Dana Point 2021 Boat Parade Christmas

From Heaven

Aunt Kay's Mass

Kay's daughters asked us to wear red in celebration of her joy. 

Kay lived as a servant to God, a loving wife and mother. 

A woman who shared laughter. Red was her favorite color...

My Mother is ninety this year. 

We embarked upon the cross country trip for the funeral.

American Airlines lost her walker in the first leg. It appears there is no longer 

assistance for the disabled. With connecting flights to Harrisburg and 

forty four minutes to run in the terminal with the bag of rocks mom packed,

it's a miracle we made it.  I perfected the habit of stealing idle Delta Airlines

wheelchairs. The contract employees who work assistance in airports are called 

by walkie talkie from the gate guards. They don't care to communicate. 

(Delta abandons their wheelchairs in American terminals, yet another layer of 

how America is terminally disorganized.)

Imagine me running, pushing the wheelchair with my tiny Mom gesturing with 

arthritic deviation for the crowd to part. The noise of me carrying one bag

while two behind clatter and bang like cow bells. Suitcases swinging.

With a sweat we made the connecting flight.

The funeral mass was upbeat. Reuniting with cousins on the east coast

was the highlight. While masked you notice how eyes smile as crinkles

of monarch butterflies lifting from the corners.

The next day I took my Mom to Wildwood Park to enjoy the birds and fall leaves. 

In front of the nature center a thoughtful person planted a row of winterberry

bushes perhaps more than fifteen years ago. They sang in the sunshine while 

yellow wings floated to the ground. I'm sharing the glow of crimson with you.

Aunt Kay prays for you from heaven with this warmth. 

Winterberry is in the genus of ilex, or holly. Ruby jewels for the

scarlet tanagers delight. 

Child's Vintage Shirt Donated to Jane's Show

 

Child’s Black Cowboy Shirt

Jane Brucker Exhibit

 

This shirt was gifted to me from my children’s paternal Great Grandmother who was fondly called Noni. It is the only piece of her that we own. Lena Barbeau (Noni) was a woman with a zest for life. During summers until Noni was eighty-five, she could be found on the south side of the Santa Cruz Wharf in a string bikini.

Noni created jewels out of vegetables, decorated holidays with joy, and appreciated beauty. Noni’s Great Depression sensibility taught me not to waste the flour when creating biscotti and how to dip only the tip in white wine.

“A glass of wine with dinner, for the soul.” Noni said.

“Harry wore this, you know, my brother who was killed in a hunting accident.” She said when she found the shirt wrapped in an envelope the year before she died.

The shirt fit a toddler boy, about age three. Though Noni claimed her brother Harry once wore it, I do not think that was real. I received the gift just before she was sent to assisted living in a dark tunnel of memory.

Because the shirt had a ghostly feel, I never put it on my blonde-haired boy. I planned to frame the shirt with the embroidered red ponies and build a Western theme room like in some Presidential library. My children are seventh generation Californians, we are familiar with homespun stories of buckaroos.

We share a piece of the cowboy past of my family and the secret recipe for the “cantucci” (biscotti).

½ cup almond oil

1 cup white sugar

3 ¼ cups all purpose flour

3 eggs

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon anise seeds

1 teaspoon anise extract

1/2 teaspoon almond extract

1 teaspoon real vanilla

1 cup salted almonds

Grease for cookie sheet

Preheat oven 375 degrees

Mix dry ingredients saving aside 1 of the 3 cups of flour

Beat by hand the eggs, oil, extracts until smooth, add sugar and

beat with fork until combined, about 1 minute.

Cut the almonds with a sharp knife into 3 diagonal slices, yes cut each one.

Reserve the cup of flour and mix all the wet and dry ingredients BY HAND

Do not handle too much or knead the dough, it should be cold.

The tricky part- add half of the remaining cup of flour to get the dough to feel

sticky like playdough and dryer than toothpaste. The amount of flour depends on

humidity of your kitchen. There is a balance of not touching the

dough too much, refraining from eating raw eggs, and now sharing a glass of wine.

Use the remaining flour sprinkle your board and roll the dough into one rectangle.

About 1 inch thick

Grease a cookie sheet and move it to the cookie sheet.

Bake 25 minutes- then cool to touch.

Cut on diagonal into ½ inch slices.

Put back on cookie sheet bake one side for 6 minutes.

Remove from oven and carefully turn the cookies to other cut side and bake 5 minutes

The cookies should be golden.

Then cool and enjoy the nuts that escaped, with a dry white wine.

Much Love to Jane

Caroline Gerardo Barbeau

Raising Monarch Butterflies II

Monarch Poem: Milkweed in the garden scrubbed to the nubs. Caterpillars climb stems eating all that's green. People saving Monarchs we should be clubs. One sneaks in the house causing quite a scene. I've been raising monarch butterflies for a long time.

When I lived on the ranch I had an acre of four varieties of milkweed,

it haunts me that the new owner failed to water the plants.

Some chrysalis were hidden in my potted plants when I moved

and happily the butterflies followed me. In the video one sneaks into the house and I set her free with a paper cone.

Bouquets for your enjoyment, a painting by Nancy Friedemann-Sánchez,

and butterflies collected at a Hopi reservation.

Raising Monarch Butterflies

I've raised, hatched, and set free millions of monarch butterflies.

I planted two acres of four varieties of milkweed on the ranch.

Where are they travelling on the winds today?

What hazards, mountains and fires to surpass?

Wherever you are my children be strong and

remember days of cello music and protection.