hanging out at my house

simple decorations

Fun to photograph.

A quick crochet experiment that turned out as I had hoped.

At our mentor meeting this month I showed our young women
some of the ornaments I've made through the years and we
guessed the decades. This is a favorite one, back when we were
painting wood ornaments like crazy.

And we made these two easy and fun new ones.

Two favorites that hang on our tree.
Holland and the world.
Connecting with Mosaic Monday.

a new constant

My BIL pumps up the tires, and I hop on my sister's bike for a spin around their neighborhood. The weather is changing in this muggy Florida and a cooler breeze whips through my short hair as I sail along the wonderfully flat terrain. I love bike riding but other than a recumbent at the gym, I haven't been on a bike since my knee replacement.

I feel like a kid when I ride my bike. I look down and can almost see my old green bike with fat tires. I remember enthusiastic bike rides in the past, and how I'd chug up a hill and race down the other side. As I ride this particular late afternoon, thinking about being a kid and my old green bike, the bright sun slips lower in the sky. As I turn a corner, it's fully in my eyes, blinding me in spite of sunglasses.

Reality check. It's those blooming cataracts. And with my new knee I'm not riding as fast as I used to. That young green bike girl may still live inside, but the outer body is aging.

In this season of life change seems to be the new constant. I continually seek grace to accept life now with a few limitations while at the same time using my age to good advantage, remembering amazing adventures and difficult lessons learned in these years I've been blessed with.

Adaption is something to be considered as I ride a bit more cautiously into the blazing sun. I may need to add a visor on my head. It'd be an innovation, but that might be a good change.

the season has arrived

"'Tis the season" seems to have arrived in a big rush this year with our American Thanksgiving being so late in the month. It's almost time to flip the calendar page and December will be here.  I try to get our decorations up right after Thanksgiving so we have four weeks to enjoy them--since it's a lot of work--or seems more so each year!

I appreciate help putting the ornaments on the tree and this year when the grandchildren were here for Thanksgiving they became my little assistants.

I assume there will be a density of ornaments at the bottom of the

tree but not so much this year. It was all about climbing

the ladder, and they took turns going up with a fistful of ornaments.

It was a busy day.

At the end of the day after everyone has left, I actually enjoy cleaning

up the kitchen. I turn on some music, organize the mess, 

take my time, and find it all relaxing.

Joining Monday Mosaics.

a butterfly in fall

     From a cocoon forth a butterfly

     As lady from her door

     Emerged--a summer afternoon--

     Repairing everywhere.

    Without design, that I could trace.

    Except to stray abroad

    On miscellaneous enterprise

    The clovers understood….

                           from "The Butterfly's Day" by Emily Dickenson

    Photo by my sister, butterfly in her fall Florida garden

      

flying fingers

I've gotten pretty good at texting. I like it because it's almost always read where

you don't always know about an email. I'm amazed at how quickly my fingers 

now fly over those little keys. 

(Checking it over is a must before sending for sure.)

It's quick and efficient. I've never liked talking on the phone, and you can communicate 

and get a lot accomplished through texting. 

It allows the recipient to read it when they have time, rather than being 

interrupted by a phone call. If I had to do a phone call instead of each text, 

I'd get so much less done in a day … and probably go "batty."

I looked back at my texts this week before I cleared some away. 

They included a question about breastfeeding; a recipe; "Love you" from one son 

and picture of the grands from the other; quick discussion with my sister about a movie; 

 update on a sick friend; cancelation of a coffee date; a question about 

table decorations . . . and more. 

if walls could talk

"If walls could talk, we've often thought, what stories they would tell.

"But if we're slow to grasp the message of an open front door,

a clean-scrubbed floor, or a hand-made object comfortable with its age

and imperfections, perhaps we're not listening well.

"The language of a house is visual.

"The soul of a house is memory. And it speaks to the heart."

~from Simple Country Pleasures in

Country Living Magazine, March 2001

Joining in Mosaic Monday.

story teller

 I mentioned last week that I had a favorite piece of art at the 

Meijer Gardens that we visited in Michigan.

I was immediately drawn to this sculpture of an old man telling a young girl a story.

 I'd like to think it's a grandfather.

Love how she's holding his pinkie and she looks enthralled

as she listens intently.

Ahead of Her Time

Amy Carmichael was a woman ahead of her time. Back in the 1890s she worked hard
and fought long against what we now call human trafficking.

She went to India as a young woman and saw girls (especially)

being used as temple prostitutes. Little by little, one by one, she began to rescue them.

Eventually she established a home where as many as 900 children

lived out their childhood. She also started a hospital on the grounds.

