MANY MINI-MARVELS

I’ve been absent so long, I’m surprised anyone is still here, and I appreciate you SO much.   These are a few of the thousand-or-so photos on my phone SINCE LAST OCTOBER.  

We painted little Halloween houses with two of our Ohio GRANDS on a sunny day.   Kit is quite an artist in a lot of things.   That's hers on the left, Caro's in the middle (to be completed), and Cal's are the tower and the gore-splashed one on the right.   Sweetpea's is the little cottage with all the critters on the roof.

Small hands created Mummy Dogs for lunch:

A plain day in November, having a party with things gathered up around the house.

That magical moment when trees start to take on the burnished tinge of Autumn, with the scent of fresh-cut Summer grass still in the air. 

Quiet time with Ganner in a new-found park.   After a long walk and gathering-up of amazing finds, we just talked and did a little whittlin’.   Good talk and history and together---amazing, and free.

Admiring The Tree’s silver-smooth skin in the last golden light of afternoon.

My own little pink kitchen.

Lots of good friends for a sleepover. 

My Valentine Heart texted from our nine-year-old Grandson---a budding geologist, zoologist and doctor, and a scary-uncanny encyclopedia of Minecraft.   So Much To Do, So Much Time . . .  

Stopping for a breath of Childhood---the Bubblegum aisle. It’s my own Time-Machine, and I just stand there and close my eyes and breathe it in.  I fully expect to emerge someday with braids, a pocket-knife, and skinned knees.

A happy wheat-toast surprise.

A young cook learning to make cinnamon rolls on a frosty morning.

The fleeting moment between a brief flurry of wee hail and the sunny melt. It's like a scatter of those infinitesimal styrofoam packing-beads that you can never turn loose of.

A fabulous box of wonderful goodies from Sis—our version of a luxurious “hamper.”

The aroma and anticipation of a pan of basil/tomato pasta tossed with peppers and shards of fresh mozzarella. 

Sparklies that twinkle at me from beneath the chandelier.  The little scene changes often, depending on what Chris, Sweetpea and I lay hands on at any moment.  It could range from a Swarovski butterfly to a baby-chewed stuffed cat, but it’s always welcoming and happy.   

Finding Chris’ keys.   He didn’t hear them drop, and the hunt went on for AGES, til I stopped at Caro’s kitchen counter for some Tupperware.

Winter-warming Roses:

And Narcissus:

Another twinkly little tableau:

My newest book, fresh from the printer:

A surprise find in a stranger’s family history.   The young fellow on the left is my Grandpa, who would be 125 this year.  He’s probably dressed the best in his life, for it’s the wedding of his Mama to his new Step-father.   His sister and brother are the younger two in white, and the back three are his new siblings.

I wonder how his life was in that new family.   He never mentioned it, and I never knew to ask.

A few miles from home, after a 1400-mile trip last year.  We were stopped on the Interstate for an hour or so, listening to Leonard Cohen sing “Hallelujah” as the sun went down.

And another sky-pageant---this one mirroring my favorite moment in all of STAR TREK, when Troi translates the emotions of the just-freed captive alien couple:  GREAT JOY AND GRATITUDE.

And that’s how I feel about YOU, for hanging in there when I’m gone for so long.  Thank you all.

 

HAPPY EASTER!

I wish you all the joys of this Blessed, beautiful day.

CHUCK BERRY

R.I.P.  CHUCK BERRY.

Legend, artist and voice of generations.

Y'ALL COME!!

Hutch built and styled by Trishiesminicorner on ETSY

Y’all come see us---the mat’s always out and the Keurig’s humming to herself.   Sweetpea’s introduced us to the most charming new housekeeper, though having to provide lodging for all that entourage of birds and mice was a bit tricky.  

Just sit right down, for what could be more welcoming than a bright pink kitchen, a smiling hostess, and a pug-in-a-tutu.

The wee-est candy dishes, reminiscent of the one huge heavy one on my Mammaw J’s coffee-table in their own tiny house.  It was always filled with King Leo peppermint balls---tiny pillows which whispered away on your tongue, leaving the faintest breath of sweet toothpaste.

