All Things Nice . . .

 

 

The kettle sings a low contented tune

The dog snores in her sleep behind the stove,

There is a mingled odor in the air,

Of apple pie and cinnamon and clove,

The smell of yeast . . . for mother set the bread,

In the blue pan before she went to bed.

Beyond the pantry door I catch a glimpse

Of shiny ilk pans on a narrow shelf,

A row of plates . . . the old brown cookie crock;

A brimming water pail all by itself;

A little bracket lamb beside the door,

makes a small halo on the kitchen floor.

An old grey cat is sleeping on a chair,

Paws folded in below her snowy chest,

She looks the picture of contented peace,

Like an old lady waiting for a guest,

Her eyes blink softly as if half awake,

Pale green like water in a mountain lake.

The kitchen has a fragrance of its own,

Of porridge simmering in a blue pot,

Of kindling wood drying beneath the stove,

And red coals glowing beautiful and hot,

There is a sense of joy and comfort there,

In the old stove and cushioned rocking chair.

A feel of home and peace and fire glow,

That lovely modern kitchens do not know.

~Edna Jaques, Farm Kitchen At Night

The Golden Road 

I am thinking of my grandmother's kitchen this morning. When you walked in the door at the end of the side veranda, you were in the kitchen. It had an old linoleum floor and made a funny sound when you walked on it.  There were cupboards and a window on the left with a sink below the window. When I was very small there was a hand pump by the sink to bring the water in, but they eventually got running water in later years. Right across from the door to come in was a door which led to the back passageway that led out to the "Biffy" as my mother called it. The outhouse.  (I will never forget the smell of the outhouse. It was not obnoxious but it wasn't nice either.)

You could flip the linoleum back and there was a trap door in the floor which went down to the cellar.  That's where they kept vegetables and things for Winter.  An old wood stove was along the far left wall and on the other side was the dining room, with a big farmhouse table and chairs. 

 

Aunt Freda (holding me), my mother, 

my great grandmother

1956

There was a back bedroom downstairs also, along with a sitting room. Upstairs there were 4 smallish bedrooms. My grandfather and his second wife had the upstairs converted into an apartment, which is where my family stayed when we moved back to Nova Scotia the summer I turned 11.

Out of my siblings and myself, I am probably the only one who remembers the house as it used to be. My grandparents did not have a lot of money.  They did not own a lot of things. They were simple folk. But they had enough. They had what they needed.  Today we are so very spoiled. Our lives are filled with luxury in comparison to theirs, but we are no more happier for it.  

There is a special joy which comes in being content with what you already have.  Everything else is gravy.  A little gravy once in a while does the soul good, but a steady diet of gravy soon loses its savor.

(source)

He covers the heavens with clouds;

he prepares the rain for the earth;

he makes grass grow on the earth.

Psalm 147:8

We have been studying the Psalm's this week and last, and next week too. It is a very large book of verse, but very beautiful. I love the Psalm's and Proverbs also. I always have. They speak to my heart in a very special way.  Of all the books in the bible I think they are the most beautiful, but I love the Psalm's most of all.  When I leaf through the pages of my scriptures there are so many points of wisdom underlined in the Psalms, so many words of comfort.  Wisdom. Lamentations.  Peace. Trust.  I find all of those within the pages of this book.

(source)

This photograph reminded me of when I was working at the Manor.  The boss's were away and when they were away  we were free to walk through the gardens.  There was a secret garden down at the far end of the estate near the front gates. You got to it through a part of the hedge which was trimmed to look like a castle and there was a small doorway into them cut into the hedge. There were stone steps which led up into a small orchard which was filled with plum trees.  I remember the day I discovered them. I had no idea they were there.  The trees were laden with purple and blue fruits, hanging like dripping jewels. Some of them so ripe they had split and wasps were gorging themselves on their sweetness.  I went home and got a bucket and picked as many as the bucket would hold and we enjoyed a lovely plum cake for supper and I made plum jam and froze some for the winter ahead. 

