All Things Nice . . .

 

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A chopping bowl of clear, white birch,

A cradle hollowed from a log,

A tiny blackthorn crucifix

Cut from a lonely Irish bog.

A maple bedstead . . . stoutly built,

Bannisters carved from golden oak,

A wagon wheel with hickory rims,

The curving beauty of a yoke.

A basket made of willow splints,

Pine for a flagpole, tall and straight,

An ancient fence of cedar rails,

Old poplar for a pasture gate.

A wagon tongue . . . a whiffle tree,

A pair of shafts . . . a wooden churn,

A set of hames . . . a water trough,

A knot of tamarack to burn.

A little box of sandalwood,

A teakwood table stoutly made,

An oaken coffin for the dead,

A checkerboard with pearl inlaid.

God must have loved a growing tree

Because He made them straight and tall,

And man has used them as his own,

And fashioned beauty from them all.

~Edna Jacques, Wooden Things

The Hills of Home, 1952

When I think of all the treasures that are held in a piece of wood, it warms my heart. Not much these days is made from real wood any more. It's all that press-wood, manufactured and made to look like the real thing, but there is no heart in it, no substance. Machine made for the most part, the only handwork applied . . .  yours, as you struggle to assemble it in the comfort of your home, using sketchy diagrams that are often very difficult to navigate. I miss wood. Real wood.

My ex and I (the father of my children) used to buy antiques from time to time and fix them up, refinish them.  Every piece was a labour of love.

This was the empty trees across the way glowing in the rising sun when I got up this morning.  It was such a spectacle to see. Right now, if you were to look out, they are all black, arms outstretched as above, but there . . .  for a few moments, they were dressed in golden splendour. So beautiful to see. What a gift it was for me to catch it before it disappeared. The camera lens doesn't really do them justice, but you can perhaps capture a taste of what it was. What a gift.

 

I used Chat GPT to turn myself into a peanuts character.  That was fun.  I guess I could have asked it for different backgrounds and stuff, but I didn't know about that so I didn't . . .  and now I can't remember how I did it in the first place. LOL That's me. Wading into the unknown frontier with both barrels loaded and not a clue as to what I am doing or how I got there. But at least I'm wading, so I guess that is something.

 

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I got my car back later in the day yesterday. I was right, it wasn't cheap as they had to replace both rear brake lines, but it's fixed now and hopefully will stay okay for a while. I guess they were rusting out. Maybe it's time to think about having my car undercoated again. I don't know. Might be too late. It's a 2015 model. That's over 10 years old. I just want to keep it running until I can't drive any more. I don't really have the finances to buy a newer car and to be honest, I probably never will. I think it will end up like my brother's BBQ. He has an old Consumers Distributing BBQ that is still going. I don't think any of it is original.  He just keeps fixing it when it breaks down. It's probably a whole new machine, whilst still being the old one if that makes sense. 

Reminds me of this Only Fools and Horses Episode where Trigger tells Del Boy that he's been using the same broom for fifteen years. He's only had to change the handle five times and the brush six. lol

Anyways, I am grateful to have my car back and in working order. What a blessing.

 

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I got out with Cindy and Dad yesterday as we took dad to his Friday afternoon at the mall with Maryann. For some reason he didn't realize I was in the back seat, even though I had been talking to him quite a bit off and on. That's how bad his hearing is, anyways, I was there. I had even patted him on the shoulder a few times. (I don't know what he thought that was!)

We dropped Dad and Maryann off first, and then we went to Walmart. Boy, they have been doing a lot of work in there. Everything is different and you are not sure where anything is anymore. They have made the food sections a lot larger, with more being on offer. I guess you could probably do your whole grocery shop there now if you wanted to. It did take a while to navigate where everything was, but I got there in the end.

After that we went to Sobey's and I picked up a few things for a project I am planning. Plus I got some hotdogs because I was going to make Eileen and I hotdogs for supper. Can you believe  $11.49 for a package of hotdogs?  They were All Beef, Schneiders. I don't do chicken dogs or regular ones. Haven't done for years. But it's crazy what they are charging now. I did get a fifteen pound bag of beautiful Russet Potatoes for $5.99 though and they are looking very nice. I saved $4.50 on those, so that was good and a bargain too good to pass up, especially where I was actually looking for potatoes.