And so we gathered around Bonifice's table on a rainy Monday morning.

Our friend in Germany took us on a tour of her new flat

before leading us via Skpye in discussing Amy Carmichael's biography.

This is a fairly new biography of Amy and some of us had read

others, as well as books that Amy has authored.
But no matter how much we read about her, we never get over

amazement at her sacrificial life ... how she mothered so many

children, how she never went back home to England for a visit, how she spent many
years in bed after a fall in her early 60s, how she never drew attention to herself ...

Our leader posed challenging questions because

Amy's was a life that demanded that.

Amy did much of her writing during the last 20 years  of her life, 

when she was mostly confined to her bed after an accident.

"Gone, they tell me, is youth,

Gone is the strength of my life,

Nothing remains but decline,

Nothing but age and decay.

Not so, I'm God's little child..

Only beginning to live;

Coming the days of my prime,

Coming the strength of my life,

Coming the vision of God,

Coming my bloom and my power."

A.C. 1935

the gardens

We enjoyed a day at the Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids, Michigan.

Masterpieces of art and nature mixed together naturally

in horticultural gardens and sculpture parks.

Autumn colors were peaking and gave a wonderful setting for it all.

Of course I enjoyed the children's area the most.

In each mosaic there is one image from the children's park.

I think you can easily guess which ones.

I'll be back another day with my favorite sculpture.

familiar

I even looked it up. 

The word "familiar" has its root in "family."

And that's why when I visited my cousin's house--for the first time--on

our recent trip to Michigan, it all felt familiar.

I knew it would. 

Because her parents and my parents lived their last days in the same retirement 

place, we saw a lot of each other after years apart since childhood.

She's been to my house quite a bit and 

I knew we had similar tastes and interests.

But I don't ever get up to where she lives.

Except for this month.

And stepping into her house felt so familiar.

Such a good feeling on several levels.

A delightful lunch like our moms would have served.

A craft corner far better organized than mine.

A sampling of our grandmother's china.

A little token from her recent trip to Europe …

jumped me right back to childhood memories and 

collecting sugar cubes from restaurants …

So much that looked familiar. That looked like family.

Her sister happened to be in town too, so we had a

grand cousin reunion together. 

Our parents' generation now gone, we are 

thankful to be keeping connected!

will it make a difference?

I've been known to worry a time or two. And maybe (lots) more. 

Even though I know it is an absolute waste of time and emotional energy. 

It accomplishes nothing good.

I went with the Gardener to see B*idge of Spies yesterday. 

I had read how good it is so I expected to enjoy it but was surprised at how much I liked it.

I got a lot out of the film on several layers.

It was just that kind of a movie. The kind that sticks with you.

It was artsy, beautifully filmed, superb details, and so 1950s that I see "black and white"

as I remember the movie. (I had to look at a preview to be sure it actually was in color!)

It was based on the true story of a Soviet spy on trial in the US. 

There was so much in it that I recognized from my idyllic childhood during the 50s.

From pink and blue bathrooms to big hats (as seen on my dad in photo above)

 to school air raid drills and fear of the atomic bomb 

we children thought of as we fell asleep at night.

(I'm not spoiling it by telling the story here; 

just some side things I took note of and appreciated.)

As to worry? 

That subject seemed a repeated theme as the lawyer 

(an actor we all love)

kept asking the spy if he was worried or afraid.

"Will it make a difference?" the spy would reply, 

or something similar to that, each time he was asked.

We all probably have a thing or two we could worry about; 

right now I've got something looming on my mind. 

This is a good reminder.

Worry does not make a difference.

rewind

We've been on a road trip to Michigan.

The farther north we drove, the more color we saw.

At some points we saw bare trees.

And experienced delightfully cold weather.

It was a feast for the eyes and refreshment for the body, worn out by hot and humid.

But I think even more than the color, I reveled in the tidy red-barn farms along the way.

As we drove home it was like rewinding …

here in the sunny south the leaves are still mostly green.

Joining Mosaic Monday.

green grass, blue water and apple pie

Littlest One knows no floods will reach her house.

We are babysitting. We love any chance to be with our three grands: 2,4 and 7. Their mom put a pie-shaped chicken pot pie in the oven and I set the table for a family meal even though an island meal would be so much easier.

The pie is out of the oven and in the center of the table. The two younger lean in, eager for their meal, but terribly disappointed when they realize they are not having apple pie for supper.