There was quite a bit of fruit on the Estate that was never used. Figs  . . .  raspberries. Plums. Medlars.  Quince. It was another case of there being so much abundance that much of it went to waste because you could simply could not use it up or store it. It was a shame really. But there you go. They did not use these things themselves, except for maybe the raspberries.  I had loads of raspberries in the freezers at the Manor.  Beautiful for making coulis and for popping into her fruit smoothies in the morning.

Dogs are better than human beings,

because they know but do not tell.

~Emily Dickenson

This photograph came up on my memories on Facebook this week, from 12 years ago. It really tugged on my heart strings.  I remembered the warmth of her little body on my lap in the journey home from the breeders in the car and the way she came into our home and our hearts, one little puppy waddle at a time.  She was the sweetest puppy and she grew into the sweetest dog. So affectionate and loving. My life was richly blessed from having had her in it.  I shall always miss her.  There is a part of me that wishes so much that I could have brought her with me, but there is a much wiser part of me that knows that leaving her behind was the kindest thing for me to do for her. She is in a good home and she is loved and living the best last years of her life possible.  But when I see a photo of her like this my heart aches.  Some things bless our lives for only a moment and then they go on to bless other people's lives.  I am grateful for the time that she blessed mine.

I think this is true. We all have hidden parts of our lives that are too sacred for anyone but our Heavenly Father to know about. A part of what has shaped us into the beautiful beings that we are, these things  are safe with Him.  Perhaps too sacred for other human beings to understand or comprehend. But He knows. They are a part of our journey  . . . and He loves us anyways.  Eternally. Incomprehensibly. Unconditionally.  With a perfect and unchanging love.

 

(source)

I had often heard it said that as you get older, your mind goes more and more into the past remembering things, small moments, treasures, jewels . . . may it always dwell on the jewels, and not the other things. 

This  morning I remembered  a sun shower.  I was about 6 or 7 years old and I had gotten caught out in it.  And why not . . .  one did not surely expect that a torrent of rain would burst from a perfectly sunlit sky.  

I took shelter under the eaves of a nearby neighbor's garage roof.   The sun was shining all around me. I was dry and yet I could hold my arm out in front of me and catch the drops of rain in my outstretched hand.  It was like magic. The warmth of a sunny day, the smell of wet pavement.  A small fragment of time that has stayed with me for a lifetime and still brings me joy.

 

(source)

Sound advice.  Each day I capture moments and hold them in my hands for an instant.  Things so beautiful I never want to forget them.  Like how soft Nutmeg's fur is when he snuggles up next to me and the way he arches his head back beneath my stroking finger tips, as if he is catching the moment also.

The way the hummingbirds dance around the feeder, each vying for the prized spot. Dipping and diving . . . hovering in place . . . 

Going out to check my mailbox and hearing the hum of the electric wires in the hot summer sunshine, and feeling the warmth of it on my skin . . . 

The sound of a distant lawn mower . . . 

The padding of little paws as Cinnamon purrs and kneads my chest. I stroke her head and she looks up at me with eyes filled with love  . . . 

My sister's laugh as we share something together that only we might find funny . . . 

The blessings of modern technology that affords me the treat of talking to my son and grandson as if in person, even though we are hundreds of miles apart . . . memories. Will he remember these moments in time, my grandson? I sure hope so . . . I like to think so.

The smell and sound of bacon in the pan  . . . 

The taste of corn on the cob with all of that butter and that hint of salt. It tastes the same as it ever did. Indecently delicious. And I enjoy it every bit as much now as I did way back then. 

Life.  Ordinary simple pleasures. Beautiful. Joy. 

Yes, forever IS composed of a multitude of nows.

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

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

 *Take care of your memories,

for you cannot relive them.

~Bob Dylan•。★★ 。* 。

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Texas Chocolate Sheet Pan Cake. The small batch version. As always, delicious.

I hope you have a beautiful Saturday. Cindy, Dan and dad are coming for supper tonight. I am really looking forward to having them!  It will be wonderful.  Whatever you get up to today, be happy and don't forget! 

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And I do too!