When we left there we picked Dad and Maryann back up and dropped her off. Then we headed up to Peltons. We were almost there when I got the call about my car.  I got some chicken in Peltons, and a few other bits and we were just getting ready to leave when the man/farmer came out and said he was just taking bread out of the oven and bagging it did we want some. He didn't have to ask twice. We both walked out of there with a loaf of the freshest brown bread you could ever ask for. Score! I enjoyed a piece last night as my snack and it was lovely.

 

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How beautiful a day can be

When kindness touches it!

As suddenly illumined as

A room that's newly lit.

In busy hours how grateful is

A little word of cheer,

So close it brings its tenderness,

Its sympathy so near.

The weariness of heavy tasks

Is lost upon a day

When kind words bring their comfort, joy

To any busy way.

~George Elliston (1883-1946)

There are few things lovelier than a kind heart and a gentle spirit. The older I get, the more convinced I am that it is often the smallest kindnesses that mean the most. A warm smile from a stranger. A handwritten note tucked into the post. A neighbour checking in. A thoughtful word spoken just when it is needed. These simple acts may seem insignificant to the giver, but to the recipient they can illuminate the day like a lamp in a darkened room.

The lovely poem above speaks to that truth beautifully. Life can be busy and demanding. We all carry burdens that others know nothing about. Yet, a few gentle words, a moment of understanding, or even a simple expression of appreciation can lighten the load and make the day seem brighter.

May we all find opportunities to share a little kindness this weekend, and perhaps be blessed by the kindness of others in return.

And with those thoughts I will leave you with a thought to carry through your day. (A short post today I know, but I got started late.)

☾ ° ★° * 。  

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。

° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚

˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛

˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*Looking around my life,

I see fingerprints of Grace, everywhere.

~angelittle

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Butter Roasted Salted Nuts. A quick and easy make and incredibly moreish. Perfect for entertaining, gifting and snacking on.

Wishing you all a peaceful Saturday filled with simple pleasures, tender mercies, and, of course, all things nice.  Thank you for being you!  Don't forget!

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And I do too!    

   

 

All Things Nice . . .

 

(source)

I hope that I shall never get

So old, that pinks or mignonette

Will fail to stir within my veins

Some answering call -- or April rains

Washing down azure skies will bring

No quickening rapture of the spring.

I hope that I shall never see

Pale blossoms bursting on a tree

With jaded eyes . . . or fail to catch

My breath in wonder at a hatch

of chickens with small pointed bills

Yellow as April daffodils.

And little fir trees lifting up

Pale hands towards the sky's blue cup,

And old folks with their dim old eyes

Looking toward sunset skies,

Life's loveliness . . . work . . . laughter . . . tears,

Giving me beauty through the years.

~Edna Jacques, I Hope

Aunt Hattie's Place, 1941

 

Oh how grateful I am that I can still find a place in my heart to enjoy small pleasures such as these. I have always been one who sees. One who explores and sees the small things that many others might overlook. Finding wonder and . . . yes, even God . . .  in even the smallest details around me. I can't help it. That's just who I am, and who I've always been. Even in the face of mine enemies, or intense struggles, I am one who sees, and who appreciates the smallest of things. I hope that I never change.

 

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This picture reminds me so much of the many nights I spent laying on the sofa watching the flames flicker of the fire burning in our woodstove.  I could lay there for hours after the children went to bed, just watching the flames doing their dance, listening to the snapping and the crackle of the logs and sometimes the rush of wind in the chimney . . . such comforting sounds, those things . . . 

I know that many don't like a wood fire  . . .  because of the mess, but I never minded the mess. It was always worth it to me.  The warmth, the sight, the smell, the sounds  . . . 

I always kept a saucepan of water on top to help to send some moisture into the air.  Often I would slip a cinnamon stick, some star anise, an orange peel or two and maybe some cloves into it, which would also send a beautiful fragrance out. Home. It smelled like home to me. Or at the very least like I had something really special in the oven, even if I really didn't. 

 

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At the right time, I, the Lord, will make it happen.

Isaiah 60:22 (NLT)

Sometimes it can be really hard to keep the faith. Especially in the waiting. I don't know about you, but I love scriptures like these that I stumble upon. They remind me that God can and will do anything for anyone, at any time, even when it seems impossible. What's meant for you will never miss you. 

