This is the time of year when Hot Cross Buns start showing up in stores and bakeries. I haven’t eaten one for years, and yesterday while doing some grocery shopping I couldn’t miss all the packages of these seasonal treats stacked in the bakery aisle. I ate one for breakfast this morning. Indeed, now I know why they need to be eaten hot with butter—without warming them up they are a bit heavy and dry. I knew part of the tradition surrounding them, but when I looked further this morning, I found out some other interesting facts. Did you know ...

“Hot Cross Buns were traditionally served during the Lenten Season, especially on Good Friday. Their origins, however, like the Easter holiday, are mixed with pagan traditions. To the ancient Aztecs and Incas, buns were considered the sacred food of the gods, while the Egyptians and Saxons offered them as sacrifices to their goddesses. The cross represented the four quarters of the moon to certain ancient cultures, while others believed it was a sign that held supernatural power to prevent sickness. To the Romans, the cross represented the horns of a sacred ox. The Christian church adopted Hot Cross Buns during their early missionary efforts to pagan cultures. They re-interpreted the “cross” of icing which adorns the bun to signify the cross on which Jesus sacrificed His life. Some historians date the origin of Hot Cross Buns back to the 12th century, when an Angelican monk was said to have placed the sign of the cross on the buns to honor Good Friday, known at that time as the “Day of the Cross.” In 1361, a monk named Father Thomas Rocliffe, was recorded to have made small spiced cakes stamped with the sign of the cross, to be distributed to the poor visiting the monastery at St. Albans on Good Friday. According to the scholar Harrowven, the idea proved so popular that he made the buns every year, carefully keeping his bun recipe secret.

According to tradition, Hot Cross Buns were the only food allowed to be eaten by the faithful on Good Friday. Made from dough kneaded for consecrated bread used at Mass or Holy Communion, and thus representative of Christ’s body, Hot Cross Buns were also credited for miraculous healing and for protection. Throughout the years, Hot Cross Buns baked on Good Friday were used in powdered form to treat all sorts of illnesses. In addition, many families hung the buns from their kitchen ceilings to protect their households from evil for the year to come. The tradition, however, suffered attack during the 16th century. During Queen Elizabeth I’s reign, when Roman Catholicism was banned, ‘backward - lookers’ were reportedly tried for Popery for signing the cross on their Good Friday buns. The accused often claimed that it was necessary to mark a cross on the dough, to ensure that the buns would rise. However, the popularity of the buns prevailed, and the Queen resorted to passing a law which limited the bun’s consumption to proper religious ceremonies, such as Christmas, Easter or funerals.”

In honor of Mardi Gras this week, here are a few masks I found interesting.

Just a quick note to update my blog this morning. I have so many ideas for entries swimming around in my head—most as yet unformed— that I don’t know which way to run. The bears threw me off course yesterday by visiting the yard and using it as their playground, so of course I have more pics of them to share at some point [are you tired of hearing about the bears?]. I still have several New Orleans entries left including the one with Katrina damage photos [coming soon, I promise!], and lots of other ideas and photos to share. Who could have thought I would have so much to say and share? I do hope you’re enjoying my blog even though not everyone leaves comments.

So, stay tuned and keep checking back for updates. As soon as all this creativity in my head reaches my fingers I’ll be posting new things! Until then I’ll leave you with a photo I took yesterday of my cat eBay watching out the window as the bears approach.

Right now I have to go out and throw some seed down for the birds. I have five blue jays screaming at me for food outside the study window and I don’t think they’re going to stop until they get what they want. I wasn’t going to scatter seed today since the bears discovered it yesterday, but ... the jays are protesting, noisy things.

Yesterday Rick and I were sitting in our little cozy space off the kitchen watching TV. I was knitting, making another pair of felted clogs / slippers for Rick since his are wearing through on the sole. When he crosses his legs I can see the shreds of felted wool hanging forlornly down.

We were relaxing in-between new coats of paint [Biscuit Bitz] in our dining room. I wasn’t really paying attention to where the dogs were as they had been in and out dozens of times already. They like to lay on the snow bank that formed on the deck last week when I only partially shovelled off the snow. In part, I did this because I was lazy, but also because as I shovelled from one side to the other, dogs had decided to lay on the piled up snow. So be it, I thought, I’ll leave it for you if you find it that much fun.

