet (like a jam or a paste with tangy Spanish cheese), and sometimes they are used in savory cookery. The Romans ate them, if that tells you of their antiquity. You can find more information all over the web, if you are interested in this unusual cultivar. They are in season in the fall and winter, and some stores may even have some still in the produce section. Just ask your grocer.

This brings me back to the "why". My great-grandmother had an old farmstead in Oregon when I was a small child. See, the quince is a family tradition. I could buy the jam, of course, but I found the texture of the Persian jams to be too thick and not all that tasty. I decided to make it myself, for my mother. It was a rousing success and due to the large number of quince I purchased (my trees are too small to bear fruit yet), I ended up making quince-lemon jam, quince-orange flower jam, and cranberry-quince compote. All very delicious.

In the event you wish to grow your own quince, you can obtain trees from the fabulous people at Raintree Nursery in Morton, WA.

Welcome to my random musings and wanderings of spirit.