Widow's Endorphins: Just Add Flower

Widow's Endorphins: Just Add Flower: There is something about baking that always used to calm and rejuvenate me.  I've been thumbing through cookbooks looking for ins...

Just Add Flower

There is something about baking that always used to calm and rejuvenate me.  I've been thumbing through cookbooks looking for inspiration.  This antique cookbook, The New Galt Cookbook belonged to my Grandmother.  It was published in Toronto, Canada in 1898, and may have belonged to my Great Grandmother before her.  It's a "revised edition entirely re-set".  The "old" Galt Cookbook must be ancient.

I love reading the old recipes, printed on time-worn, sepia tone pages.  The cookbook was published long before recipes were presented as a list of ingredients, followed by instructions.  These recipes are written in descriptive paragraphs. Custard Cream.  Boil half a pint of cream with a piece of lemon peel, a stick of cinnamon and eight lumps of white sugar, beat the yolks of four eggs, then mix the eggs and cream very gradually together, simmer it gently on the fire, stirring it until it thickens, but remove it the minute it begins to boil.  That's it.  Besides the quaint reference to "lumps of white sugar", and simmering the cream "gently on the fire", there are measurements such as "cupfuls", "tumblers", "pecks", and "a piece of butter the size of an egg".  There are no oven temperatures, only instructions to bake in a "not too cool oven", or a "moderate oven".  Ovens with temperature gauges had not yet been invented.

I once Googled my own name, to discover that Ruth Adams (no relation) was the first female inventor to be granted a patent in Canada.  In 1855, before Canada was even a country, she invented and was granted a patent under British law for her Reverse Cooking Stove.  Reverse?  Did the Pineapple Upside Down Cake soon follow?

I haven't felt like baking for several months.  My heart just isn't in it.  I open the pantry cupboard, and just stare at the enormous glass jar of organic flour.  I open the fridge and stare at the eggs, as if one of them might hatch open before my eyes.

My recipe for pain and stress relief?  Just add flower!  Flowers and floral photography, are my endorphins - natural pain and stress relievers.  The whole creative process, from concept through to computer is pure bliss.

As I wandered about, gathering props for the photo shoot on lilacs, their intoxicating perfume filled my home with a fragrance as wonderful as fresh baked bread!  I could have photographed for hours, but the lilacs were wilting without water (as a budding floral photographer, I have so much to learn).  The lilacs lasted two days.   Their portraits, preserved on acid-free archival paper, will last at least as long as that old cookbook.

May these sun dappled and sun drenched lilacs brighten your day!

Photographs copyright of Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated
The New Galt Cookbook, by Margaret Taylor and Frances McNaught.
Published by George J. McLeod Limited, Toronto 1898.

Widow's Endorphins: Victoria Day

Widow's Endorphins: Victoria Day: Known as the "Widow of Windsor", Queen Victoria - the longest reigning British monarch - was also the longest mourning. Barely i...

Victoria Day

Known as the "Widow of Windsor", Queen Victoria - the longest reigning British monarch - was also the longest mourning. Barely in her 40's when her beloved Prince Albert died, she went into a deep depression and seclusion.  She wore mourning black every day, until her own death, at the age of 81. 

Most widows will appreciate the magnitude of the loss of a husband, if not the extreme of her depression and solitude.  The Prince was her husband, lover, best friend, confidante, and adviser. Even though they had nine children, when he died, she felt so alone in the world.  "They cannot understand what I have lost", she would say. 

  

This is the iconic image of Queen Victoria which we all recognize.  As a child, her picture frightened me.  As an adult, I see the weariness in her face.  There's an ever present sadness in all of the photographs taken of the Queen in the forty years after Albert's death.  She wasn't always this way.

This too, is Victoria!  In the days before "Boudoir Photography", the young newlywed had Franz Winterhalter paint her portrait as a birthday gift to her husband.  The 1843 painting was kept in Albert's bedroom.  Called "the secret picture", it is part of the Royal Trust Collection, and was publicly displayed for the first time in 2009.  Victoria had a secret, long before Victoria's Secret!

Queen Victoria was the first woman to have a wedding photograph taken.  Her elaborate wedding gown of lace, and flowers is in such contrast to her dour, black robes.  The bride does not look like a 20 year old...because she is not.  These photographs by Roger Fenton, taken in 1854, are a re-creation of Victoria and Albert's wedding 14 years before, in 1840. Soon, all high society newlyweds wanted their wedding picture taken, and the tradition was born.

When it came to Christmas, Queen Victoria was the Martha Stewart of her day.  Her lively family celebration of Christmas, with it's fresh evergreen tree, ornaments, holly and ivy is the inspiration behind our modern day Christmas traditions.

