All Things Nice . . .

 

(source)

If I can hang crisp curtains

And paint a handy shelf,

Put a picture here and there

To sort of suit myself,

Put cushions on a rocking chair,

Have a few flowers growin',

I wouldn't trade my happy lot

With all the kings that's goin'.

If I can cook a pot of stew

Or bake a batch of bread

A pan of shiny home-made buns,

Air out a feather bed;

If I can plant a row of beans,

Take pleasure in the sowin'.

I wouldn't trade my happy lot

with all the kings that's goin'.

If I can live in happy peace,

Wit none to work me ill;

A crimson rosebush by the door,

Sun on a distant hill,

A little home where love is lord

And all the world be knowin'.

I wouldn't trade my happy lot

with all the kings that's goin'.

~Edna Jacques, Crisp White Curtains

Back-Door Neighbors, 1946

Ahh, home sweet home. There is no place like it on earth. A place of peace and sanctuary, or at least that is what it should be. I like to think of my home as being holy ground. That is all down to choice. I can choose what I bring into my home. The feelings which reside there. I do this by choosing carefully the things I watch on the television. The books I read. The music I listen to. When I set up my home I decided, and I have told you this before, that I was only going to invite things into it which uplifted and fed my spirit with positivity.  I think I have done well in that goal.  

Maybe even too well as I think I have perhaps too much stuff and should maybe it's time to do a cull.  I am like a crow. I like shiny sparkly things. Pretty things.  Books. Dishes. Vintage. Knick Knacks. Tea pots. Tea cups. Mugs. Scented Candles. Dolls. Fabric. Yarn. Painting materials. There comes a point where enough it enough I suppose.  I basically only have one large room and two small bedrooms to fill, not counting my galley kitchen and bathroom. I have reached the age where I have all that I need. I have become, perhaps, a difficult person to buy a gift for. I can remember agonizing over what to get our mother for Christmas and for Birthdays. She had everything she needed. There is one gift that never goes out of style however and doesn't take up much space. Time

I wish I had spent more time.

 

(source)

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a family,

call it a tribe. Whatever you call it, whoever you are,

you need one.

~Jane Howard

This is the time of year we probably think of family the most. Hopefully with love and not dread. Configurations of what a family is has changed drastically over the years. What hasn't changed is our need for close ties to those who call us their own.

When I lived so far away from mine, this was the time of year that I keenly missed them. I missed the act of belonging somewhere, with someone near and dear to me.  Family. I would see other families gathering together at church, or for holiday celebrations, and I did not have one. It would often make me feel lonely and I would sit in church and look with longing at those who had all their chicks gathered around them. I missed my family.

Oh, how wonderful it is now to live so close to them, or at least some of them. I can remember the first time I ran into my sister at the grocery store back when I had first moved into my place. It was such a wonderful feeling. To run into this person that I had shared a room with all of my growing up years so unexpectedly. It felt like a gift.  It was a gift.

I don't think I will ever take for granted the nearness of family. I miss it when I have a day where I don't talk to my sister or my brother, or my daughter for that matter. My two older sons, it may sometimes be a few weeks in between conversations, but when we do talk it is such a joy, and brings light into my day.  

I love my clan . . . my tribe.

It snowed most of the day yesterday. Big white flakes pirouetting down to the ground like the down of a goose. I love that kind of snow. One can forgive Winter from happening if it happens with goose down snow. It snowed pretty much all day until mid-afternoon. And then I looked out the window and saw the prettiest bluest sky and the way the sunlight was playing on the clouds, tinting them gold with hints of pink and grey. It was so beautiful. And the way the bare branches of the trees across the way rose above the roof-tops delighted my heart. Reaching up to that blue sky with open arms, almost in gratitude.

They made me feel grateful as well. 

All is right in the world when you have soft down snow, baby blue skies and golden clouds to feast your eyes upon.

 

(source)

 There is a part of me that longs to bring a real Christmas tree home. I have not had a real tree in quite a number of years. I know they come with quite a mess, but the smell  . . .  I love that smell. 

When we were young children we, of course, had a real tree every year. My father would bring it home and it would sit, propped up against the side of the house until he had had time to lop off the end of its stump. 

It always came in with a breath of cold, fresh air and that beautiful smell of fresh fir.  Green and sappy. The smell of Christmas.  

They had a special tree stand to sit it in, one which held a nice pool of water to help to keep it fresh. Getting it to stand just right was quite a feat.  Sometimes it was so heavy that my parents tied a string around it to help anchor it to the two windows which it usually sat between.  There it would sit for a few days, while our mother waited for the branches to settle in just right.

The anticipation was tangible. You could cut it hanging there in the air with a knife. Oh, how our fingers itched to touch it.  I am sure that each of us did, despite being cautioned not to.  The smell of pine needles crushed between my thumb and forefinger brings a delight to my soul to this very day.

