Saturday this and that . . .

 

They say there s a possibility of a White Christmas this year.  If it actually happens that would be pretty unsual for this part of the country . . . snow for Christmas.  A part of me fills with glee at the thought, but another part of me hopes that they are wrong, but that is only because it is so hard here to get around when it snows.   Snow effectively trims your sails . . . quite a bit in the UK.  In fact . . .  it practically paralyses the country.

I can remember being very excited about snow when I was a child, especially the first snow of the year.  This big fluffy flakes falling down from the pewter sky like goosedown feathers  . . . as if the angels were having a pillow fight and the feathers were a flying . . .

I can remember trying to catch them on my tongue . . . I thought snow had a special taste

I know it has a smell . . . like leaden skys, crisp and clean . . . like cool mountain streams, fresh and pure.  You know when it's in the air.  There's a certain silence that foretells it's coming.  It is unmistakable and indescribable at the same time.

But it makes you want to dance.  And twirl.   And swirl.  It comes with special feelings and longings . . .and joys.

 

It falls silently . . . it is water like the rain is water, but it has no sound.  There is no trickle, no beating against the window panes, no splatter of wet hitting pavement . . . just magical silence.  You stand at the window and watch it fall, at first just a few flakes and then . . . more and more and more and more . . . faster and faster, it speeds up until the ground which once held colour abeit it drab colour . . . begins to turn white, as it starts to lay.

You count the layers as they add up upon the roof of the car and the fence posts and the table on the terrace. You think of the birds, all huddled up in the hedge, their feathers puffed and fluffed, shivering to keep warm . . . while you stand at the window all toasty watching magic fall from the sky.

And so . . . you scramble through the kitchen cupboards to find something special for them . . . cookie crumbs, bits of bacon . . . suet . . . cracker crumbs . . .

You stand in the silence . . . your feet marking the unspoilt as you crumble the crumbs on the garden floor . . . a brave robin being the only one brave enough to appear in your presence . . .  his little feet hopping here and there, creating little etchings in the snow.  You are in a magical world it seems, and you can't help but stand for just a few moments more just enjoying it . . . face tilted to the sky, whilst cold wet feathers brush your cheeks and dance upon your lashes . . .

Your very breath dances in the air with little huffs and puffs . . . white and frosty . . . you hear the boiler kick in and a burst of cloud blows from the pipe in the wall, and all around the horizon the chimney pots puff and puff and puff, doing a dance of their own . . .

It's not so bad after all . . . you think.  There is a special beauty in this magical interlude you think . . .  as you stamp your feet on the cocoa mat by the back door while you make your way back inside the house.  You can hear the kettle boiling and the warmth of the kitchen settles down on your shoulders where down begins to melt as if it had never been there.  One last glance out the door before you shut it, as if to assure you that it wasn't just a dream . . .

 (¯`•.•´¯) (¯`•.•´¯)☆__ ☆
*`•.¸(¯`•.•´¯)¸.•´
¤ ؛° ¤`•.¸.•´ ¤ ☆__☆***☆__☆...

"Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again." 
~Bill Morgan, Jr.  

 

  

 I searched in vain this week to try to find a new tree skirt for under the Christmas Tree.  I know  . . . I should have just made one much earlier in the year, there are tons of lovely patterns about for doing just that, but I didn't.  I left it too late and woulda, shoulda, coulda but didn't.  I was in a shop and they had these lovely garlands on for £1.49 and I saw a lovely thick green sparkly one and the light bulb went off and voila!  Necessity being the mother of invention, I bought it, brought it home and wound it around the base of the tree.    Presto chango . . .  garland no more, but now a sparkly very pretty tree skirt.  The picture doesn't do it justice. 

 

I was feeling a bit blue yesterday.  It happens from time to time and then the postman popped a letter through our mail box and  . . . 

  

A lovely handpainted card and hand sewn ornament from my dear friend Monique.  I was just thrilled.   I had wanted to make myself one of these this year but never did.  However did she know?  God is good.  Thank YOU so much Monique!!!  God's timing is perfect and you were one of his angels and this sweet gift of yours came through my letter box at just the perfect time.  God's tender mercies are endless.  What a blessing to me on a day when I really needed one.

Oh, and I wasn't going to show you this because I didn't want to seem like I was bragging, but look at what I did Thursday afternoon.  I wanted to do a Birthday Present for someone and money being a bit on the scarce side I came up with this.  It is safe to show you because she doesn't read my blog.  I was soooooo pleased with how this came out.  I love it.  I look at it and I can't understand why  . . .  well, no matter.  If it brings a smile to my friends face that is a very good thing.

 Ohh, and I baked some shortbread cookies yesterday (look for the recipe soon) that taste every bit as good as the taste memory of my mothers shortbread cookies.

We also had a call from the Mission Home yesterday.  We will be driving to Manchester on Monday to be released from our Mission.  Mixed feelings.  I am so sad that it is finishing, but I also know the timing is right.



Baking in The English Kitchen today  . . .  Triple Chocolate Cookie Tart.  Oh boy  . . . naughty, naughty.

Have a brilliant Saturday.  Two weeks from tonight is Christmas Eve!  Isn't that amazing!  WOW!  The time is going to fast!  Don't forget on your travels today . . .


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And I do too!