to sprinkle softly on the memory of my friend's friend - and on the pain she leaves behind.

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we spent five blissful moments yesterday shelling peas, a.'s giggles hurtling along the crazy trajectories some of them made across the room.

i remember doing the same with my grandmother, even as the first warplanes* droned overhead in the heat of a summer morning. she took such a fright she spilled them all over the floor and i clung onto the hilarity of the image to exorcise the fear.

here: a. practicing on some beans last summer with her father.






*Cyprus, 1974

other activities during the virus-induced 'quarantine' included baking cats and moons. from darina allen's 'ballymaloe cookery course' (donated by favourite aunt)  ::


175g white flour
110g butter
50g caster sugar


preheat oven to 180c


put flour and sugar in a bowl and rub in butter as for shortcrust pastry. gather the mixture together and knead it lightly. roll out to 5mm thick. cut into shapes with cutters. arrange on silicone (or parchment) paper on a baking tray and bake until pale brown, 10-15 minutes.


cool on a rack.


[makes a tinful]

our household missed the first day of spring because it was hostage to a nasty virus, but this is what it looked like from the first floor window. if you strain your eyes a little you will see a faint mirror-image arc.


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how grateful i am for this spring that arrived by pigeon post from the north, bearing gifts. an entire island, even, all to myself!
thank you, my wonderful friend!



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after the rain: a sprinkling of diamonds.


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so many olives to pick in the garden, so little time.. .
and now it's starting to rain.


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a. has been under the weather these past few days and the toddler beast lurking inside our beautiful 3-year-old is in prickly mood. it's hard work walking on eggshells. .  .

thank you my sweet family and friends for the flowers, the calls and the confetti. shame about all the bugs and having to postpone the cake!




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some 'tie-a-wish' bracelets [made :: with silk thread, precious metals and semi-precious stones] for a local shop. i hope to build a web home for them soon.


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If only souvenirs always looked like this: a small collection of magnets presented by Studio Fludd at a design exhibition for alternative souvenirs and memorabilia dedicated to Vicenza, the white city of Palladio.

witnessing the first cold throes of spring with precious friends. a weekend in the country.

the study is in danger of being organised. or is it a workshop? i need to decide..  .

all of me was humbled last night.


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making . .   .
for a friend.



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A sweet, yeast-free 'bread' enjoyed yesterday, 'Green Monday', when Greeks everywhere mark the beginning of Lent by flying kites and eating greens in the open air.

The recipe is by Evi Voutsina, unrivalled doyenne of Greek traditional cuisine, tinkered only slightly by me. Minimum labour, maximum pleasure.

Krasata

300ml olive oil (I use half olive oil, half corn oil for a lighter version)

180ml fresh orange juice

150ml red wine

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp cinnamon

750g plain flour (I use 1/3 wholemeal)

3 tbsp sesame seeds

For the syrup:

½ kg sugar

1 ½ cups water

(I use 250g sugar : 1 cup water)

• Preheat oven to 180C.
• Mix all ingredients except sesame seeds together in a bowl to amalgamate. Press ‘dough’ down into a rectangular baking tin that has been oiled and sprinkled with sesame seeds. Even the surface out and sprinkle with more sesame seeds.
• Bake in the preheated oven for about 40-45 minutes, until a skewer comes out clean.
• When the ‘bread’ has cooled completely, boil the syrup ingredients for a few minutes until sugar has dissolved and pour over the bread. Cover with a tea towel and leave to cool. Cut into pieces.

A seaside walk at dusk yesterday in the comfortable company of good, old  friends. Little A. stretched her legs across the promenade, as large migratory birds traced improbable formations above our heads.


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Many beautiful, healthy, and joyous returns of the day, our dear little N!

(Made :: cotton/linen/tights/dowel/tea carton)

Tblisi in January through K's eyes  - and my feet have never been so warm, or so colourful. They're like an ethnic riot around the house.