All Things Nice . . .

 

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Stop and look at lovely things,

Birds who dip their foolish wings

Stunting over hedge and tree --

Stop a while that you might see,

Brown eyed Susans in a field,

Glinting like a warrior's shield.

Stop and look -- when kids go by

Clean of limb and bright of eye,

Chatting like magpies as they go,

Along the sidewalks white with snow,

Happed in their woolens snug and warm,

Like scarlet elves who ride the storm.

Stop and look-- at windows gay,

Decked out for a holiday,

Red cheeked apples . . . Tolman sweets,

Oranges. . . celery . . . radish . . . beets,

Like a Sultan's jewels laid,

Out to shine in some parade.

Stop and look -- for pity's sake,

Keep your heart and mind awake,

To the beauty close at hand,

Feet that walk in Wonderland,

Over pathways pure and white,

From the sunrise to the night.

Take time out to stand and stare,

At the wonder everywhere.

~Edna Jacques, Stop and Look

The Hills of Home, 1946

I've always been a watcher of things.  People, nature, towns, etc. I love to sit and watch. Especially people.  I find people fascinating. I am an observer of behavior and action. Everyone has a story. I like to make up stories about the people I watch. Just in my head and just for me. It helps to pass the time when I am waiting for an appointment or whenever.  Time to watch and observe.  

When I lived in the cottage down in Kent, you could observe all four seasons via the orchard that lay to the back of the cottage, just beyond the hedge. The room we called the library upstairs had the perfect view through the window of the trees that lay just beyond.  Laid out in rows. Symmetrical.  Bare branches in the winter.  Full of blossom in the spring.  Leafy in the summer and laden with growing fruit.  Full of pickers on their ladders in the fall, the air ringing with their chatter as they picked, wooden bins laying at the ends of each row of trees.   All the seasons through the eyes of an orchard.

 

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Can there be anything nicer than taking tea with a friend. Two cups laid out while tea steeps in a brown teapot. Some bread and cake, a fruited loaf ready to be spread with some softened butter. All laid out on your best hand-embroidered cloth. As a child this is what I always imagined went on in little English Cottage Parlors in mid-afternoon during the calling hours.

Have you ever watched the British Series Cranford. Set in a small town in Cheshire about the times that the railways were being built across the length and breadth of the country. It is a delight.

They have tea in the calling hours.  Ready for those who come calling.  All is done with propriety. Even the eating of an orange. So many rules. The series was based on the Novel Cranford written by Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1853. Life in a country town and old-fashioned class snobbery.

 

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A favorite book of mine as a child was Pippi Longstocking. I remember saving up my money so that I could buy a book from the Scholastic book leaflet that was handed out at school every month. I could not always buy a book, but sometimes I saved up and was able to. One time I chose a little paperback, Pippi Longstocking. 

Oh, how I loved to read of the adventures this red capped heroine had. No parents about, no rules, a horse, a monkey, a trunk full of treasures, and two good friends.

What child did not imagine how much more exciting life could be without parents to spoil all of the fun times???  At the same time however, I often felt lonely for this little girl. Going to bed at end of day without a mother to tuck her in beneath the blankets and kiss her brow. 

I have a very vague memory of my mother leaning over me and tucking me into my bed. It is a picture in my mind's eye. I can see the crisp cotton neckline of her nightgown as she leans over me, pulling the covers close around me.  It is not a clear memory, but it is there, and I treasure it. I know that I was loved.

 

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We have had a very dry July, which has been a blessing in some ways, as the humidity has not been so bad as it usually is. The weather forecast will say rain, and we wait, but it doesn't come.  A farm near here lost one of their wheat fields to fire the other day.  Fire trucks were called in from volunteer fire departments from all around. I did not see it, but I read all about it.  Thankfully the fire was contained and all that was lost was a field.

July nights have special qualities, with hot air ebbing over the meadow as a faint cool breath steals in as the faintest of whispers.  Delicious and exciting at the same time.  

How still the nights are, here in this little fold of the Valley, the heart of the Valley. Hot summer nights with stars bright and clear upon the skies and a moon that rises slow and steady to the back of my wee little home, hanging over the maple tree just outside my window.  I can see it glowing amid the branches that are full of leaves this time of year.   The branches are so long they whisper across the shingles of my roof when soft breezes blow.  The leaf canopy helps to keep things cool in my bedroom. An extra blessing. In the daytime they dapple sunlight across my back lawn, but at night, they bring the magic.

When I get up in the wee hours to go to the bathroom, I always pull the curtains open just a bit and have a glance. Occasionally I will see a creature moving through the yard, but mostly it is peaceful, lit only by the glow of moon.

The turning wheel of the seasons is rolling slowly into August now, just a few more days of July to spend.  Corn that was only six inches tall a few weeks ago is now shoulder high and growing tassels.

 

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I used to pray upon my knees, next to my bedside. It has been many years now since I have been able to kneel like that. My knees are far too painful, and so I just lay myself down in my bed and I pray that way now at end of day.  They are much the same each day. Thanks for the blessings I have been given, prayers for the ones I love and the ones within my mantle of care.  Prayers for the world. I very seldom ask for things for myself. I don't know why.

I think of mother and the tears always come. I miss her very much. Dementia was stealing her from us bit by bit, so the missing started even before she was actually gone, but . . . at least we could still see her and hear her voice. She would have been 93 on her Birthday on the 9th of July just passed, but has been gone from us six, seven years in January next.  I wish that I could speak to her and tell her how much I love and miss her.  There is naught on earth that can replace a mother's love. Steadfast and unconditional. Enduring. I look forward to the day when I can be with her again. I do not fear the advent of that day, although I am not quite ready to take that step beyond just yet. I do know that when it comes, there will be a joyful reunion with her and with the others I have loved and who have gone before.

Generations of arms stretching back for hundreds of years will open wide to welcome me home. But first, my mother.

 

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I am not sure what I will get up to today. I had thought when I first got up that I might make my way to the shops to get in some fresh vegetables, but my stomach is feeling a bit tricky at the moment. I think a bit of Diverticulitis.  I had been going to go to the Temple today but decided yesterday that I wasn't going to go. It is just as well now methinks! There is nothing worse than being hours away from home with a stomach complaint.

Perhaps I will have a day of just pursuing things which bring me joy. Maybe a bit of painting, a bit of writing, handiwork of some kind. We will see what happens.

But, in the mean time  . . .  a thought to carry with you.

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*.˛Let us be grateful to people

who make us happy;

They are the charming gardeners

who make our souls blossom.

~Marcel Proust  ° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

New in the kitchen today, Delicious and Easy Homemade Cherry Compote. The small batch. You could use fresh or frozen cherries for this. It's fabulous spooned over ice cream. It will be a nice taste of summer for me to enjoy next winter!

I hope you have a beautiful weekend. May it be filled with light and with joy!  Don't forget!

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And I do too!