All Things Nice . . .

  

Oh cup of Life that holds such precious brew,

The brightness of the morning cold as dew,

And sweet as honey in a golden comb,

The blessed comfort of a little home.

A field of purple clover out in bloom,

Filling the countryside with rich perfume,

Dipping away to the horizon's brim;

A meadowlark piping a morning hymn. 

A radio with a small golden face,

Whose probing finger seeks through worlds of space,

Across a continent and o'er the sea,

To bring a song into this room for me.

O cup of Life ... give me of your rich wine,

That I may drink your vintage half divine,

And half of common earth where mortals eat,

The bread of heaven ... made from common wheat.

~Edna Jaques, O Cup of Life, Fireside Poems 

 

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I don't think there is anything half as delicious on this earth as a piece of simple white bread, fresh and soft, cut thick and spread with softened butter and some strawberry jam.  It is the nectar of the Gods and I have only come to really appreciate its deliciousness late in life.  I think  because at my age it is somewhat forbidden and we all know forbidden fruits taste all the sweeter.  There is nothing about it that is good for me, but everything about it is good.  White bread being a bit of a rebellion against the whole wheat seeded I usually eat . . .  soft butter, oh so bad for the cholesterol, but oh so good . . .  and the jam . . .  nemesis to a diabetic. 

A rare rare treat that brings me more pleasure than a steak and baked potato. It comes with a rare comfort.  Such a simple thing, but but it brings such joy to the lips and tongue. I savor every bite and enjoy it in small nibbles.  First the crust . . .  followed by the center bit . . . and I lick my fingers too!  Its all good. 

 

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It doesn't cost money to light a room correctly - but it does require culture. From the age of eighteen, when I began to experiment with lie, I have been searching for harmony in lighting. Human beings are like children. As soon as they get new toys, they throw away their culture and the orgy starts. The electric light gave the possibility of wallowing in light.

When, in the evening, from the top of a tram car, you look into all the homes on the first floor, you shudder at how dismal people's homes are. Furniture, style, carpets - everything in the home is unimportant, compared to the positioning of the lighting. 

~Paul Henningsen (1884-1967, On Light) 

That is one thing I love most about these darker months.  The light.  Twinkle fairy lights never look more magical . . .  candlelight . . . firelight  . . .  the soft glow of lamplight against the cold dark nights.  It all speaks one word to me and that is cozy.  I love the cozy months. They bring me joy with lamps and candles and fluffy throws . . . and a few good books to curl up with.  

 

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I don't think there is a more comforting feeling than that of being on this side of the glass while a storm rages on the other.  There is a feeling of security and warmth like no other.  To sit curled up with a hot drink watching the snow or even the rain fall  . . .  to hear the wind blow and buffet against the window panes and all the while you are tucked up warm and cozy and safe.  Its a feeling that must hearken back to those early days of our lives when we were tucked up warm and safe into our mother's arms, the sound of her heart beating in her chest comforting our small bodies. Oh what that must have felt like . . . soul warming  . . .  enriching  . . . like home.

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There is a candle scent I just love.  I got the candle from Wax + Fire Co.  It is Oak Barrel Cider.  It smells like apple cider, oak, cinnamon, cloves, allspice  . . .  brown sugar.  It smells like home sweet home to me. I just adore it.  I love it even more than the pumpkin spice ones.  They do another one I really love as well, especially now in the winter months, Firewood Smoke.  That one reminds me of the smell of the wood stove that I used to have in my home when the children were growing up.  I miss having a wood stove. The smell, the sound, the comfort.  I used to love to lay on the sofa nights and watch the fire flickering away on the other side of the glass, listening to the sounds of the logs snapping and popping. It was pure delight and worth all of the angst of having to clear out the ashes from time to time . . .  

 

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I love the sound of those little feet padding back and forth across my floors in the morning as the kittens/cats go from one room to another. Exploring always every sight and smell that breaks into their day.  Oftimes they can be found sitting in the basket on top of the scratching post which sits in front of the living room window. Two sets of ears, alert and listening . . .  eyes watching out for every pigeon, blue jay, crow . . . errant autumn leaf.  Nothing gets past  without their notice.  They are ever watchful, except when they are sleeping.  They are the neighborhood watch.  Every so often they drop by for a cuddle and a natter.  

The cuddling is on their terms, of course. I am glad we have gotten the spaying/neutering behind us now.    They are great company.  I cannot help but think that mom had a hand in delivering them to me. I think she would have enjoyed them. Of course Nutmeg would have been her favorite. Boys/males were always her favorite, but I think she might have enjoyed Cinnamon's sweet disposition as well.

 

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I love the sight of little footprints in the snow, don't you? So delicate. This is not something you get to see any other time of the year.  They are like small gifts.  Little visitors  . . . 

I went out shopping with my sister yesterday. I love our easy companionship. We laugh, we cry, we enjoy. It is nice to now be so close to my best friend. Not sure if she feels the same, but I have always felt her to be my best friend. There is so much about her that I admire and look up to.  I hope that she knows that.

And I am running out of time.  I best leave you with a thought for the day  . . . 

.° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
 *.˛.° ˛°. . The pessimist complains about the wind;

the optimist expects it to change;

the realist adjusts the sails.

~William W. Ward  .° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •.° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 

 

In The English Kitchen today . . .  Québécois Sugar Cream Pie.  Oh my but this is some delicious! Best pie I have made in a long time.

Have a wonderful Saturday. I hope its filled with lots of nice things  . . .  don't forget!

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And I do too!