There is a need to trust in God's timing, especially when things aren't happening as quickly as we want them to, if at all. God sees the things we cannot see, and knows what we need even more than we do.  Often it is only in retrospect that we can see that His hands were at work in our lives, putting things into place when, where, and however it was that we needed most.

I need to remind myself of this often. Especially when I start to feel down on myself. On those days when I look in the mirror and only see someone that I don't think that anyone could ever want, or love. When I feel the pangs of loneliness or of missing. Of wanting to belong . . . of always being the second choice, or nobody's choice at all.

Trusting in His timing, that is often the hardest, most difficult thing to do, but  . . .  I have seen the tender mercies of the Lord in my life, over and over again. And on those difficult days, it is those tender mercies that I need to cling to.  I, the Lord, will make it happen.  A sweet reminder of a God who knows our beginnings from our ends and who wants only goodness for us in our lives.  

 

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In the beginning I was so young and such a 

stranger to myself I hardly existed. I had to 

go out into the world and see it and hear it

and react to it. before I knew at all who I was,

what I was, and what I wanted to be.

~Mary Oliver

I love the honesty in these words. So often we think we should have ourselves figured out by now, but perhaps life was never meant to work that way. Perhaps the point it not to know exactly who we are from the start, but to become ourselves little by little through living.

Every person we meet, every place we go, every joy, disappointment, success, and sorrow leaves its mark upon us. We are shaped by what we notice, by what we love, by what we cannot forget.

Looking back, I can see that so much of life has been a process of introduction. Not just to the world around me, but to myself. And perhaps, that journey of discovery never truly ends.

We don't arrive in the world knowing who we are. We discover ourselves gradually through experience, through mistakes, through heartbreaks and joys, through paying attention to what moves us and what leaves us unchanged. Perhaps that knowledge comes slowly, shaped by the people we live, the losses we endure, the roads we choose to take, and even the roads we leave unexplored.

When I look back across the years, I can see how true it has been in my own life. The young woman I once was could never have imagined the person I would become. There were so many things I had yet to learn, so many joys waiting for me, and sorrows to. There were lessons that could only be learned by living through them. Each experience revealed another small piece of myself. And even now, I am still discovering who I am. Still growing. Still learning.

There is something comforting in that realization. We do not have to have all the answers. We only have to remain open to the journey.

 

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All great and precious things are lonely.

~John Steinbeck

I've been thinking about this quote all week. I never thought I was lonely, but in recent days I have come to realize that I am.  I sit in a space I never thought I would ever find myself sitting in, and with each day that passes I am coming to accept that this is probably where I will stay, but I have also come to learn as I thought about these things that  . . . 

Some of the most precious things in life are experienced in solitude. A quiet morning before the world around you wakes up. A walk with only your thoughts for company. A book that speaks directly to your heart. A prayer whispered into the silence of your room late at night. The moments we sit with our memories, our hopes and our dreams.

There have been season in my life when loneliness felt like something to be endured. I have felt lonely in a crowd, in a family . . .  As I've gotten older, I've come to understand that solitude and loneliness are not always the same thing. Sometimes being alone is where we discover our strength, our faith, our creativity, and our deepest selves.

The things that matter most often grow in stillness. Gratitude. Wisdom. Peace. Contentment. They ask nothing of us except that we slow down long enough to notice them.

Perhaps that is what Steinbeck meant. Not that all precious things are sad or isolated, but that they are often found in those quiet spaces where we can finally hear our own hearts.

This was six years ago today. In some ways it feels like just yesterday, but six years is six years and somehow the time has passed. When I think back to how I was feeling then and how I am feeling now, there is a world of difference, and yet, the sadness that I carried then is still there, perhaps in a smaller measure, but its still there. I think that it always will be.  I have discovered, however, that I have so much to be happy about and so many more blessings resting in my life now than I can really count. Blessings that I could not have imagined when I arrived in that lonely motel room on that cold, cold night as I stepped into an unknown future, with nothing but faith and hope, and a few people who cared enough about me to make me feel welcome and loved. 

