All Things Nice . . .

 

She made a feast of little things,

A brown egg in a pretty cup,

A candle on a birthday cake;

A few stray flowers gathered up

And put in an old fashioned vase,

As beautiful as Flemish lace.

She made a little daily rite

Of dressing up for afternoons,

And laid the table extra nice

Using her precious silver spoons,

The woven mats from Mexico,

The table napkins white as snow.

She made a feast of love and joy,

Of every common household task,

Sweeping the hallways and the stair,

Keeping them beautiful . . . nor ask

A finer mission than to make

Her home a heaven for his sake.

She made a feast (oh lovely word)

Of ordinary common things

Of bread and butter . . . jam and tea,

Her home a place where shining wings

Hovered above the summer night

And touched the roof with splendid light.

~Edna Jaques, She made a Feast

Back Door Neighbors

Life is more beautiful and full of joy when we allow ourselves to seek out and enjoy the small and simple gifts each day has to offer us.  Its not the big things that matter most. Life is composed of small and meaningful moments and joys. As Emily Dickenson said, Forever is composed of nows.  

 

This little guy sits and guards the feeder off and on all day, chasing off any interloper who dares to encroach upon his kingdom. Its quite fun to watch. 

It is hard to get a good photo of them in flight.  They move so quickly.  But I try.  Cinnamon and Nutmeg enjoy watching all of their antics as well. Not much gets past their vision. They are seemingly ever alert to everything which passes by our door or window.

 

I discovered Cinnamon relaxing in the cat bed I had gotten for them way back when they were just little kittens.  I had no idea that she or he ever used it.  She looked so very comfortable in it and it is just the right size for one to relax in. 

In the meantime Nutmeg was stretched out on the sofa. He is quite a large cat. When he stretches out he takes up half of the sofa.  Right now he is sitting next to me here on my desk. I can feel the warmth of his little purrs and breath beating against my elbow. He likes to be close to me. I don't mind. I like to be close to him as well.

I only wish that they would settle down at night. I would love for them to sleep with me. Alas that does not happen. I try each night, but always end up putting them out of the room and shutting the door. It is not her so much as it is him. He wants to jump around and play! 

 

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I bought the cutest little bear ornament pattern earlier this week. I bought the pdf on Etsy.  I love to do this type of thing.  Maybe this year I will be able to have a Christmas Tree. You never know. The idea of a tree makes me a bit sad when I think of all the Christmas ornaments I had gathered and had to leave behind.  Half the reason I did not have a tree last year was that the thought made my heart ache. The other half was the cats.

 

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I also got this little guy, well the pattern anyways.  I hope that I will be inspired enough to actually make him. I just need to find the stuff for his beard.  I thought he was really cute.

They are both really cute!

 

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It is hard to believe that we are already at the end of July.  The corn in the fields is already as high as a man and it seems it was only a few days ago that it was knee high. I blinked.  Because it was not a few days ago, it was weeks.

I am going to pick up a cabbage today methinks and do something with it. I am in a cabbage mood.  I drove by a whole field of onions the other morning and the smell was wonderful. It made me think of the smell of Leeks in the farmers fields around where I lived in Chester.  It smelled quite wonderful. This is such a bountiful time of the year.  We are surrounded by abundance. May it ever be so. 

 

My great grandparents had a big farm up on the South Mountain. It is largely derelict now, but at one time it was  going concern. It got our family through two world wars.  My mother remembered sitting on that front porch with a turnip and a spoon, scraping and eating the turnip.  They had sheep and chickens and all sorts. My great grandfather grew plenty of vegetables. They never went hungry.  I wish I had written down more of my mother's memories while she was alive to tell them. I wish I had asked more questions.  I do ask my father, having learnt my lesson.  I need to be better at writing them down however.

His Uncle Stanislas used to own a store across from where they lived. He called my father the penny boy. My father used to go and visit all of his Aunts and Uncles each day and they would each give him a penny. Great Uncle Stanislas would say here comes the penny boy again.  

It is hard to think of my father as being a little boy, but he was once upon a time. I am sure he had a jaunty walk and way about him.  He has a great sense of humor now and is very easy going.  He gets a lot of joy from simple things. Being able to spend this time with him is the silver lining, but I have said that before. Its true though. I never thought I would see him alive again.  But miracles happen, and here I am. 

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“No matter who you are or where you are, 

instinct tells you to go home”

~Laura Marney 

I believe there lies within each of us a desire to return back home.  To our roots, to our family, to familiar tracks and ways and earth. It is a natural thing. My father longs in many ways to return to his home in Bagotville (La Baie now), but there is not much left for him there now. There is nobody to care for him like we do.   As my sister does.  He has only one brother and one sister left, out of all the children that were.  The rest have returned to their heavenly home. He was one of twelve children. The third oldest.  When he was a very young boy, his mother was put into a sanitarium for TB.  He and his two older siblings were put into an orphanage because his father could not care for them. He remembers looking through a fence, crust of bread in hand, and watching his older brother and sister playing on the other side. He did not thrive in the orphanage and so his Tante Hilda took him out and home with her to live until my Grandmother got out.  My Grandmama was always a sickly woman but she lived to the age of 71. I did not know her very well. There was the whole language barrier. 

 

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“They are not long, the days of wine and roses: 

Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, 

then closes Within a dream.” 

 ~Ernest Dowson. 

It is said that as you get older, your mind goes more and more to the past and the things you can bring into your remembrance. My mother could not tell you what she had for breakfast, but she could tell you what she did years before, even down to the dress she was wearing.

I have a good memory for things, but sometimes I grasp for words. I will be in the middle of a sentence and I cannot think of what comes next even though I can see it in my head.  I hope that is normal. It is hard to think of myself as being what I once thought of as elderly. That sixteen year old girl that I was is still in my head.  I hope that I never lose her.

 

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I did have these once upon a time. Katie Alice.  I was so proud of them. One of these days  I need to pick up my tea cups from my sisters.  I need to have a place to put them first. My mother had given them to me already once, many years ago . . .  but when my second marriage broke up, she went into the house one day when my ex was not there, and took them back from out of the cupboard and back to her place for safe-keeping. Its a good thing that she did!  Who knows where they might have ended up.

My brother thinks that in order for healing to take place in my family, for the relationship with my estranged children to be fixed, that I need to fix my relationship to some extent with my ex.  That until I do, I will always be on the outside.  I think that is true, but I cannot see that ever happening as he is not allowed to communicate with me at all. He never has been, not since he got hooked up with his wife, which happened shortly after we split up.  He has never really been allowed to talk to me, not ever. She is incredibly manipulative and insecure. She will never allow for fences to be mended. It is what it is, and I just have to learn to live with it, but this mother's heart will always mourn the loss. 

I started watching This is Us again last night for the fourth time. I wonder if the last season will ever be on Netflix. I love to watch that show even though it always makes me cry.

It is a rather gloomy overcast morning out there today. I think its going to rain, but we need the rain. I am off to do my duty cleaning the chapel this morning. Not my favorite thing to do, but we all take our turn.

I will leave you with a thought for the day now  . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

•。★★ 。* 。

° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚

˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛

˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*The thankful receiver

bears a plentiful harvest.

~William Blake•。★★ 。* 。 

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Flourless Chocolate Cake.  The small batch.  Delicious!  Decadent.  Fudgy.

I hope that you have a beautiful weekend. I will probably not be on again until Monday because of church tomorrow.  Be happy. Be blessed and don't forget! 

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And I do too!