CHRISTMAS and BUTTER of the TIGER

"See with the eyes of angels....." -Allen Ginsberg

 Christmas. Time to get ready for friends and family. Time to make Butter of the Tiger (  Tiger Butter)....have not made it in a couple of years. Time to fix the old angel again. She is from the late 40's, early 50's. My mother's angel. This year I made her a pink glittery dress. .......

 TIGER BUTTER (1990) (It’s not Christmas without it!)

 (A blend of white chocolate, peanut butter and dark and milk chocolates. I got the idea from the Purdy’s tiger butter, but we think this is a lot tastier. It is a staple of any Christmas package. I made this first on Morgan’s first Christmas , in Petawawa, Ontario.)

 1 big bag of white chocolate wafers from bulk food bins

6-8 big tablespoon plops of peanut butter ( add more to taste)

1 big bag milk chocolate wafers

4 cups ( about) of dark chocolate wafers, melted, for drizzle.

 (Line Two cookie sheets with wax paper and set aside)

 Melt white chocolate in large metal bowl, over simmering pot of water.

 While melting it slowly,  fix angel. Make dress..............

 Her original dress is stained and her big felt feet point the wrong way.I took a leftover piece of sequin pink tulle and fashioned something simple. 

 When white chocolate is  melted, add as many plops of Peanut butter as you wish. Stir to melt. Taste. Add more peanut butter if you want.

 Melt milk chocolate wafers in microwave ( 2 minutes). Stir to finish melting.

 Plop large blobs of white chocolate/peanut butter mixture all over each cookie sheet .Plop large blobs of milk chocolate in between the white chocolate.

 Take a clean knife and gently push and swirl these chocolate blobs so that they form a pattern…do not mix together. It’s kind of fun…like finger-painting.

 Take spoonfuls of dark chocolate melted wafers and drizzle over each  pan.Let set, either in fridge or in cool place. When cool,  turn over each flat of tiger butter, peel off wax paper and drizzle dark chocolate over the other side.

 Then break into pieces. Will keep in sealed baggies in a cool place…not the fridge. I keep my bags of Tiger Butter in a box in the office. 

 **You can use almond butter if you want in place of peanut butter. Not quite the same. But pretty good.

 Save Tiger Butter to give away. Or munch on it as you tie angel to the top of  white tree. Make sure she does not lean or she will fall .  Special  Old Angel. Another Christmas. Another tree. I know, for a fact, that  she can fly......

 “When angels visit us, we do not hear the rustle of wings, nor feel the feathery touch of the breast of a dove; but we know their presence by the love they create in our hearts.”
― Mary Baker Eddy, Poems by Mary Baker Eddy

 PHOTOGRAPHS 2019

That Old Angel

                              "See with the eyes of angels...." -Allen Ginsberg

 That old angel. She is very old. Almost 70 years old..Give or take a few years. She looks pretty good for her age. ...She existed way before I was born. Lived  each Christmas, to be stuffed into a box the rest of the year.

 I couldn't even walk when she sat at the top of my first tree. She smiled at me. I couldn't quite see her. But she was there.Always there.My Bear was not quite as old as her. My dad thought I needed him. I think I needed that Bear just as much. BearBear and that old Angel  competed for my attention.

 I still have that old Bear. He sits  on an ancient chair. He was there when that old Angel, in her tarnished dress, watched me.  That old Angel. My parents used to tell me that she sang when everyone went to sleep. I would lie awake listening. And fall asleep,  probably when she started to sing........I could her her songs in my dreams.

 From grandparents to parents. From age to  age  time rushed forwards.  Her satin dress saw better days. Her face still beautiful and perfect.Her white hair still snowy. Unblemished. That Old Angel .

 This is the last photo I have of my dad before he died in 1968. That Old Angel was at the top of  the tree . Her felt feet sticking out. My mother had her blonde hair done up especially for Christmas. She bought my dad a red satin robe with black trim. He was too sick to move much from his chair. I sat by his chair and held his hand. That Old Angel kept us company. I imagined her singing  to him. In the night. In the quiet. He died a couple of months later.