And that is all I have to share this morning. On this cold and damp November day.  Eileen is still sleeping, I overslept myself. I feel the day impressing upon me that I really need to start moving and doing some of the things that I need to get done, so I will leave you now with a thought to carry with you . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。

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

 *.˛.All that you give to others
You are giving to yourself.
~Anthony De Mello 

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Old Fashioned Date & Walnut Pudding.  A recipe that I chose to update with new photographs and some new writing. Eileen is really enjoying this. I think I made this back in 2011, I think from a recipe I found in Good Food Magazine, or something like that. It was good then, and it is very good now.  I hope some of you will want to try it.

I hope you have a beautiful weekend filled with all the things that you love most and that bring you true joy. Whatever you get up to, don't forget! 

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And I do too!    

   

All Things Nice . . .

 

His old feet clop along the quiet street

As patiently from door to door he goes,

Peddling his fragrant bread and shiny buns,

The little children stand on eager toes,

Stretching their necks to catch a glimpse inside

Where such delicious sweetness takes a ride.

The driver fills his basket full of loaves

As in and out of doors he makes his round,

The old horse watches him and moves along,

Nibbling at tufts of grass . . . nosing the ground,

Turns at the corner careful as you please,

Rests in the shelter of a clump of trees.

All the long afternoon they make their way

From house to house and little street to street,

Day after day . . . month after weary month,

In winter's icy chill or summer's heat,

Never a word of grateful thanks or praise

To warm the weary routine of their days.

I wonder if we give them a second thought

To daily service we all enjoy,

The little stall for vegetables and fruit,

The milk man -- mail man -- small delivery boy,

The patient few whose daily toil is such

Receive so little, yet who give so much.

~Edna Jacques, Baker's Horse

Roses in December, 1944

Although they were not brought by horse and wagon, we had things like breadmen, milkmen, postmen, vegetable and fruit men, fuller brush men and the like when I was growing up.  Door to door, each had his own particular day or hour to come. The bread man with his loaves and bags of donuts and other treats. The milk man with his milk and juice, butter and eggs. Each of these trucks had their own wares to peddle and really you didn't have to go to the shops unless you really wanted to or needed something that they didn't sell. I remember the bread man used to sell popsicles in the summer time. We would save our pennies to buy one and then split it because you could break it into two halves.

Although they still have milk men in the U.K. when I left to come back to Canada, it was not drawn by a horse, but by an electric milk float that moved silently down the street, the only sound a slight hum from the electric engine as it went, and the clink of the glass pint bottles.  I think largely though, these things are all a thing of the past. More's the pity. There was a special sense of community attached to these men and their wares.  They were often like the jungle drums carrying tales from one house to another. Someone that lady's who never saw much outside of their own doorsteps each day looked forward to seeing and having a bit of a conversation with.

Its called progress, but its kind of sad in a way . . .  when things like this disappear. Mom used to talk about an ice man bringing ice around in a horse drawn cart when she was a girl. The ice packed in sawdust. If you were lucky and one of his favorites he would chip off a piece on a hot summer's day as a treat for you. You wonder how these men used to support a family with the money from these things they peddled. It was a much simpler time I guess and needs were much simpler and less expensive I suppose.

 

 

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The morning air of autumn smelt like the musky, wild white rose. The South wind

had carried hither all the golden and brown savours from Devon and Wiltshire and Surrey;

And the strong sweetness make the walker snuff deeply at it, with uplifted upper lip. 

Church bells two miles away, deep among the woods that lay around narrow gulfs of

meadow on every side, called and called, as if they'd wedded this perfume and all the

gold and brown of the wide land. Not the last willow wren in the oak, not the cooing dove,

spoke more melodiously if autumn and repose than the bells.

Edward Thomas (1878-1917)

From The Heart of England, 1906

I used to love going for long walks when I lived in England, well all but the last few years when arthritis had taken its toll on my knees.  You can walk the length and breadth of the country on marked footpaths that will take you meandering through the countryside. Through orchards and fields, woodlands, etc. I remember taking one through the fells in Cumbria and coming upon some ancient burial mounds. Quite fascinating and then off in the not too far distance seeing the ruins of the Giant's Castle. When we were with the Lees in the South of France we bought some walking maps and did some hikes around the countryside, also very fun and picturesque and good for the soul. If you can do it, walking these long walks in the countryside are really wonderful.

Perhaps not so safe here though. There have been lots of bear sightings and cougars, coyotes, etc. There were no such things in the U.K.