Then, it all changed.  Albert died of Typhoid Fever, at the age of 42.  The Queen was never the same again.  

She wrote to her daughter, also named Victoria, "How I, who leant on him for all and everything - without whom I did nothing, moved not a finger, arranged not a print or photograph, didn't put on a gown or bonnet if he didn't approve it, shall go on, to live, to move, to help myself in difficult moments?"

I hear myself, and many of my widowed friends in her words.  We're all strong, capable women.  Yet, we worry about how we will carry on.  The fear and anxiety, compound the grief.     

Albert died in the Blue Room at Windsor Castle.  Queen Victoria kept everything exactly as it was. This is not unusual behaviour for a widow.  Victoria took it further.  Fresh flowers were brought to the room every day, along with hot water for shaving.  Every night, she had a clean night shirt ready for him.  It was as if she was creating the space for him to return to her. 

She longed to hear his voice again.  Today, widows may have a video tape, or voice recording from the answering machine to play over and over.  Queen Victoria had none of these things.

She wrote one of her daughters saying that she wanted to die, to join what was the sunshine of her existence, the light of her life.  She held seances in an attempt to communicate with Albert.  Her family and friends thought she was obsessive, and possibly mad.  When Benjamin Disraeli was on his deathbed, and was asked if he'd like a visit from the Queen, he said, "No, it is better not, she would only ask me to take a message to Albert".

A doctor prescribed "pony therapy" for the Queen, and Scotsman, John Brown brought the Queen's horse, Lochnagar for her to ride.  During seances which he attended, it's believed the Queen thought Brown was channeling Albert.  What is clear, is that like Albert, John Brown was strong and protective, always spoke his mind, and wouldn't take any nonsense from the Queen, whom he addressed as, "Woman".  She was no doubt amused, because they became very close, and newspapers of the day began calling her "Mrs. Brown". 

It's Victoria Day in Canada, and we are celebrating the monarch's birthday* with a long weekend of BBQ's, picnics, fishing trips, and fireworks. Canada is the only country in the Commonwealth, indeed the world, which celebrates Victoria Day. Even the Brits don't celebrate her birthday. 

*  I've always wanted to use an asterisk, just like Garrison Keillor in his book, Lake Wobegon Days!  As for Queen Victoria's birthday, it is actually the 24th of May.  Back in the 1950's the Canadian government declared that the birthday would be celebrated on the Monday before the 24th of May, which is why we are celebrating today, May 18th.  Canadians often refer to this "May 24th" long weekend, as Two-Four, another name for a pack of 24 bottles of beer.  The Queen says, she is not amused!  

  

First and last photographs, White Peonies in a Wicker Basket, and White Peonies on White
Copyright Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Incorporated.

Widow's Endorphins: Paris Peonies

Widow's Endorphins: Paris Peonies: Parisians love flowers.  Small, outdoor flower markets bloom throughout the city.  Parisians pick up fresh flowers on the way to and from w...

Paris Peonies

Parisians love flowers.  Small, outdoor flower markets bloom throughout the city.  Parisians pick up fresh flowers on the way to and from work, or on their way to meet a friend.  Guests arrive for dinner with beautiful bouquets for their hosts. Flowers are not a luxury, they are part of what enriches the everyday lives of the souls of Paris.

Perhaps the most beautiful, and fragrant of all of the flowers found in the Paris markets, is the peony. Peonies growing wild in their native Asian, Southern European or Western North American soil, or in your own garden, will live for up to one hundred years.  Once cut, and placed in a vase, the blossoms will last for only ten days.

A photograph of a peony will also last more than one hundred years!  They photograph beautifully, their layers of ruffled petals capturing light, and casting shadows.  All flowers have a personality, and peonies are complex:  romantic in soft light, dramatic in full sun.

This weekend, I returned from the Toronto Flower Market with two stems of white peonies, and Paris on my mind.

Peonies from Quince Flowers, Toronto
Paris tea towel from The Paper Boy, Toronto

Photos copyright of Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Inc.

Widow's Endorphins: Queen for a Day!

Widow's Endorphins: Queen for a Day!: To all the mothers, grandmothers, stepmothers, adoptive and foster mothers (have I left anyone out?) may you be "Queen for a Day&qu...

Queen for a Day!

To all the mothers, grandmothers, stepmothers, adoptive and foster mothers (have I left anyone out?) may you be "Queen for a Day" on this, your special day!  

These Peonies were purchased from Quince Flowers, one of the wonderful vendors at the Toronto Flower Market, a once a month Summer market for cut flowers.

