Wednesday, September 22, 2010
My sister and I share a passion for Angela Lansbury - particularly her work in Murder She Wrote and Bedknobs and Broomsticks. In the eighties, she seemed to be attached to mystery - benign, easy-to-swallow mystery.
Often, I'll come across a description of life in London or the British countryside during the war, and I'll nod my head, like, yeah, I'm totally familiar with that - I probably read it in a serious book. And then I realize that the only reason I know about toad-in-the-holes or Dover is a Bed Knobs and Broomsticks reference.
Same goes for rose hips.
When we first spotted these growing in the garden, we thought: what kind of weird tomatoes are those?
When I saw they were on our rose bushes, I instantly heard Angela in my head: "there are no fried foods served in this house - only cabbage buds, rose hips, glyssop seed, elm bark, whortle yeast, and stewed nettles."
Turns out rose hips are a sign of lazy gardening. A pro says, "We don’t often see them anymore, because we tend to prune the faded rose blossoms to encourage more flowers."
If only encouraging more flowers was a top concern in my life...
Perhaps I will make tea from the pods and think fondly of Angela...and then bring a museum of vintage armor to life.