Spaghettini with Stir-fry
one cup spaghettini
3 tbls olive oil
3 tbls soy sauce
half an onion, cut in strips
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup shredded coleslaw and carrot mix
half a red pepper, cut in strips
s+p
sriracha sauce
grated cheese
While pasta is cooking, heat oil in frying pan. Add onion and garlic, stirring well.
Add slaw mix - cook five mins
Add pepper strips
stir - add s+p, soy sauce, and a long squirt of sriracha sauce - stir all
Drain pasta - add to frying pan - stir well
Serve on an enamel plate with hefty gratings of whatever cheese on hand.
*
It's quite early, but I get the supper fire going.
My day's artwork has drained me, used all of me. I am feeling like a washed out dishrag.
But a happy one.
I am planning on an early (even earlier than usual) night, as I have complex plans for tomorrow, pilgrimage plans, plans which will need all of my strength.
Re-bundling the large canvas in its tarp, and bungeying it up tightly, I put it back in its storage place amongst the young straight birch trees.
When the fire is well and truly going, I prep a double batch of my pasta recipe, one of my favourite tripping meals. Throughout the various cutting, chopping and slivering, I have a cup of vino.
Once eaten, I stuff the leftovers in two halves of a pita, enclosing them in a ziplock bag.
Tomorrow's supper.
I keep a good fire going, having another cup of wine.
It is tasting spectacularly good, a satisfyingly numb sensation coming over me.
A numbness I am craving.
I will pack what I need in the morning, and plan to be on the water by nine.
*
October 1967
I spend the Thanksgiving weekend with Ginny's family.
Most of the time, Ginny and I were on our own, free to talk, reminisce, think of summer and camp and canoeing on Trinity Lake. At the foot of their long back garden lay Lake St Clair, and on the grassy edge, a 16' Langford cedar strip canoe.
We paddled several times out into the lake on the glass-like water, I in the bow, turning to face Ginny for long conversations.
At meal times, though, I got a chance to see the reclusive brother. He seemed to live in the basement, spending most of his time on his own, playing records.
Ginny had given me a tour of the house, including his lair. She seemed to get on well with him, to understand him, poking innocent fun, getting him to smile. I think he was shy, and probably at, what my mother liked to call, "that awkward age".
He had a large bedroom/den all to himself, there being another family room upstairs. When we were touring his space, Evelyn called down to Ginny that she had a phone call, and left me,
terrifyingly, alone with the brother.
What's your name again, Beck-something?
Becquet. Diana Becquet.
He mumbled something.
I beg your pardon?
You're so formal.
I said, can I call you Beck.
Ginny's name isn't really Ginny. It's Elizabeth. My dad called her Ginny when she was a baby, because of her red hair. You know - like ginger?
Do you like 'The Doors'?
I guess. I like Donovan. And The Beatles.
It's 'The Doors' you're listening to.
half an onion, cut in strips
1 clove garlic, minced
1 cup shredded coleslaw and carrot mix
half a red pepper, cut in strips
s+p
sriracha sauce
grated cheese
While pasta is cooking, heat oil in frying pan. Add onion and garlic, stirring well.
Add slaw mix - cook five mins
Add pepper strips
stir - add s+p, soy sauce, and a long squirt of sriracha sauce - stir all
Drain pasta - add to frying pan - stir well
Serve on an enamel plate with hefty gratings of whatever cheese on hand.
*
It's quite early, but I get the supper fire going.
My day's artwork has drained me, used all of me. I am feeling like a washed out dishrag.
But a happy one.
I am planning on an early (even earlier than usual) night, as I have complex plans for tomorrow, pilgrimage plans, plans which will need all of my strength.
Re-bundling the large canvas in its tarp, and bungeying it up tightly, I put it back in its storage place amongst the young straight birch trees.
When the fire is well and truly going, I prep a double batch of my pasta recipe, one of my favourite tripping meals. Throughout the various cutting, chopping and slivering, I have a cup of vino.
Once eaten, I stuff the leftovers in two halves of a pita, enclosing them in a ziplock bag.
Tomorrow's supper.
I keep a good fire going, having another cup of wine.
It is tasting spectacularly good, a satisfyingly numb sensation coming over me.
A numbness I am craving.
I will pack what I need in the morning, and plan to be on the water by nine.
*
October 1967
I spend the Thanksgiving weekend with Ginny's family.
Most of the time, Ginny and I were on our own, free to talk, reminisce, think of summer and camp and canoeing on Trinity Lake. At the foot of their long back garden lay Lake St Clair, and on the grassy edge, a 16' Langford cedar strip canoe.
We paddled several times out into the lake on the glass-like water, I in the bow, turning to face Ginny for long conversations.
At meal times, though, I got a chance to see the reclusive brother. He seemed to live in the basement, spending most of his time on his own, playing records.
Ginny had given me a tour of the house, including his lair. She seemed to get on well with him, to understand him, poking innocent fun, getting him to smile. I think he was shy, and probably at, what my mother liked to call, "that awkward age".
He had a large bedroom/den all to himself, there being another family room upstairs. When we were touring his space, Evelyn called down to Ginny that she had a phone call, and left me,
terrifyingly, alone with the brother.
What's your name again, Beck-something?
Becquet. Diana Becquet.
He mumbled something.
I beg your pardon?
You're so formal.
I said, can I call you Beck.
Ginny's name isn't really Ginny. It's Elizabeth. My dad called her Ginny when she was a baby, because of her red hair. You know - like ginger?
Do you like 'The Doors'?
I guess. I like Donovan. And The Beatles.
It's 'The Doors' you're listening to.
He turned.
He went back to working on a model, on a long smooth built-in desk,
leaving me standing in the middle of the room.