 

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Eileen seemed to be feeling a bit better towards the end of yesterday, although she is sleeping a lot. I am not sure if it is because of boredom or what, but in any case it is helping somewhat. It is a lot of work caring for someone who is recovering from a major surgery such as she has had. I try hard to keep her spirits up, especially when they are flagging.  Her belly stitches are not causing her much trouble, and some of them have already totally healed, but it is the ones down below that are causing the most problem for her. It hurts to go to the bathroom, and when she stands up or sits down. The only place she seems to be totally comfortable is in bed. I get her up and walking and sitting as often as she will allow.  And the shower helps each day. She did have more of an appetite yesterday and managed a cup of tea and a piece of raisin toast around midday and her supper late in the afternoon. When I had her up earlier she did not seem to be in quite as much pain as she was yesterday, but the pain is still there. I am seeing improvements with each day that passes, however, and that is good. Time and patience are our friends here.

 

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Sometimes I feel a bit blue, when I think of how I have ended up alone in life with nobody to share it with. I have not been the maker of wise decisions in who to share my life with. Not ever and I have wondered why is it that I had such a problem doing so.  Sometimes I lay in bed at night and think, and get into my head. I was doing so last night and I remembered the comment that someone had left for me quite a number of years back now, in relation to my family, that I was going to die "alone and lonely."  it made me cry again because, sometimes . . .  in the dark and on my own  . . .  I feel like this is the case. I tried to say my prayers but I just couldn't get the words out, not properly so I just asked for help.  Then I decided to go on my iPad and listen to one of the talks from the last General Conference. I have been listening to them in the order in which they were given. Last night was the one give by Elder Renlund entitled, "How Long Will it Be Ere They Believe Me."

At first as I was listening to his words I felt a bit chastised for feeling the way I was feeling, and then as I listened and read on I felt hopeful.

"Perhaps you have been served more than your share of cold oatmeal. Perhaps, like the children of Israel, you have doubted God’s care for you, His willingness to succor you, or His capacity to keep His promises. Yet God invites us to trust Him and His promises."

"During His mortal ministry, the Savior told His disciples: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” Jesus overcame the world; we do not have to do so ourselves. When our faith is centered on Jesus Christ, He promises spiritual peace no matter our circumstances. We can experience joy in our here and now because of Him and through our covenant relationship with Him."

The words were not only uplifting and inspiring, but the timing of my reading them was a sign to me of an ever-present God who knows just what I need to hear and when I need to hear it.  I had heard this talk during the actual conference and yes, it was a nice talk, but last night in bed with tears in my eyes, it became much more than that. 

I love it when that happens and it has happened to me more often than not. When I have called on Him in my hour of need, He always comes to my rescue and lifts me up from where I have fallen.

 

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I know that I am blessed, and that I am thankful for the many ways in which these blessings have manifested themselves. In the forms of food, shelter and clothing. Electricity and hot running water. Transportation. Family and friends and health, to name but a few. I realize that there are many less fortunate than I am, and it is not lost on me that without these basic needs being met, I may very well not be able to appreciate life's simple pleasures   . . .  those that come from a place of beauty in the mundanity and the everydayness of living.  This alone is a godsend, and the reason these small gifts are the ones that fill the gratitude pages of my journal. If you were to peek inside you would find a page, or two or three or four titled "I Am Thankful." A few passages, each beginning with the words "I am thankful for" might read as follows  . . . 

I am thankful for quiet, unhurried mornings. For days that start at 5 a.m., allowing me to take things slowly, relishing the wee hours, affording me the time to write these missives each morning. For savoring first steamy mugs of hot cocoa on a cold day . . . with a splash of cold cream. For music playing softly in the background. It is a time when everything is fresh and new and full of possibility. The best part of the day. A time for releasing the morning to unfold as it will . . . gently with no agenda. At least not for those first few precious moments.

I am thankful for our plans to call in an order to DeeDees this afternoon for Eileen and I, so that we can enjoy a nice burger supper for two. For the heavenly aromas that I know will come out of the bag when we open it and for the smile on her face I know I will see when she sees her Bacon Mushroom Melt. For the appetite I know it will tempt.  For another memory that will be built for just us two.

I am thankful for my little fluffy gingers. For the way they bookend me on the sofa in the evening. Their warm little bodies nestled close to mine.  For the joy that we both get as they pounce on the little red lazer light from the lazer pen as it dances across the room. I watch them and we are both delighted.