 

(source)

The decorating of its branches was always preceded by the testing and laying of the lights. Each year our father made sure to wind them up just right at the end of the season so that it would be much easier for him to unwind them in the next holiday season. He would unwind them on the carpet, we three children having been cautioned to hold our place sitting on the sofa to observe the goings-on.  He would plug them in and never-fail, they would not be working as one errant bulb would have magically given up the ghost during the ensuing months after the previous Christmas.  The testing would begin. Each bulb would need to be tested to see who the culprit was and then once found, replaced. Those were the days when one bulb failed, they all failed.

Once they were all sorted and working, he would place them carefully on the tree.  The decorating would begin. 

Mom would let us put a few decorations on, near the bottom of the tree, but she did the decorating for the most part. Most of our ornaments came from Germany, gathered during the four years we had spent living there.  They were made from glass and so pretty, in a huge variety of colors and shapes. Some being round and some being almost egg shaped. They looked very similar to the ones in the picture above.

And the tinsel. Lead tinsel. It would be hung all over the tree, making it sparkle. Mom always draped a white flannel cloth over the tree stand that had small sparkly bits all over it. Every year once the decorating was finished, we would all declare it the best Christmas tree ever.  

Again, we would be cautioned not to touch it, but we could not help ourselves.  The temptation was too great.  Furtive touches happened frequently in the days leading up to Christmas, not that any of us would admit it.

On Christmas morning we would know that Santa had been, not just by the gifts which lay beneath the branches of the tree, but also by the piece of beard he always left behind, snagged on those same branches.  A small piece of angel hair mom kept tucked away for just that purpose.

The magic of Christmas.

 

(source)

It was quite chilly in here all day yesterday. I baked some cookies, and I made a special lasagna recipe that I had found in one of my books.  The oven warmed things up quite a bit. Later in the day I baked a special tea bread which used up the leftover cranberry sauce in the refrigerator. It is a loaf I have not made in quite a few years. I mean to update the original post with some fresh photography and words.

I had Christmas music playing on the television for most of the day. I was hoping that it would inspire me to make merry in some way, but it did not.

I have not caught that spirit just yet, although  I did buy a decoration from my cousin's wife. 

She makes the prettiest wall hangings and wreaths. This one just caught my fancy. I have a thing for gingerbread men and girls. I love them.  I had quite a few on my tree over in the U.K. and each one brought me delight. Those and the little red and white toadstools.

She does a lovely job with these. I do not have it yet. My cousin Sheri is going to pick it up for me. I have no idea where her brother lives. We see them, he and his wife, occasionally at the restaurant that our father likes to eat at on Wednesday nights.

See? Family. Running into family in unexpected places. It is just the best thing ever. My tribe.

 

(source)

This photograph made me think of my oldest son.  The year he was turning 12 these jackets were all the rage amongst he and his friends. I remember saving my pennies to buy him one. Oh, how proud he was of that jacket.  We ended up moving before the beginning of the school year, from Nova Scotia to Ontario.  He wore this jacket to school on the first day, feeling very cool, only to be laughed at and called Farm Boy. What a disappointment that was to him. Something which he had really wanted ended up bring him far more pain than joy.

Kids can be so mean. My two older boys were both bullied in their middle school years. It was hard for me as a mom to watch, but even more difficult for them to endure. They have both grown up to be kind and caring individuals however, so perhaps that is the silver lining of being treated poorly. It made them kind.  

 

(source)

I am in a bit of a conundrum as to tip my cleaners at Christmas or not. It seems everyone expects a tip these days. When I pay the bill for my cleaners (online) there is always a prompt from the cleaning company to leave a tip. I am not sure what to think about that. I was thinking of giving them each a card with a tip inside it, but I am not sure how much to give. They do a fabulous job and are so friendly and caring. I want to show my appreciation, but I cannot afford a lot. I do feel I should give something.

I am running out of time now this morning. I have been interrupted multiple times by a very needy little madame. The batteries on my mouse failed so I had to go seek out a new one. I could not find one that worked so I have had to dig up an old mouse and install that. I have also been doing laundry as I write. It's in the drier now and almost finished so I will need to go and fold it. I also haven't made my bed yet. I hate to write and run, but I must! It's quarter to 10 am!

A thought to carry with you . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。

° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚

˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛

˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*Kindness is like snow.

It beautifies everything it covers.

~Kahlil Gibran  • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。 

A new recipe in The English Kitchen today. Mincemeat Cookies.  Deliciously moreish. Another way to use that jar of mincemeat.

I really hope you have a lovely weekend. I hope you have some time to just relax and feed your soul in the most beautiful way. Whatever you get up to, don't forget!

═══════════ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ═════════════ 

⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿

═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ════════════  

And I do too!