Photo copyright:  Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Inc.

Widow's Endorphins: Mum's Apple Pie, A Mothers' Day Story

Widow's Endorphins: Mum's Apple Pie, A Mothers' Day Story: We were in a courtyard cafe in the old French town of Chablis, when Mum uttered the words that shocked my youngest sister and me.  We ha...

Mum's Apple Pie, A Mothers' Day Story

We were in a courtyard cafe in the old French town of Chablis, when Mum uttered the words that shocked my youngest sister and me.  We had traveled from Vancouver to Paris, where my sister was living, then driven through the French countryside to the Burgundy region, and turned Eastwards to regions famous for Chardonnay grapes and Chablis wine.

Now, having journeyed half way around the world, and survived a car accident en route, we tripped along narrow cobblestone streets in the late afternoon sun, and discovered a quaint, hidden outdoor cafe.  An enormous Sheepdog lay sprawled in the open doorway of the cafe, leading to the kitchen. Our waitress had to step over the panting dog, to reach our table.

Mum quickly read through the French menu, and requested, "Tarte aux Pommes".  "Mum!" I said, starting to laugh, "Why would you order apple pie, when you can have that at home?"  "I like apple pie" was her simple, honest reply.  Like apple pie?  She loved apple pie!

Mum, at nearly 91 years of age, is still very much alive.  I use the past tense, in saying she loved apple pie, because after a paralyzing stroke more than 30 years ago, she has been on a feeding tube for the past 18 years.  The eldest of ten children, she learned to cook and bake at an early age, and went on to work as a Chef's Assistant in a Northern Quebec mining camp, where she met my Dad. I'm not sure if it was love at first sight, or love at first bite.  Mum made everything from scratch - her own cakes, and pastry, her own marmalade, jams and jellies, her own peach and pear preserves, her own pickles, her own mustard and mayonnaise.  In later years, she even ground her own wheat, to make flour for her weekly bread.

Apple Pie, Apple Crumble, Apple Crisp, Apple Sauce - made from apples grown in our backyard, or the next door neighbour's backyard - these, she served at many a family meal.  I have wonderful memories of the four of us kids, coming home in the dark of Winter, from after school swimming lessons, and being enveloped by the cinnamon and brown sugar fragrance of Apple Brown Betty, fresh out of the oven.

When the waitress - nearly stumbling over the sprawling Sheepdog - brought our selections to the table, Mum's Tarte aux Pommes was a huge disappointment.  It was burned on the bottom!  Black. Mum had it sent back to Chef.  As the waitress stepped over the lazy dog, and made her way into the kitchen, we heard the echos of something clip-clopping on the cobblestones.  We turned toward the kitchen doorway to see a goat, coming out of the kitchen!

It was decades before I could bring myself to sip Chablis.  Over the years, whenever someone is being snobby about French cuisine, I think of that shaggy, panting Sheepdog, and the Billy Goat just a hair away from the kitchen stove.  Mum always had the quiet pride of knowing that her homemade apple pie was superior to the one prepared for her in France, by a real French chef.

Happy Mothers' Day, Mum!

Photos copyright Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Inc.

Widow's Endorphins: It's Blossom Time!

Widow's Endorphins: It's Blossom Time!: Have I mentioned that, Toronto - in fact, most of Canada, East of the Rocky Mountains - has endured the coldest, longest Winter on recor...

It's Blossom Time!

Have I mentioned that, Toronto - in fact, most of Canada, East of the Rocky Mountains - has endured the coldest, longest Winter on record?  Since February, we have gazed longingly at Facebook photos of Vancouver's famed cherry blossoms, wondering when our time will come.  We are late bloomers.

With this week's warmer weather, Toronto's High Park cherry blossoms are making their spectacular debut.  Everyone and their camera is in the park, capturing the blossoms at their peak.  By next week, the petals will fall like snowflakes.

Knowing that time is precious, and that nothing lasts forever, we make a pilgrimage to the park, to capture the short life of the cherry blossom.  Mothers with iPods in one hand, and a toddler in the other, point upwards into the tree branches. Sisters pass their ice cream cones to one another to hold, while they focus their camera lenses on a cluster of blossoms, backlit by the sun.  Groups of beautifully dressed Japanese women take turns posing in front of billowing boughs. Students hold Macbooks high above their heads.  There are photographers with tripods and white umbrellas, taking photographs of fashion models, while nearby, families enjoy a quiet picnic lunch together.  The shared experience of everyone being "in the moment", celebrating the natural beauty around them, is good for the soul.

Photos copyright Ruth Adams, Widow's Endorphins Photographic Images Inc.