ritual

I guess this is the closest to the tundra swans that I am going to get: a pink swan in an old 1950s advertisement for dish soap. I found this pink swan nose-to-nose with this woman who looks like she dresses up to do the dishes! in my garage...
inside this old newspaper supplement: November 1959 Port Arthur News-Chronicle Weekend Magazine. I went into the garage yesterday to pack away the winter skates my son left outside in the rain, and then I began poking around to look for an old chair to paint for the Midsummer Garden. Yesterday morning was rainy with strong winds; too miserable to go out to the lakeshore with my binoculars. By the time I get out to the mouth of the Kaministiquia to search for the tundra swans, they may well be on their way north...

hopefully they don't fly anywhere near the toxic sludge tailing "ponds" of the Alberta Oilsands, which, as 500 mallard ducks found out recently, are death traps. Just one of the tailing "ponds" (talk about a euphemism!) is 14 acres in size and growing every day. Confronted with the mind-boggling destruction we are capable of, I remind myself that all that is good, hopeful, and beautiful in the world exists simultaneously with all that is bad, sad, and evil.

What is it about the shape of a star that blesses the soul? Ritual is one of the ways I overcome being overwhelmed by circumstances. The ritual of walking, the ritual of yoga, the ritual of poetry, the ritual of... cake. To me, making cake is a ritual. Here is the Taytekakku I made for Friday night. My friend, Mina, invited women friends over because her mother has come from Iran to visit her. I brought my "famous cake" --that's what my friends call it, but to me, it's just an ordinary Finnish-style sugar cake that all Finnish women know how to make. I just make mine very big because I am married to an Arab and that means we socialize with large groups. My husband's habit is: when in doubt, invite more people. And like all good Finnish women and all good Arabs--err on the side of generosity. Each time I make this cake, it is different. Friday I dressed it with starfruit and strawberries and filled it with cherries and whipped cream. Summertime, I lavish this cake with the handfuls of colourful fruits and decorate it with flowers: small delicate jemima-jump-ups, blue star borage flowers, rose petals....

For appetizers, Mina set out a plate of man wa salwa that her mother brought with her from Iran. I was thrilled as I haven't had any man wa salwa since 25 + years ago when I lived in Montreal. When our Iraqi friends would return from Baghdad they would always bring us boxes of this dreamy sweet. It comes in a box buried in white dusty powder. Man wa salwa looks like little pillows stuffed with pistachios, and tastes like nougat but softer. Its flavour is delectable. Mina's mother brought her box from Isfahan, where it is a specialty of their city. But it is not called man wa salwa in Isfahan as that is its Arabic name, in Farsi it is gaz.

Her mother also brought this Persian carpet with her. Imagine, a woman, traveling alone, coming to Canada for the first time, traveling overseas for the first time, who doesn't know any English, and yet she brought with her this living room sized carpet! The determination of mothers is amazing!

Did I mention it was a potluck? One of the women brought this apricot strewn pot of Algerian style rice. You can see the edge of the saffron rice in the corner, made with the saffron that Mina's mom brought with her from Iran. Does any women ever return from Iran without saffron in her bag? I have been blessed with Fataneh's mother's saffron with its unmistakable scent and colour....

Last night I went out to South Gillies to see a play by the Mile High Melodrama Theatre Group. It was held in a small community hall in the countryside. By the time the play was over, the sky was filled with stars. There are no street lights out in the bush, so it was dark. This morning, I went out for my walk with Musti and Tassu and spied this merganser making this wonderful path in the lake, which gives the illusion of a raised ridge. I also saw a lone loon paddling in the bay by the Wilson St. headland. The loon suddenly gave out its unmistakable haunting call. It's a sound that travels, cutting the air, calling to you to listen. I also saw a brown-headed cowbird and 2 wrens in a tree, a huge flock of dark ducks land deep out in the bay, and when I got home, a white throated sparrow.

I also saw this ordinary patch of dandelions. Now, if you saw this patch in the summer you would be ready to tear your hair out because of the invasiveness of this weed, yet at this still snowy spring of cold strong winds, the dandelion shouted out with joy!