Small necessaries:

The every-morning kitchen, with sunshine through the leaves, bright red coffee machine, and a fading pair of the eternal dish-britches.

 Lots of pretty pink salt.   The little flamingo couple are crocheted finger-puppets from a great menagerie we’ve collected over the years.  They come out mostly for after-dinner happenings and little pageants around holiday tables, as each of us chooses our role and character.

The new pink lights around the pass-through, and the small tinsel-tree like a magpie nest of gee-gaws from the old jewelry chest, with little doves in their nests of gaudy pink crowns.   The note-box at the top was a gift from my friend Donna at GATHER.

The flag-plank at the top was made by our two youngest GRANDS---with their handprints as the stars.

And some silly musings, after living in this fairy kitchen---this would be our Summer cottage in Maine.

And the handy Air-Stream parked out in the drive---A Girl can Dream.

Motoring on over to All things PINK at Beverly's House!!   With a fun stop at JOY'S Friendship Party.

JUST A LINE . . .

The latest post from Susie at SheJunks had the neatest ending---she spoke of her sister who “does not do e-mail,” and of the quiet simplicity of sitting on the porch on this past Spring weekend, writing a letter as April arrived and the skies were a perfect sapphire overhead.   She says she “still writes,” quite matter-of-factly, as if it’s a confession to practicing an archaic custom long-forgotten, and I do fear that it soon might be.

It made me think of a long-ago post of my own, and of the delight in receiving the gift of a new fountain pen.

“I have ink on my fingers today---I just filled my new fountain pen for the first time.   It was a Christmas gift from Sweetpea and her Mama, who choose the most wonderful presents, with a good eye (and ear, for they LISTEN) for what any of us might enjoy.

The ink---that's a FEELING. I'd been admiring and picking up my graceful new bottle of ink since Christmas, for it came with the pen. It's shaped like a squat, very smooth hourglass, with, like a lot of us, a lot more sand run through than remains. The lid is like a wide-top shako, sans plume, and the whole thing is made of the smoothest glass, with the inky depths converted into gleaming onyx by the shining curve of the hip. 

The pen itself is a lovely purple, and Caro and I tried yesterday to name it---her "aubergine" came closest, I think, for it's just the shade of one of those smooth slender Japanese eggplants, hefty in the hand.   It was chosen by our Sweetpea, because it's her favorite color. The clip is exactly that, like a Gucci paper-clip, strong and sturdy and sleek. And I'll be writing today, a bit, REALLY writing, for almost all my words are set down in clicks of the keyboard. I CALL that writing, for it engenders a spark of satisfaction, but the real thing is done with hand and pen.”

And my comment to Susie: 

Did you ever think you'd use the words "still write"? That's like "still cook" or "still read," to me---and the feel of that real fountain pen, flowing out your words and thoughts to someone you care about---that's just the loveliest part. And that they "write back," is a great blessing and boon. I think we all need a "Doesn't do e-mail" person in our lives, if for nothing else, to keep us aware of the lovely moments of stillness between words and thoughts, as we send and receive in that age-old way which they keep alive and we so easily forget. 

We dash down so many letters and spaces on the fly, with great gulps of information and doings and sharings, like we're out to get it all out there before we forget. But there's the quiet moment on the porch, with the little table holding pen and ink and paper---oh, all those lovely papers, with their different textures and colours and feel---those moments are akin to worship, on a small plane, I think, contemplating and putting down the slow, even lines to be read and savored and kept long beyond the dried-to-dust empty ink-bottle and the billions of bytes cast into the air by our flying keyboards.

What a lovely thought you've conveyed this morning, beyond the Spring weekend and those incredibly blue skies we enjoyed. I think I'm going to go take down my (real, hold-it-in-your-hand) address book and get out one of those packs of the Spring floral paper. Even in here, in a warm chair with a cup of tea, it will evoke Summer Sunshine to send out a note or two to those I love.