Saturday Nice . . .

 

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My clock has tiny golden hands,

But oh they hold such precious things,

An hour lovely as a gem,

A minute when gay laughter rings;

The scud of clouds across the moon,

The blessed miracle of June.

My clock has steady hands to hold

The minutes that make up an hour,

Ticking them off like a small bride,

Counting the pennies in her dower,

While warm love surges through her breast,

Besides her oaken bridal chest.

My clock upon the mantel shelf,

Is part of Time's eternal span,

Each beat a hoofprint in the sand,

Of Life's slow moving caravan,

Linking the ages into one,

Like stars around a blessed sun.

My clock has tiny golden hands,

That measure out my small routine,

They tell me when it's time to rise,

To eat and dress and start to clean,

The children coming home . . . the bus,

That brings the father back to us.

I sure don't know what I'd do,

Without a clock to answer to.

~Edna Jacques, The Hands of a Clock

The Golden Road, 1953

I have always loved clocks. It is a love that began as a child. Our mother had an old cowboy clock that sat on top of the bookcase in our living room.  A cowboy, arm upraised in the cowboy salute, atop his silver steed, lasso in hand as he gripped the reins . . . his horse beneath him with front legs ready to gallop. 

We were not allowed to touch it, but I reckon many a small finger traced it's lines as small minds daydreamed about riding horses out on the range, and imagined the horse's whinnies and neighs. That was in the day of going to the movies on Saturday afternoons and seeing Roy Rogers and Dale Evans. Dreaming cowgirl things.

Mom had a story about when she was a young girl and they were living in the first house that they had lived in in Lawrencetown, which is the town just down from us. There was a campground across the road and someone had come over to their house asking if they had any soda crackers. Roy Rogers and his crew were camping there and Dale Evans had morning sickness. They were looking for something to help abate it.

Our mother always held a great respect for Roy Rogers and Dale Evans and, in turn, so did we.

 

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We've had a bit of a thaw these past few days. The January thaw. But it will be back to the cold very soon.

For me, winter is an invitation to slow down. I welcome it.  It’s a quieter season that asks for softer mornings, earlier nights and time spent at home in a way that feels intentional and nourishing. The days linger and so do I. Winter becomes a gentle pause, one filled with warmth, comfort and small moments that restore.

 My mornings seem to unfold slowly in winter. There’s time to linger in my chair, hands cupped around a hot drink as I watch the light shift outside my window and ease into my day. The sky gifts a rosy glow just above the rooftops that lay to the South East of me. I watch it come up from my bedroom window. There are only a few months of the year when I am privy to this without having to get up in what seems like the middle of the night. To be able to watch this is a gift.

 

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 For me these moments are all about comfort, layers of softness, quiet routines and letting my mornings set a calm tone for whatever comes next in my day  . . . 

I love that Winter, for me at least, is a season of rest.

 

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In the stillness of winter, I find myself wanting to write letters. I have a box of stationary that I had purchased prior to moving back to Canada. It is personalized and has pretty little bees at the top of the letterhead. I fell in love with it and for some reason thought to throw it into my suitcase before I left.

Letter writing is a simple and special ritual. A pause in the day, a cleared space, a few thoughtful lines written with time to linger. Each letter carries a sense of presence, offering warmth that stays long after it’s been read. It’s a quiet way to stay close, a keepsake of words. Letters can be held, reread and tucked away . . . . gentle reminders of connection and care, saved for another day when their words bring comfort once again.

My mother was a letter writer.  In my younger years I could count on receiving a letter from her once a week.  As she got older and writing became more painful for her to do with her arthritic hands, letters arrived far less frequently, and towards the end not at all. I have kept them all, or at least a good few of them, in a box.  I always thought that in keeping them I would be able to take them out and re-read them when the letters stopped coming and mother was gone.

I have found myself quite unable to do so without becoming upset . . . it is hard to believe that on the 21st of this month it will have been 7 years since she left us. It still pains my heart that I was not here to say goodbye in the way I would have liked to.

 

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I am afraid that my handwriting has deteriorated a great deal as the years have passed. I do far too much typewriting and my handwriting skills have gotten very lazy. I don't want to spoil my stationary with an unkempt hand and so it sits in it's box . . .  waiting for the day when my handwriting magically improves. 

I have the workbooks . . .  The Spenserian Method of Handwriting. I take them out on occasion and do a bit, but it is something that needs to be done with diligence and frequency in order for it to really take hold.

 

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I used to love going for walks on sunny days in the winter months, before the pains of arthritis spoiled it for me. I always loved how winter walks cleared the mind and refreshed the spirit, be it a short wander through the trees or a crisp walk down a familiar road. The air feels sharper, the world quieter and everything just a little more peaceful. The smell of the crisp air, the sound of my feet crunching . . .  squeaking at times . . . atop the frozen snow. Oh how I miss going for walks in the snow   . . . 

 

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Wintering . . . gentle home projects like organizing shelves, refreshing corners, juju-ing spaces just because it brings a smile to the face. Simple thoughtful touches that make the home feel more welcoming.  I have the desire to pack things away in boxes so that its not so cluttered.  Making space, but then as I hold each thing in my hands, I cannot bring myself to part or hide any of it away. I love it all so much.

Candlelight becomes a part of my daily rhythm. A single flame softens a room, adds warmth to quiet moments and brings a sense of calm as evening settles in. Whether lit at the table, beside a favorite chair, or gathered on a mantel, candles create an atmosphere that feels so very comforting. 

I love my candles. Their gentle glow and warm scents remind me to slow down, breathe deeply and savor the stillness that this season offers.  A few years ago I purchased some little beeswax Hanukah candles. They look so sweet burning in the tiny empty Bonne Maman jars from my Advent Calendar.  Tiny candles in tiny jars.   

 

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This season encourages moments of “me time.” Reading, journaling, crafting, foot baths . . . or simply sitting in stillness. Winter reminds me that rest is productive in its own way and that caring for myself is always worth the time.  I lean into the early evenings.  Favorite books, films and shows, layered blankets and the comfort of knowing that there is nowhere else I need to be. Early to bed feels like a gift in a way that it never did when I was a child.  

Last night I was tucked up in my bed amidst my pillows watching my favorites on the iPad by 7:30. It just felt like the place I wanted to be.  The cats were nestled amongst the blankets with me until Nutmeg decided it was time to pounce on my toes and bite them. It made me very cross in a way that I never get. Thankfully it was at the time when I normally go to bed anyways, so I felt no guilt in banishing them both from the room for the remainder of the night. 

He does not do that when we are sitting on the sofa, but once I get into bed . . . it turns into nibble time for him.

I am picking up Eileen and Tim around one today and taking them for a Birthday lunch to celebrate both of their Birthdays.  They had wanted Chinese, but now have changed their minds. I think we are going to the place that lays just behind me and down the road a bit. I have a small gift for her and a card  that I did not get to give her on her actual birthday as well. It should be fun.

And with that I will leave you with a thought for the day/weekend . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

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

*I'm learning to love the silence

between prayers and promises,

the space where hope blooms slowly.

~Unknown   • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。

In The English Kitchen today I am sharing Oat, Apple & Sunflower Seed Muffins.  Not too sweet. Wholesome.  The perfect muffin. 

I hope that you have a beautiful weekend, filled with lots of peace, joy and comfort.  Be happy. Be safe. Don't forget!

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⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿

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And I do too!