I am thankful for handwritten letters and cards in the post and for packages sent by thoughtful friends. For good books, old and new, to read and  for beautiful music to listen to.  For the praise music that Eileen and I both like to listen to that helps to raise our spirits and our arms in thankfulness.

I am thankful for these words of prose that I found scratched out in pencil on a scrap of paper and tucked into one of my journals  . . . 

It matters not from whence it flows

It matters only where it goes

An acorn grows into a tree

A river flows into the sea

It is the same with you and me

There's great potential the eye can't see

Beneath the cold dark ground it grows

The tiny seed into a rose

A myth becomes reality

Through fruit that only few can see

Mysteries of God

Lay at their midst

A living, thriving catalyst

Through faith and tiny bits of rain

Come untold blossoms once again

Where only dirt and worms once were

A tender beauty, sweet and pure

The same is true of you and me

We may not grow into big trees

But seeds of faith when watered true

Can make a better me and you

A heaven-sent soliloquy.

I wrote it when I was living in the U.K. Probably up in the craft room.

And I am thankful for each of you. Although many of us have never met in person, I feel a kinship and love. A very good thing

And I am thankful for the peace that passeth understanding. When you know . . .  you know.

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

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

*Let us hold unswervingly to the hope
that we profess, for He who promised
is faithful
~Hebrews 10:23• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 

In the kitchen today  . . .   Easy Copycat OMG Cinnabon Clusters. Oh my goodness, are these every delicious despite my not being able to get a photo that accurately depicts their deliciousness. Clusters of crunchy cinnamon cereal, heath toffee bits, toasted pecans all cloaked and clustered in copious amounts of cinnamon infused white chocolate.  

I hope that you have a beautiful day, a beautiful weekend. Whatever you get up to I hope you stay safe and warm and blessed. 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!    

   

All Things Nice . . .

 

 

(source)

Who made the pattern for a climbing rose,

Or set the rules by which a pine tree grows,

Who traced the first lines in a maple leaf,

To make it beautiful beyond belief.

Who made the chalk-white peppers on a shore,

The tiny seedlings in an apple core,

And who -- in some mysterious lovely realm

Fashioned the framework of a stately elm?

Who set the stars to shine above the Deep,

And gave the sea its mystery to keep,

Or made a pattern intricate as lace

That grub uses for his hiding place?

Who taught a wood-thrush all he seems to know,

Or a small brook, the way all waters flow,

Who taught a busy squirrel his bag of tricks,

A mother hen the way to feed her chicks?

Who told my heart to worship on bent knees

when I behold the mystery of these?

~Edna Jacques, Who?

The Hills of Home, 1952

I can still remember the time I cut an apple in half crosswise and saw the star in the middle. I remember being astonished.  Had this always looked like that? How could I have missed that secret held within the heart of an apple for all of those years gone before that moment?

Our world is full of  things and mysteries too beautiful to be able to explain how they came into existence. And we can try, hard as we can to set them to science and happenstance, but deep in my heart I know and have always know.  When my children were born and lay in my arms for the first time I was overwhelmed with the beauty and intricacy of their coming into being  . . .  fresh from God and handed over into my care. Their tiny fingers, curling with instinct around my own. So helpless and so amazingly intricate at the same time.  Their fingers may have wrapped around my own, but truth be told, I was wrapped around their little finger from the moment I knew they were there, growing . . . 

and I still am. 

The leaves were dancing yesterday. We had quite a windy day and Eileen and I enjoyed watching them dance across the pavement from across the street onto our front porch and off again.  We watched the dancing on the rooftops across the way, dashing down the street and then back up again. Breathtaking  . . . 

I am reminded of that scene in the Disney film Fantasia with the dancing leaves. I used to love that film when I was a child. The music and all of the different scenarios, all set in nature. I think my favorite one was the dancing toadstools, but I loved it all. Movie night tonight in our house, perhaps  . . .  we will watch Fantasia and I can be a child again, if only for a moment or two  . . .

 

(source)

I have always been a voracious reader.  Ever since I learned how to read I have found myself immersed in magical other worlds. I could never imagine not being able to read. I have my favorite books and characters, books that I will read again and again, revisiting them like old long lost friends from time to time, and they never fail to delight me.  

