Tuesday again

The Rambler spent a good part of yesterday and most of an SOS pad cleaning the rings'n'pans on the top of her stove. They tell me there are such things out there as smooth-top electric ranges, but we don't put no trust in setch notions in these parts.

And then, this morning, inspired by the wonderfulness of it all, got up early and commenced upon Sourdough Buttermilk Biscuits. Yes, I started a new 'starter' last week. Yeast had been in the fridge -- date on jar of yeast, "Jan 2008" but nonetheless it came up out of the flour and water just roaring and bubbling so ON WE GO. Out of buttermilk, but have the 'heel' of the last making of plain yogurt in the fridge, which substitutes just fine.

I can tell you it has been a long time since flour was the predominant note in the chaos that is the Rambler's kitchen.

First crisis -- WHERE is my pastry cutter??? Irony here is that kitchen clean-up since retirement disclosed that there were TWO pastry cutters floating about in the batterie de cuisine. Two. Now I ask you, expecting no answer, WHO in her right mind would have TWO pastry cutters? Disposed of one to Daughter Unit. And WHERE did I put the other one???

But it turned up after only minimal excavation and we moved right along to...

Second crisis -- the removal of about 25 pounds of mixed foodstuffs from the Sacred Place on the kitchen counter devoted to Rolling Stuff Out.

The previous inhabitants of Tether's End, here, had a series of nannies/au pairs, one of whom set a hot saucepan down on the countertop and burnt a big hole in the Arborite. So they replaced the damaged section with a Corningware SLAB...not only is it heat proof, but being non-porous and perpetually cool it is like a pastry marble that doesn't have to be moved, put away, hauled about, etc.

The rolling pin was not as hard to find as the pastry cutter had been.

And there are not-quite-a-dozen nice biscuits cooling on a rack. There were a dozen. Soon after they came out of the oven, #1 Son Unit came wafting up the stairs from his bedroom...

I have heated milk in my Enormous Black cup, and spiked it with freshmade stove-top espresso, and am about ready to contemplate the day.

Celebrated at St. Curious last night with one young lady and one elderly lady and great happiness. Shared with them Prudentius' Hymnus ad Galli Cantum. And now I'll share it with you.

Awake! the shining day is born!
The herald cock proclaims the morn:
And Christ, the soul's Awakener, cries,
Bidding us back to life arise.

Away the sluggard's bed! away
The slumber of the soul's decay!
Ye chaste and just and temperate,
Watch! I am standing at the gate.

After the sun hath risen red
'Tis late for men to scorn their bed,
Unless a portion of the night
They seize for labours of the light.

Mark ye, what time the dawn draws nigh,
How 'neath the eaves the swallows cry?
Know that by true similitude
Their notes our Judge's voice prelude.

When hid by shades of dark malign
On beds of softness we recline,
They call us forth with music clear
Warning us that the day is near.

When breezes bright of orient morn
With rosy hues the heavens adorn,
They cheer with hope of gladdening light
The hearts that spend in toil their might.

Though sleep be but a passing guest
'Tis type of death's perpetual rest:
Our sins are as a ghastly night,
And seal with slumbers deep our sight.

But from the wide roof of the sky
Christ's voice peals forth with urgent cry,
Calling our sleep-bound hearts to rise
And greet the dawn with wakeful eyes.

He bids us fear lest sensual ease
Unto life's end the spirit seize
And in the tomb of shame us bind,
Till we are to the true light blind.

'Tis said that baleful spirits roam
Abroad beneath the dark's vast dome;
But, when the cock crows, take their flight
Sudden dispersed in sore affright.

For the foul votaries of the night
Abhor the coming of the light,
And shamed before salvation's grace
The hosts of darkness hide their face.

They know the cock doth prophesy
Of Hope's long-promised morning sky,
When comes the Majesty Divine
Upon awakened worlds to shine.

The Lord to Peter once foretold
What meaning that shrill strain should hold,
How he before cock-crow would lie
And thrice his Master dear deny.

For 'tis a law that sin is done
Before the herald of the sun
To humankind the dawn proclaims
And with his cry the sinner shames.

Then wept he bitter tears aghast
That from his lips the words had passed,
Though guileless he his soul possessed
And faith still reigned within his breast.

Nor ever reckless word he said
Thereafter, by his tongue betrayed,
But at the cock's familiar cry
Humbled he turned from vanity.

Therefore it is we hold to-day
That, as the world in stillness lay,
What hour the cock doth greet the skies,
Christ from deep Hades did arise.

Lo! then the bands of death were burst,
Shattered the sway of hell accurst:
Then did the Day's superior might
Swiftly dispel the hosts of Night.

Now let base deeds to silence fall,
Black thoughts be stilled beyond recall:
Now let sin's opiate spell retire
To that deep sleep it doth inspire.

For all the hours that still remain
Until the dark his goal attain,
Alert for duty's stern command
Let every soul a sentry stand.

With sober prayer on Jesus call;
Let tears with our strong crying fall;
Sleep cannot on the pure soul steal
That supplicates with fervent zeal.

Too long did dull oblivion cloud
Our motions and our senses shroud:
Lulled by her numbing touch, we stray
In dreamland's ineffectual way.

Bound by the dazzling world's soft chain
'Tis false and fleeting gauds we gain,
Like those who in deep slumbers lie:--
Let us awake! the truth is nigh.

Gold, honours, pleasure, wealth and ease,
And all the joys that mortals please,
Joys with a fatal glamour fraught--
When morning comes, lo! all are nought.

But thou, O Christ, put sleep to flight
And break the iron bands of night,
Free us from burden of past sin
And shed Thy morning rays within.