Wednesday, 2 November 2016
Wednesday this and that . . .
The wind takes on a new voice come November . . . winds are seasonal too. The summer wind tends to blow soft and musical with the leaves, with the great exception being thunderstorms. In winter the sleet-sharp gale has a cracking noise . . . but now, with November the wind takes on a mournful sound, marking the rhythm of autumn's end. The first beat of Winter has not yet struck, but it is waiting in the wings to assault us.
I wrote a poem about the wind a few years ago . . . which is tucked away in my trusty notebook with all of my other writings. Its like my own secret box, which only I hold the key to.
Sometimes when the leaping flames are dancing on the hearth . . .
I catch the murmer of the trees along a woodland path.
I hear the dry leaves rustling as an Autumn wind goes by . . .
and see a tent of summer green against a clear blue sky.
The logs now crumbling into ashes once were sentient things,
tremulous with life and with the quivering of wings . . .
The logs that lend a golden warmth to this November day,
have worn upon their living limbs the rosy blooms of May.
We had about ten children come to the door on Halloween. Mitzie was amazed at these wee creatures. She went to the door with Todd, tail wagging. She seems to know enough not to go outside on the stoop, but she likes to greet the children at the door. Some are afraid.
I guess we will have to polish off the remainder of the Halloween treats. 'Tis a tough job but someone has to do it. The Halloween Candy of my childhood doesn't exist over here in the UK. The Molasses Taffy Twists and BB Bats, wrapped up in Halloween printed black and orange waxed papers. They were not my favourites as a child, but this grown up heart of mine longs for the nostalgia of them. Funny how that goes . . .
It is like the refrigerator cookies my mother used to make when I was a child. We did not like them overly much back then, but our hearts seek them now. My favourite bits were when you came across a nugget of brown sugar which had not gotten mixed into the dough and ended up baked into a bit of caramel in the cookie . . . it was called making the most of what you were given as I really wanted store bought Maple Leaf Cookies instead.
Ohh . . . Maple Leaf Cookies. I want you still. Like all beef hotdogs and fried bologna . . . and cheese whiz.
The mornings are covered in a cold mist now. It hovers above the ground covering every spent branch and seed pod with its icy cold tendrils of damp. In summer it portends a hot sunny day . . . but not so November mist. The heat is gone. You resist turning on the central heating for as long as possible, but then finally you cave in.
The house smells like hot dust . . . time to put the long wand on the hoover and clean out the radiators. You cannot get in between the folds. It is impossible and so the dust therein is left and hopefully will burn away. It always does, there is no hope about it . . . or maybe we just get used to the smell. It is one or the other.
I think I want to start an art journal . . . a sketch journal. A place where I can doodle my days. I find myself doodling everywhere. All of my notebooks have them in the margins . . .
I cannot help myself it seems . . . every of my notebook pages and margins are thusly garnished. Not always with the same things, but mostly flowers and butterflies . . . and sometimes silly faces, flying leaf and burning bush . . .
Plans are afoot it seems . . . watch this space. I have been collecting cotton yarns and wooden pegs . . . glue, cotton threads. What will they become? I know what I wish for . . . but if it happens or not I have yet to surmise. We shall see. Oh please . . . I plead with the stars . . . let them not end up sitting in a box collecting dust that needs burning away, for yes, the best laid plans of men and mice do oftimes go astray.
I am a planner, but seldon an executer. I am getting better at finishing things however.
Like my Art Calendars . . . I had thirty printed. Sold 8. Like the Christmas Cards I had printed a number of years back. Followed people's advice and had them printed, but got left holding the lot. Guess what everyone is getting for Christmas this year. Yep, calendars. Twenty-two 2017 calendars will not do me much good in 2018 or even after January 1st and so they will make great gifts methinks, so all is not wasted.
The ones who did buy them, fell in love, so that was the silver lining. I may keep one for myself. Todd had better not write upon it. Nobody can say I don't keep trying.
Its like when I was a child. Our summer group did a variety show at the village hall at the end of one summer, and my sister and I sang a song together. I think I hogged the micro-phone. I so wanted a talent agent to hear my voice and say . . . "There! There is a star waiting to be discovered!" Like Marilyn Munroe on a drugstore counter stool . . . or was that Lana Turner?? I was not discovered. I just hogged a micro-phone which left me with an embarassing memory, and bruised self-esteem.
Kids are funny creatures. Well, I was a funny creature at any rate.
At least life was not boring.
Speaking of boring. I am desparately wanting something to read which will keep me mesmerized . . . a book I will never want to end. Any suggestions? I love anything with historical value, but fiction, a mystery is never turned away . . . and I do love a bit of romance, but not embarssingly graphic if you know what I mean.
This still makes me smile. People. They have such engaging minds. I find myself wondering at the mind who thought of doing this. I think it is a person I would enjoy getting to know.
Ohh . . . and I keep hearing a sound out back somewhere that sounds like a cat (speaking of cats) getting ready to upchuck. It is very disconcerting. I hope it is not the refrigerator. I spent all my money on calendars and yarn. ☺
A thought to carry with you through today . . .
Its a picture one . . .
In The English Kitchen today . . . Turkey and Ham Pie. This is delicious and that crust is to die for. Its a great way to use up leftovers. If you don't have turkey, chicken will do.
Have a perfectly Wonderful Wednesday! Along the way don't forget . . .
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and I do too!