What if you could spend a full day with one of your favorite characters in a favorite book of yours? Who would you most like to do that with?

 I am such an indecisive person. When we go out to supper, Eileen and I, I will change my mind at least three or four times on the way as to where I want to go, and then, when the menu is in front of me,  I am sure I change my mind at least half a dozen times about what I want to order.

It is the same with fictional characters.  How can I pick just one  . . .

Jo March, from Little Women. I'd love to go on a long walk with her and talk about the things she has written, and ask her what it was like trying to become a published female author in a male-dominated field. 

Then there is Anne Shirley, from Anne of Green Gables  . . . I imagine us sitting together on a picnic blanket,  sharing something delicious as we look out over the grasses and white sands of Cavendish.  Talking about kindred spirit friends and raspberry cordial  . . . 

Don't get me started on Nancy Drew or Trixie Beldon. To be a teenage sleuth  . . . 

Oh, there are so many I would love to spend a day with. How about you?

 

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Wrapped in warmth  . . . there is something about flannel that just makes me feel all cozy and warm, welcome, at home. And it can be a blanket, or an old shirt that I have loved for a long, long time . . .  fabric worn, yet somehow very comforting in it's old age. Memories are woven into it's threads . . . nights curled up on a sofa with it wrapped around me, watching my favorite movie in candlelight, or walks in the woods with that old shirt caressing my arms and keeping me warm out in the biting autumn air that I'm not quite used to yet, or arms tied around my waist on a day when I have miscalculated the waning warmth of the sun.   Old friends.  Flannel, it becomes an old and favorite friend. One we can never give up.

 

(source)

Frost, and sunshine after had reddened the hawthorn sprays, and already they could see through the upper branches -- red with haws -- for the grass was strewn with the leaves from the exposed tops of the bushes. On the orange maples there were bunches of rosy-winged keys. There was a gloss on the holly leaf, and catkins at the tips of the leafless birch. As the leaves fell from the horse-chestnut boughs the varnished sheaths of the buds for next year appeared, so there were green buds on the willows, black tips to the ash saplings, green buds on the sycamores  . . . 

Thin threads of gossamer gleamed, the light ran along their oops as they were lifted by the breeze, and the sky was blue over the buff oaks. Jays screeched in the oaks, looking for acorns, and there came the muffled tinkle of a sheep-bell.

~Richard Jefferies, from Bevis, 1882

Don't you wish you could write like that. I do  . . . I wish I could untangle all the words that rush to my mind and memory when I see things like this. Always an adventurer as a child, I was climbing trees out in the woods, all on my lonesome . . .  and noticing  . . . rosy-winged keys, and fallen acorns, toadstools and fairy circles. I was surrounded by a world of beauty and didn't know how to put it into words. When I read words like these I am back there in the woods of my childhood and seeing these things all over again. I can smell the leaves, damp and rotting on the ground,  hear the cry of the wild geese flying over head, and feel the impending arrival of something deeper and colder . . . 

 

(source)

One of my favorite things has always been the button box. Even as a child. Our mother did not have a box as such. She had small round metal tins  . . .  probably something our father had gotten from work. There was masking tape on each tin, labeling what was inside in her very proper handwriting. I used to love to dip my fingers into the buttons. It was as if they were a pirate's gold.  I would imagine where each one had come from. In those days when before a garment was discarded to be used for a rag, the buttons would have been carefully clipped off and placed in the tin. Most were very plain to the eye, but every so often you would come across one that glittered. Like magic.

Eileen is doing very well. I helped her in the shower again last night. Her whole bottom is bruised. It must be very painful.  My heart breaks to think of her hurting. She is so brave. She never complains. She has been brave through all of this. Tears come to my eyes when I think about it. I am so grateful that this is now looking like it is behind us . . .  now all we have to do is to heal. I am so thankful that I am here for this and not several thousand miles away, and I give praise to the God who knows the beginnings of our stories from the ends  . . .  and for Him putting me here for just such a moment.

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

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

*In Autumn if the leaves still hold,

The Winter will be wet and cold.

~an old wives' tale.

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Caramelized Apple Cornbread.  Oh my goodness. This was so delicious served warm with a drizzle of honey over top. Another small-batch recipe.

I hope you have a lovely weekend. To all my Canadian friends and readers, Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you have plenty to be thankful for. I know I have.  Whatever you get up to, 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!