Ginny and I, in the following days, went out a fair bit.
She showed me around Windsor, her high school, the neighbourhood.
We canoed, snacked, listened to music.
On Saturday afternoon, we met up with Ginny's best friend and went to a movie.
Margie, (Margaret), tall, athletic, close-cropped dark curly hair.
So fun to be with.
We saw 'To Sir With Love', I recall.
I thought that they might both feel a bit awkward that I was so much younger, but they were sweet, and did everything they could to make sure that I was having fun.
The movie, the whole afternoon,
was wonderful.
Saturday night.
We were all to go to Mass at the Catholic church the following morning, which was when my attire became an issue.
What will Diana wear tomorrow? (Evelyn)
Ginny and I had a good look through her clothing. I borrowed a red shirt dress, wool, but quite comfortable, white knee-socks and a pair of penny-loafers, a bit big, but manageable.
I had never been inside a Catholic church. I wasn't particularly keen to go, but Ginny's mother was insistent. She quizzed me about the United church we attended, in a condescending sort of way, as if she was sorry we weren't quite up to scratch. I sat quietly between Ginny and her brother throughout the service. We had had nothing to eat, as they had to fast before communion, and my stomach growled horribly. I was so closely squashed between Ginny and Bud, that I could smell the goat-like smell of his sweater, in fact, the goat-like smell of a thirteen-year-old boy. I thought of my own family, and again, the odd sensation in the pit of my being.
There was incense, sung prayer, bells.
Ginny motioned for me to stay put as they filed up to communion. On returning, she knelt, deep in prayer, and I was reminded of Ginny at the cliff.
We went to the Golf Club for dinner.
I loved the old stone building and wood interior, and the terrific buffet laid out for Thanksgiving. It was all quite elegant, but I had been to enough University of Toronto functions with my parents and brothers to know my way, at least in a twelve-year-old sort of way.
That night, Ginny and I had a bonfire at the foot of their garden.
We burned leaves, talked about Chip and Jessie, about camp, about 'The Loop'.
I told her I couldn't wait until next summer.
She was oddly silent.
My parents, leaving my four brothers at home, were having a bit of a driving trip over the long weekend to tour the fall colours.
And, by arrangement, they came to Windsor to pick me up.
They had had a night in Goderich, on lake Huron, and a night in Chatham, and arrived at Ginny's house shortly after ten on Thanksgiving Monday morning.
I had pushed this event to the back of my mind, not at all sure how a meeting between my parents and Ginny's would go.
But all seemed pleasant enough as we gathered in the living room for coffee, and then an offer of lunch. My parent's declined, seeing as it would be a long haul back to Toronto. Ginny's parents nodded knowingly, having done the trip often enough themselves. An invitation was put forward for Ginny, (an invitation which was adjusted to include Bud), to visit Toronto and stay with us after Christmas.
All seemed pleased with this idea, (except perhaps Bud), and Evelyn wondered aloud if a visit to the U of T campus would be in order.
It was at this point that Evelyn dropped the bombshell.
Ginny would be attending U of T the following September to study Theology, after their long-planned family trip to Rome in the summer.
And with this came to an end my summers with Ginny.
We were all to go to Mass at the Catholic church the following morning, which was when my attire became an issue.
What will Diana wear tomorrow? (Evelyn)
Ginny and I had a good look through her clothing. I borrowed a red shirt dress, wool, but quite comfortable, white knee-socks and a pair of penny-loafers, a bit big, but manageable.
I had never been inside a Catholic church. I wasn't particularly keen to go, but Ginny's mother was insistent. She quizzed me about the United church we attended, in a condescending sort of way, as if she was sorry we weren't quite up to scratch. I sat quietly between Ginny and her brother throughout the service. We had had nothing to eat, as they had to fast before communion, and my stomach growled horribly. I was so closely squashed between Ginny and Bud, that I could smell the goat-like smell of his sweater, in fact, the goat-like smell of a thirteen-year-old boy. I thought of my own family, and again, the odd sensation in the pit of my being.
There was incense, sung prayer, bells.
Ginny motioned for me to stay put as they filed up to communion. On returning, she knelt, deep in prayer, and I was reminded of Ginny at the cliff.
We went to the Golf Club for dinner.
I loved the old stone building and wood interior, and the terrific buffet laid out for Thanksgiving. It was all quite elegant, but I had been to enough University of Toronto functions with my parents and brothers to know my way, at least in a twelve-year-old sort of way.
That night, Ginny and I had a bonfire at the foot of their garden.
We burned leaves, talked about Chip and Jessie, about camp, about 'The Loop'.
I told her I couldn't wait until next summer.
She was oddly silent.
My parents, leaving my four brothers at home, were having a bit of a driving trip over the long weekend to tour the fall colours.
And, by arrangement, they came to Windsor to pick me up.
They had had a night in Goderich, on lake Huron, and a night in Chatham, and arrived at Ginny's house shortly after ten on Thanksgiving Monday morning.
I had pushed this event to the back of my mind, not at all sure how a meeting between my parents and Ginny's would go.
But all seemed pleasant enough as we gathered in the living room for coffee, and then an offer of lunch. My parent's declined, seeing as it would be a long haul back to Toronto. Ginny's parents nodded knowingly, having done the trip often enough themselves. An invitation was put forward for Ginny, (an invitation which was adjusted to include Bud), to visit Toronto and stay with us after Christmas.
All seemed pleased with this idea, (except perhaps Bud), and Evelyn wondered aloud if a visit to the U of T campus would be in order.
It was at this point that Evelyn dropped the bombshell.
Ginny would be attending U of T the following September to study Theology, after their long-planned family trip to Rome in the summer.
And with this came to an end my summers with Ginny.
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