I didn’t see it because I was concentrating on my stitches, but Rick said the dogs flew off the deck and now we could hear them barking. He got up to see what they were barking at, turned around and said very calmly to me “I think the dogs need to come in. They have the bear treed.” I jumped up and ran to the window. Yup, there was the bear up the big oak looking worried, and two dogs barking madly and running around the base of the tree. I threw open the door and started screaming their names, or at least I thought I had the right names. Turns out I only had one right, but no matter within a few seconds of my panicked voice calling come here!  and   leave it!, they gave up their quarry and came running for the house. Good Dogs.

The bear lost no time; the minute the dogs left the base of the tree it was already halfway down, and by the time the dogs got to the house the bear was going over the fence. Whew. Another bear vs dog crisis averted. Sorry, no photo. I was too worried for the dogs to leave them in order to get my camera. I’m sure you understand. It would have made a great pic, however. It was Ursa this time, because I could see the cubs in the woods. I watched them playing for awhile, doing their dance routine and rolling around in the snow.

Last week, before the snow, the bears were quite active. I saw them nearly every day as I walked the dogs. I could almost count on them being in the same spot in the woods every day. Ursa, Major, and Minor would just sit and watch me walk by. When the snow started to fly, they retreated into their cozy storm drain cave. Today I will need to be especially watchful as it’s going to be nice and warm. A perfect day to forage around for food.

Maybe I should change my blog name to read “A Bear Walks Through it,” or “Life with Bears.” ?

I’ve long been fascinated by cemeteries. I’ve been known to stroll around in the older ones, reading inscriptions and wondering what the lives of the people interred below me were like by what people had to say about them. Some people might think this weird [hey, #7 to add to my Six Weird Things About Me], but I find them interesting and strangely soothing. But those burial grounds are nothing like the ones in New Orleans. No, not at all. Row after row of whitewashed brick, marble, statues, and wrought iron march ever onward. Crypt upon crypt. Tomb after tomb. Haunting [and more than likely haunted] and eerie; mysterious. They are indeed, as their name suggests, Cities of the Dead.

All the more strange and mysterious, is to realize that they are not just a monument or a marker like a headstone. They are true above-ground burial vaults. Add to that the fact that they are used over and over again by various members of a family is a bit much to take in. The phrase “keeping it all in the family” takes on a whole new meaning. But rather than me tell you about this strange rite of burial, I’ll take advantage of the internet and let this excerpt from a web site tell you all the gruesome facts. Read on.

“The above-ground tombs of New Orleans, the origin of the nickname “City of the Dead” have an interesting history. Early settlers in the area struggled with different methods to bury the dead who never seemed to want to stay below the ground. The city’s high water table means that holes more than a few feet deep fill with water - causing an airtight casket to literally float and eventually push its way back out of the ground. Various methods were tried to remedy the problem, such as placing rocks on top of the graves and boring holes in the coffins. None were very successful, however. One good rain would pop the caskets right out of the ground, and even the waterlogged coffins that stayed put led to unsanitary conditions. Under mayor Esetban Miro, New Orleans eventually adopted the Spanish-style wall vaults, and now 90% of the city’s burials are above ground.

New Orleans has some interesting burial customs too. Due to lack of space, the tombs in New Orleans cemeteries are used again and again. The hot climate causes extemely high temperatures inside the tombs, causing the bodies to decompose rapidly in a process that has been compared to a slow cremation. Within about a year, only bones are left. In some cases, after the first year has passed, the cremains of the departed are swept into a communal pit in the floor of the tomb, leaving it ready for its next occupant. It is a common practice to bury all the members of a family in the same tomb, with names and dates added to a plaque or headstone. The rich are buried in ornate tombs with intricate carvings and ironwork, but most families have simple, economical vaults (many of the older ones are made of local whitewashed brick) that are stacked one on top of the other, forming walls. There are even “rental” units built into the walls of some of the cemeteries, for corpses who do not yet have a space available in the family tomb. “

Examples of “rental” units can be seen below in-between the vaults.

This one looks a bit crowded to me:

So, if I happen to perish while in New Orleans, please don’t “bury” me there. Get me out on the next flight. Not that I don’t secretly like the fact of immortalising myself in a fancy tomb. No, it’s something more personal. I just happen to like plenty of space when I sleep.

Sweet dreams!