After the blessing, I suggest a dinner conversation. I start exclaiming about how green the grass is. Grandpa, aka the Gardener, talks about how all the rain we've had helps the grass. Which leads to the subject of the floods not far from us (the kids had just helped their mom that day with some relief aid.) "Where do the floods go and how to they move?" Four-year-old grandson is thinking deeply and on to all kinds of questions. When the Gardener starts talking about evaporation and other big words, I suggest we find easier ones. Meanwhile the talk seems to ring a bell in our seven-year-old B's mind. "May I share the science experiment we did today? All I need is a bowl, a cup, and a piece of paper." Of course!

I don't pay any attention as she preps the experiment. I'm busy finding something else at least a bit nourishing for the chicken pot pie protesters to eat. Suddenly I realize B's coming towards the table carrying an overflowing bowl of dark blue water. Overflowing on to the hardwood floors. I'm talking dark blue--maybe 10 drops of food coloring or more.

I clean up the floors, put the whole deal on a tray and carry it to the table for her. The experiment appears to be proceeding with a flourish, as she explains how water passes through various things.

I come back to the table with some toast for the little ones when I realize the upside down glass on a piece of paper is failing as an experiment. There is blue water everywhere again, this time on the table. I run for paper towels and as I mop it up again, with a sick feeling, I realize it has reached the seam in the table where extra leaves go.

Drip, splat, drip onto the off-white rug under the table … a dark blue blotch forms, perfectly centered in the middle. But thankfully it's so centered it's not visible unless you happen to be on the floor looking under the table.

Our grands' parents were easy when they got home, and rather liked the story that went with blotch. I'm sure DIL will try to get the stain out. Meanwhile, in a small way, it reminds me of a house my sister, at age four, etched with a pin onto our mom's mahogany dining room table. It's still there to this day, now in my sister's house, and has a story to go with it.

more from along my way

A lovely week at my sister's house; the luxury of time together.

(A colorful cottage we admired.)

We love to "house shop" and enjoy the creativity of others.

The weather was almost unbearably hot and unsettled until

the very last day when it became more what it should be.

Good food at her table is a given.

Sometimes it helps to clean out a linen closet with a sister's help. 

So we did.

A visit to the great nieces resulted in a manicure. 

I thought they did quite well staying "inside the lines."

It was a bit thickly put on, maybe because several

took a turn! I was amazed at their array of

colors; purchased originally for a homeschool science project!

Something new at the local library

The farewell sunset was even a bit stormy like the weather had been and would be.

A long ride home circumventing SC flooding.

We determined to enjoy the expanded ride through Georgia countryside 

that was new to us. And we are thankful to be safely home again.

along my way

Sights seen along my way in recent days.

Happy October!

a favorite quaint town

There's a quaint little town the Gardener and I like to visit

at least every year. We're content to sit on a bench and

watch people pass by.

Or picnic in the park and peek in the shops.

It's amazing how refreshing a short time away can be.

Especially in the cooler mountain air!

almost perfect

A beautiful late summer weekend. The weather was nearly perfect. We traveled to a nearby city 

for an event Friday night, stayed over and before going home, spent part of Saturday 

enjoying the marvelous river park followed by a stroll downtown for lunch.

 We were in this city at the beginning of the summer, and I'd visit again anytime! It's so lovely.

Shady urban streets lined with quaint shops and restaurants … lots of people enjoying the day.

Three things were especially interesting: first, walking on the bridge we met old friends that we haven't seen in years. Secondly, we hung around this old empty mill which was obviously being set up for a wedding or at least the reception. We saw the groom and attendants arrive, but the event people seemed to be taking their time setting up. The ducks were definitely in a row and ready for the show. And lastly, the little waterfall park area for kids to play in had a large sign with a long list of rules for using it, such as no skin infections, no broken skin, no colds…that all makes sense, but "shower before using?" How many parents are running their kids home or to a hotel to shower 

so they can run through some water fountains? Interesting!

Joining Monday Mosaics.

Autumn came early

I surprised myself by bringing out fall decorations before

I flipped the calendar page to September.

I had been still embracing summer.

Maybe it was just one too many hot days, or an extra ounce of humidity

that made me yearn for change,

Having the rich colors of fall around helped to remember that

 cooler weather is coming … I think.

 The fireplace seems to be the center pallet for each new season.

I love using old books and pulling out an heirloom vase.

The photo doesn't do justice to its rich turquoise color.

A 50th anniversary present from my grandparents to their parents.

I'd say it's got to be 80 years old at least.

We're actually dropping down into the 70s this week.

Now that's a welcome change in the air.