 Nothing much was said that Christmas of my dad's illness. My mother made it a happy one. There were dolls and toys and carols on the stereo.  I held hands with her too. That Old Angel smiled down at us. 

Then it was just the two of us. A few cats. And that old Angel on top of the tree. As I got older I was fascinated by her.I hadn't heard her sing as much. 

But I did start to wonder if  she could fly. I wondered if she HAD flown when I wasn't around to see. In the night. In the quiet.

 So in the Christmases that followed, I  would carefully climb on a chair, so I could bend the branches to get her off  the tree. Wasn't too hard. She was only tied to the branches with ribbon. Very useful Ribbon. I would use them to fling her around the room and see if she would fly. Mostly she  bopped into the walls. 

That Old Angel ;her head would fall off.  Carefully I would stuff it back on. And replace her on the tree. Hoping my mother did not catch me.

 Years went by , and I no longer tried to make her fly. Sometimes I thought I heard her sing. Her head was flopping around so much, I didn't think she could hit the high notes.  I started to see her  worn and torn. 

1974

 She had seen better days. She had seen it all, That Old Angel.

Fredericton 1994

 And in time she graced the top of our children's tree. I remember stitching a piece of thin lining over her felt feet to cover the dirty dress. Her head still wobbled and bobbled. Duct tape held it in place in the back, so no one could see.

2018

 And  as the years toddled by, I left her to her own devices. Her white yarn  head lolling over her felt body, sometimes with extra pins  holding her together. Plus the duct tape. Always feeling guilty that I had made her head  pop off. She didn't sing anymore. I doubted that she tried to fly on her own.Too risky.Some mornings, her head would be rolling about on the floor.....

St. Albert 1997

  I so wanted to see an angel fly.  I thought I had killed her chances of seeing another seventy years.She was silent now.

  But this year,  I decided she needed a fresh start. I think for years I thought if I gave her a makeover then she would not be the same Angel that my parents knew, or my grandparents knew. But how wrong I was.

White Rock 2000

  I sewed that Old Angel a brand new gold dress with wedding dress lace, polished her french horn, gave her fresh ribbons,and a new ruff and glued her head down into her body. She was always beautiful. But now she is.Once again, she is on the top of the Christmas tree. She seems pleased to be there.. She watches over us. And I believe she has started to sing again. I heard her. Late at night. When all is calm and all is bright. 
   And  I DO wonder, sometimes, if That Old Angel  secretly takes flight when no one is around...I find ribbons scattered here and there....In the night. In the quiet.

 “Why does she have wings?'So she can fly.” 
― Sarah Dessen, The Truth About Forever

Photographs 2018

Bring It On......

 It is a good day to wander through the garden. It's starting again. Every year. Bring it on........

                          

               Cordelia decides to come along. She will toddle with me, fluffing herself against the wind.

  Today there are begonias to watch over.

                                          

 And sweet peas to fawn over. My favourite. They are growing like little weeds.

 Today is a good day to stretch. Penguin has come down from above to see and be seen.
                                                   Today the Katura is thick and drooping. Only planted about 4 years ago. It's starting to get that romantic secret garden look I love so much.

                        Rain has poured from the sky, cleaning out the birdbath. And Spencer now has many pitchers to drink from. On those warm,muggy days he flops on cement.

            While Smokey yowls at the door. Wanting to see what is going on.

      The ferns have propagated themselves, profusely, wherever they can get a hold.
                                          And hot pink geraniumns are starting to sizzle. Big Giant Heads, the Moai, stare  glumly from underneath the jungle  that is my garden....

 I love this quote from Emerson: "Over the winter glaciers I see the summer glow,

And through the wide-piled snowdrift.......

                                     the warm rosebuds below."

First Rose of the season.........oh wow, here we go. Bring it on.