Of Aztecs and didgeridoos

On Saturday, I dragged Jeff and Mum down to Salem to the World Beat Festival. I was a woman with a mission. First, I wanted some new ethnic instruments, and this festival is a great place to buy instruments. Second, I wanted a skirt and blouse that would make me feel pretty and still be comfortable. Plus, I wanted to indulge in some funky world beat music experiences.

So off we went.

The day was a little warm, but quite perfect for the occasion. The venue is the Riverfront Park, which I would love to show you in photos only I ran out of battery. Or rather, my camera did. It is gorgeous, overlooking the wide, flowing Willamette River, which is spanned by several bridges and flanked with trees. I spent some time ogling various offerings from the many vendors. Bamboo outdoor screens and furniture, tatami purses, flowing clothes from India and Africa, garden art and indoor art and instruments galore! I bought four little maracas from Peru and a drumhead from Africa. 

Then Jeff said No More Shopping. 

What would you like to do? I said sweetly. Listen to music?

Listening to music it was. 

First off, the Aztec Dancers.

My goodness, their costumes were astounding, their head dresses extreme.

Downright studly, if you ask me.

Then we entered the tent where the Zimbabwe Music Workshop was being held.

I have a fondness for music from Zimbabwe.

Marimba bands, don'tcha know?

Plus, I love typing "Zimbabwe".

The great Musekiwa Chingodza, straight from Zimbabwe, accompanied by Bud Cohen, played their mbiras and taught us a couple of "call and response" songs. I had a blast, passing out my newly acquired instruments so that we could jam as well as sing. We sang and sang and played and played, until Jeff had had enough and left to get some lunch. Mum would have left too, but her favourite daughter was still jammin' so she stayed till the bitter end. 

I will spare you from the video.

Just know that it exists.

Those big round things are resonators for the mbiras.

Next, to the Asian stage, where these gorgeous young things were getting ready to dance. Mum and Jeff were very taken with them...

...and I must admit that I liked the dancing more than I expected.

It is very precise and visually appealing.

I set off to find the didgeridoo.

But I kept bumping into these two.
Yes, those are drawn (tattooed?) stocking lines on the back of her very white legs.

Then I found him.

Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Jake Duncan, Didgeridoo artist extraordinaire.

He was sitting on the grass under a tent, surrounded by four enormous didgeridoos. I was blown away by his playing, I had no idea that the instrument was so versatile. Didge players use circular breathing and can sustain continuous playing for some time. Wikipedia has an entertaining and informative article on the instrument, if you're curious. I sat in the shade and listened to him until he took a break, then I ran off to the next arena to find Hubby and Mum. You've got to hear this, I told them, so they trotted along after me. 

Sadly, he ran out of time and didn't play again.

Happily, I had thought to buy a CD before they disappeared.

Jeff was getting grumpy.

Mum was tired and hungry.

I wanted to stay till it closed....at eleven.

Grumpy and Tired won the day, so we went home.

I made them listen to the didgeridoo all the way home.

And I told them that next year I'm going with my friends.

What about the outfit, you ask?

Success is measured in very small doses around here!
Wanna come next year?

Moving on

Elder O. left yesterday. He's been in our town for six months and we (I) got very attached to him. He loves my cooking. Therefore, I love him. Every time he saw me at church he would ask, When are we coming to your house for dinner again? And then he would eat everything in sight. The missionaries came over for dinner a lot. We had them over the day after Father's Day because no one else had signed up to feed them. I told them no one else wanted them. We had leftovers: pulled pork on homemade hoagie rolls. Goodbye leftovers. More to come on that topic, but enough of food already.

Elder O. is friendly and sweet-natured and smart and funny and kind to his companions even when they're slightly weird. So I will miss him. 

Darn that obedience thing! 

You know, the "I'll go where you want me to go" thing.

For you non-LDS readers, that's an inside joke.

Sorry.

I'm thinking about writing his Mom and asking if I can have him.

Think she'll go for it?

Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together?  I guess that wouldn't work.  Someone would leave.  Someone always leaves.  Then we would have to say good-bye.  I hate good-byes.  I know what I need.  I need more hellos.  ~Charles M. Schulz

Promise me you'll never forget me because if I thought you would I'd never leave.  ~A.A. Milne

Walking Tall

I love this song. I happened to download it from somewhere and noticed as I was running the other day that it fits my cadence perfectly and encourages me to lengthen my stride.  The words are pretty inspiring too.
I was talking about Ziggy Marley a while ago and Bethany said, We saw him in concert at the zoo, remember Mom?
Well, I didn't until she said it. But then it all came back. That summer of zoo concerts with our friends the Kellys. Lugging the coolers and blankets in from the car. Sitting on the zoo lawn on the damp grass in the oppressive heat, watching the raptor show and laying claim to our spot. Then, later on, listening to almost-famous bands as the sun went down behind the Africafe. Watching all the weird Portlanders dancing to the music. Women with unshaven legs stand out prominently in those memories, for some reason. Not that I am obsessive about shaving my legs, mind you! Then fighting the crowds in the parking lot and driving home with a car full of tired but happy kids. 
Those were the days.

