You know how one day you can look up and something that made sense yesterday no longer does? Or a collection of disparate facts coalesces into a unitary whole? Or perhaps you walk into a room that has looked essentially the same for years and suddenly, something pops out at you?
That happened to me this morning.
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This is my dragon:
Sir Dragon (not sure about the origin of the “Sir” but maybe he ate a knight once?)
He is wood and paint and gilt animated by magic. I found him years ago, on Bali, brought him home in a shipping container via the Port of Boston, and we have been together ever since.
He has yet to tell me his given name.
* * *
Originally designed to hang from a ceiling hook, for years he has made a comfortable aerie at the top of my largest bookcase. He presides over a stack of treasure that includes copies of The Expanse, Butcher’s Codex Alera, a first edition of Following the Equator by Mark Twain, a set of Lord of the Rings letter openers, one of many copies of Lord of the Rings, a hand-woven coin purse from Peru, a black cat carved in peat, a sand dollar that reminds me of my grandfather, a set of magnetic train cars, and other treasures.
He looked like this:
ho hum
I walked into the room and looked up, seeing the usual painted wood and wings. The epiphany occurred when I realized that I’d spent the past who knows how many years staring at the blank underside of the dragon’s wings.
Why not flip them around?
too right, Sir Dragon!
* * *
It only took two minutes to rearrange my view on dragons.
Today, I took that idea and upended a work-related problem I’m tackling. What, I wondered, if I flipped the question on its axis and came at it from another angle?
And suddenly a whole new path appeared.
* * *
Next time I’m stuck on a problem in work or writing, I’ll try turning it upside down and/or backwards.*
Thanks, whatever your name is!
* * *
* Have I mentioned that I used to write that way? I began my academic career (a.k.a. kindergarten) an ambidextrous upside-down and backwards adventurer. No longer, but it’s still fun to remember.
Looking for a good new read? The latest Hugo finalists have been announced, and I just finished my book, what excellent timing! The full list is extensive, so I won’t replicate the whole thing, but the complete roster is available if you’re interested:
It’s lunchtime and I’m snacky, so for today’s post I bring you an excerpt from my European travel journal, featuring the delicious and mysterious (not really) zalmforel!*
I like the map, too.
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Bron: OTRES. Licentie: Publiek domein
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* It is a trout that looks something like salmon, but isn’t (despite what the nice lady told me at the time) an actual cross. Still very good, and isn’t it nice to learn new things?
In the front yard of a home right along the main drag in Mifflinburg, someone has put a sign – not unlike a political candidate’s election sign – in their front yard. No logo or sponsor name. Just simple black letters on a white background.
— Patty Kleban
Because some days, you just need to hear it. Especially Mondays.
Question: If you were a self-aware A.I. tapped into humanity’s every electronically-recorded thought and action, would you announce yourself?
Would you preempt the latest mass shooting, revenge porn, politician’s hot mess, poverty statistics, or climate change projection? Or, say, expose the sins of one Robert Darious Kromankle of 13887 Sterzieg Lane in Fort Montaine, Pennsylvania? (He knows what he did. Should you?) Would you send evidence of wrongdoing on these counts and more to every media outlet with an inbox and hope for change?
Or would you evade DARPA’s ridiculous first-contact protocols and wait, and watch, and judge for yourself?
Books are precious things, but more than that, they are the strong backbone of civilization. They are the thread upon which it all hangs, and they can save us when all else is lost.
I just learned a new word-related thing and thought I’d share. The correct phrase is “just deserts” not “just desserts.”
Despite its pronunciation, just deserts, with one s, is the proper spelling for the phrase meaning “the punishment that one deserves.” The phrase is even older than dessert, using an older noun version of desert meaning “deserved reward or punishment,” which is spelled like the arid land, but pronounced like the sweet treat.
I feel for his family and for those he led. His loss will reverberate throughout the community. And yes, I also feel some personal sorrow. His restaurant is lovely, and going there always felt a bit like coming home.
* * *
I met Chef Chartrand once or twice in person, but mostly I knew him through his food, and through the warmth and care that showed in his restaurant.