Time for some soup!

monsoon munchies

As we begin our short drive into the city, the sun is shining. We are headed to our favorite restaurant: a picnic by a fountain. The phone said 30% chance of rain, but we know that also means 70% chance it won't rain.  But storm clouds seem to be gathering in the distance. Another check of the phone--ah yes, a storm appears to be passing north of our destination.

We are bringing along friends who haven't tried our beloved restaurant yet. As city workers are leaving the city for home, we easily find a parking spot by the fountain. We look at the array of tables to choose from near the fountain, and our friends suggest one to the side under a very large umbrella.

We set the table with placemats, cloth napkins, plates, cutlery, wine glasses and a candle enclosed in a lantern kind of thing to avoid the wind blowing it out. Menu: just grilled-at-home chicken breasts, rice/orzo, salad and chocolate for dessert. Everything looks lovely.

But you can guess the rest of my story. A wind stirs up and gets pretty strong. Then the rain starts. Before long it's a driving, torrential rain. Monsoon like. The rain pounds us sideways. One (plastic) wine glass spills over, marinating the Gardener's chicken a second time. We laugh and eat faster. The guys hold umbrellas sideways for a little extra shelter, while eating the best they can. We help by cutting up their chicken like they were little kids. We laugh and laugh some more. Everything is getting wet. Then the rain stops. Ah, that's better. But in a minute it starts up again with new gusto. That happens again and again with the new addition of lightening and thunder. We go on with our picnic, now enjoying chocolate and conversation between bursts of thunder. (The men convince us that the skyscrapers will attract the lightening sooner than our umbrellas.)

Eventually we call it an evening and pack up the soaking wet picnic baskets and head for the car pleased that we endured. Of the many times we have picnicked by our favorite fountain, it has never rained. We certainly made a memory. And I was so pleased that my little candle burned on, unaffected by the raging wind and rain.

bucket on my list

… Not a bucket list as much as a bucket on my list of

things to do with the grands ...

On Labor Day we stop by our kids' house. 

I have along a small bucket and a rope much

bigger than we need. I know they have the perfect 

tree in the side yard to rig up a bucket rope "contraption."

Sure enough, and before long the neighbor kids join in.

They have no trouble loading up the bucket and hand-over-hand 

pulling it up into the tree.

Down it comes again. Dump. Refill. Dump. Refill. 

No one asks "Is that all there is to this game?"

But soon Littlest One in all her two-ness is pulling 

my hand to come and bring the step ladder.

So the game goes to a new dimension as one by one those brave enough climb

to a perfect perch in the tree to receive the bucket. Pockets are stuffed 

with new things to load in the bucket for the trip down.

I saw this idea "somewhere on the internet" and wanted to 

try it with our grands, remembering our boys pulling stuff up 

to their tree house over and over again.

The internet article said little kids are entertained for hours and never

seem to mind "that's all there is" to the activity.

How true!

Soon it is time to go. We head off with the oversized rope and little
bucket stashed in the back of our car. I smile and wave at the kids--now moved
to the neighbor's yard, a different tree, a larger bucket, and another parent
cutting up a piece of rope to pull up the bucket.
And the game goes on.

window views

Do you like to slyly peek in windows as you drive past houses at night? I love to see colors, chandeliers. and any other visible decor. Plus it gives me a feeling of coziness. Someone is home; life is happening in that house. What might their stories be?

We had our book club recently on Elizabeth Goudge's Pilgrim Inn, which I've mentioned several times on this blog. I don't win many blog give aways, but did win a beloved old copy of Pilgrim's Inn five years ago from a blog friend (who doesn't blog much any more.) Our late summer book club was well attended and we met on a porch on a morning with a gentle breeze so we could get a teeny sense that "fall is in the air." There is rich character development in this book, not the least being Pilgrim Inn itself, and it was those characters that we spent our morning discussing, while sipping coffee or tea, and munching on fruit, crumpets, scones, and chocolate chip banana muffins. It's the second time I've read the book and I'd read it again.

The book was written about post-war England in the late 1940s and Goudge described well the continuing effects of war. With my love of window views, this quote below is a new favorite of mine from the book. Daughter Caroline was on her way home for Christmas from boarding school.

      "It was wonderful driving home with the last glow of the sunset lingering in the west and

        the hedges black and mysterious on either side. There were lights in the cottage windows, 

        and sometimes they had forgotten to draw the curtains and one saw the flicker of firelight, 

        and the bright heads of children sitting round a table munching their 'cooked tea,' a man 

        reading a paper with a pipe in his mouth, or a woman with head bent over her darning. This, 

        too, was new to Caroline, used to the years of blackout.  It was lovely and most magical, 

        like turning the pages of a storybook, each fresh window a fresh story."