Walk tall, walk tall
Even if you fall get up
Stand tall, stand tall
Even if you fall get up

Life is a lesson that we must learn
If you play with fire you might get burned
If you worry too much you gonna get stressed
So brush off the dust and lift up your chest

Everyone creeps before they walk
Everyone cries before they talk
There comes a time you gotta be strong
So pick up your feet and sing this song

Don’t you worry ’bout how it looks
Not everything was written in a book
Some things you learn as you go
But here’s one thing you already know

Nothing is ever gonna keep me down
I jump over hurdles I’ll come around
And if at first I don’t succeed
I’m gonna try it again till I get what I need

A trifling matter

If you're English (which I secretly am, in my heart-of-adopted-American-hearts), it's mandatory that you have the ability to make a mean trifle. And as I have matured, my definition of trifle has expanded waaaay beyond my Mum's fruit-in-jelly-topped-with-custard-and-maybe-whipped-cream. "Maybe", because as a child I hated whipped cream, can you believe it? So, with our overabundance of strawberries, exacerbated by my gleaning another twenty pounds on Friday morning, visions of strawberry trifle were dancing in my head.

First on the list was a cake. Angel-food cake usually fits the bill, if I can find one on the clearance rack or for a stupidly low sale price. Otherwise, a nice pound cake or buttermilk cake will do. 
Only, I'm almost out of unbleached flour.

No bleached flour in my kitchen.

I mean to say, who in their right mind wants to use flour that has the word "bleached" in the title?

It's just not right.

So, I perused my collection of cake mixes and found just the thing:

A Duncan Hines orange cake mix.

On the side was a gussied-up recipe, which turned out to be quite delicious.

Orange Pound Cake

1 package orange cake mix

1 package (3.4oz) instant pudding

(I used banana cream and it proved to be a fortuitous choice)

4 large eggs

1 c sour cream

1/3c oil

Mix all together. I added about 1/4c of water because it seemed to be a little stiff. Grease and flour a bundt pan (I used the Pam with flour included, it never fails me) and fill with cake batter. 

Bake at 350 F. I think it was about 45 minutes but might have been an hour. Just keep an eye on it and take it out when it's done, for goodness sake!
Ta-dah!

For this kind of trifle, I like to use a 9x13" pan, although you can layer it in a nice big glass bowl too, it's just a bit more work. 

First, cover the bottom of the pan with chunks of cake. I used half of the cake for this pan.

Then cover the cake with a generous layer of sliced strawberries.

Cover the berries with cooked vanilla pudding (you'll want two packages for a nice layer of pudding). Or, if you're English, custard.

Then (getting the idea?) slather the top with whipped cream.

None of that Cool Whip, mind you. 
That would be blasphemous.

We want no blasphemy in our trifle.

I made a second trifle on Sunday.

But I was out of whipping cream.

And the custard was lumpy.

We ate it anyway.

It was its own kind of delectable.

More Hot Cocoa...

...and I ain't talking about the delicious beverage.

I glanced out of the back window this afternoon and noticed how delightfully the sun was shining through the rose petals.

Here it is, in all its glory.

Seeing red

One must ask children and birds how cherries and strawberries taste. Goethe.

It seems that summer is finally here. Our spring has been so damp that almost all my rose bushes are covered in blackspot. That, and I've been to lazy to go out and spray them. At this point, it seems easier to just let them have their first flowering and then cut them back before I spray. This particular rose bush, Hot Cocoa, is my favourite this year because it is almost completely free of disease. It had aphids early on but I just gave it a hard spray of water with the hose and it has been fine ever since.

This photo (not mine) shows the colour more perfectly. It has a very unusual shading of midnight on the outside petals, its smell is divine, and the cut flowers last for days.
The perfect rose. 

I'm going to try to propagate some of my roses this year. It's a fairly simple process with a statistically reasonable success rate. Some of my grafted bushes are getting old and would be much better as rooted bushes. Did you know that rooted roses (also known as heirloom roses) can live to be 100 years old? I like the idea of my roses outlasting me.

My strawberries are performing abysmally and are just asking to be torn out, so I went picking with Bethany on Wednesday morning. Here are the kids, all raring to go.

Josh and Natalie ate many berries, evidenced by the state of their faces, hands, and clothes. Josh refused to let me photograph his red hands, for some reason. He looks armless.

Kenzie picked about 10 lbs of berries and Daniel was very helpful running buckets of berries around. I picked about 20 pounds and then went out gleaning this morning and picked another twenty. I think we're all set for strawberries this year.

Doubtless God could have made a better berry than the strawberry, but doubtless God never did.  William Allen Butler.

One batch of freezer jam.

I foresee a strawberry trifle in my near future.

My raspberries are in full gear. These kids cannot get enough of summer fruit. They love to go out to the veggie garden and eat them straight from the vines.

Oh yes.

Not a single cherry from the tree this year.

 It, too, is asking to go the way of the mimosa. 

Sunday flowers and more

Kenzie left me some honeysuckle and a love note on Thursday.

Jeff could take a few pointers from his grand daughter.

Julie's flowers were lovely today.

I could hardly tell they were fake!

Everyone came over for Father's Day.
This is Jon on day shift.
The great entertainer.
Too bad he goes back onto night shift this week.