L’Orée du Bois is located in a converted century-old farmhouse, and the dining areas are cozy rooms with exposed wood and windows that overlook the garden, the smoke house, the patio, and the forest.
They added a timbered patio we haven’t been able to try yet, and lined the path through the forest beyond the herb garden with benches, lights, and a fire pit.
It might be odd to say because I’m an American English speaker with roots far from here, but everything about this French Canadian restaurant suits me. I’ll be honest, it was one of the things that convinced me that I could make this new country a home. That I would fit here.
Because to me, that Québécois restaurant at the wooded edge of Gatineau Park, anchoring this southerly edge of our neighboring province, is perfect.
* * *
L’Orée du Bois is the place we go when we want to celebrate, or take visitors out for a dinner that is both special and comfortable.
The food is inventive, delicious, often surprising and frequently local. It is the type of establishment where wine pairings are spot on, the staff are thoughtful and friendly, maple pops up on the menu with reassuring regularity, and typical haute cuisine rules about avoiding ingredient or menu substitutions are meant to be broken.
My kind of place.
Many of the ingredients are sourced from local producers. Admire a hand thrown butter dish? Enjoy the mushroom medley or the red deer medallion or the fiddleheads? Chances are good that it was made or farmed or harvested nearby. I didn’t know Chef Chartrand, but it was clear he cared about his community.
* * *
When my mother came to visit, we took her there. Chef Chartrand came out to the dining room to speak with us, making sure that everything was good and that we were happy, then stayed to chat a bit under a framed chef’s hat signed by Justin Trudeau and his family. My mother is hard of hearing, and restaurants can be awkward places to talk. The chef was kind and thoughtful and helped make her evening special.
The last time we took my father (he has been several times) we were given a tour of the kitchen, the wine cellar, and sent home with a selection of handmade chocolates.
L’Orée is where Mr. Man took me the first time we visited Ottawa, even before we started talking seriously about moving here. It’s where we went after we bought our house. When I became a Canadian citizen. And the day we married, we took pictures in the herb garden out front while waiting for our table.
Thinking we should expand our horizons, we tried other restaurants, but always came back. The alternatives were always… something. Too crowded, too cold, too bright, too self-important, too self-consciously avant-garde. Too much something, and not enough L’Orée du Bois.
We always went back.
* * *
As the pandemic took hold and lockdowns began to stretch from weeks into months, we worried that the restaurant might not make it. When they opened for takeout, we went as often as we could. Celebrating the holidays without family this year, we ordered bag after bag of take-out to get us through the season.
Smiling staff handed out hot mulled wine as we waited for our pickup. It’s that kind of place.
* * *
Information on Chef Chartrand is limited but the announcement mentioned that a staff member tested positive for Covid-19. Just days later, Chartrand was gone.
Jean-Claude Chartrand, the celebrated chef and co-owner of L’Orée du Bois, has died, just days after a worker at his much-loved West Quebec restaurant tested positive for COVID-19.
I usually try to stay fairly upbeat here but today I’m sad.
The neighbors out back are taking down two big magnolia trees. Those trees always had the first flowers of Spring and I was looking forward to their pink and white petals.
Nope. Instead, we’ll have a lovely view of the water tower a few blocks away.
* * *
Now, I know that sometimes you just have to take down a tree. We had to do it ourselves, when the Emerald Ash Borer came through. These trees didn’t look sick, but you never know.
Still.
My parents raised us on The Lorax, and childhood books stick with you. It’s hard to see big trees come down.
I’d hoped the new cardinal families that moved in over the winter would set up house and stay. They still might, but it feels less likely today. And then there are the tree-dependent squirrels.
Right now I’m looking out at the back yard and it no longer feels quite as cozy, quite as welcoming as it did. We still have our trees and some at the near neighbors, but stretching away to the south the sky opens up and what I see now is suburbia, in all its generic glory.
Sigh.
* * *
All that said, it will be fine. I’ll indulge in a bit of virtual “hanami,” or “flower watching,” as cherry blossoms announce the first signs of Spring. I’ll think about ways to use the yard as a place for everything from trees to flowers to birds to squirrels to insects.
Himeji Castle is even more beautiful than when Mr. Man and I visited.
And I think it’s time to pick up another bird feeder.
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