tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68371227756888673642024-03-13T00:05:02.776-04:00Cottage IndustryC O T T A G E ~ I N D U S T R Y
... Quirky & inconsequential musings from my side of the garden gateHaworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.comBlogger338125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-52682846234509505722018-10-17T15:43:00.001-04:002018-10-17T15:43:22.514-04:00Well color me stupid...Dearest friends and followers who have written to me here over the past year...<br />
<br />
My goodness do I feel utterly stupid.. as in, if there was a village in need of an idiot, I would have a full time job.<br />
<br />
When I didn’t see any comments to my last post (July 2017) I simply assumed no one was following my blog any longer and so I stopped posting. But I had completely forgotten that I have the comment function set up so I have to APPROVE them before they get published.... something I only just discovered today, to my chagrin! Chalk this up to my being too long away from blogging, I guess, and out of practice.<br />
<br />
In any case... I am writing now to extend a belated but extremely heartfelt thank you to each of you for your lovely, caring comments on my last post. I shall endeavor to resume blogging, although I’m not certain as to how often this will be. (And when I do I promise to moderate the comment function!?)<br />
<br />
Wishing each of you well and looking forward to reading your blogs again and contributing my own whimsical thoughts and observations here at Cottage Industry when I can.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-81988279783840451412017-07-10T18:09:00.003-04:002017-07-10T18:09:59.506-04:00When we last left our heroine....First of all, my sincere apologies for disappearing for so long. For better or worse, I am one of those people who gets flustered and freezes like a deer in headlights when life gets even marginally complicated, hectic, or physically demanding. I did fully intend to resume blogging, more times than I can count, but the more time that passed the more difficult it became to get back to it.<br />
<br />
For the rest of 2014 -- after my May Day post -- and for nearly all of 2015 I was up to my elbows in house projects. New ceilings, painting walls and woodwork, converting my tumbling down garage into a proper garden shed, a new furnace (and removal of the old), as well as several major purchases, e.g., fridge, washer, dryer, mattress. All in all things were a bit madcap and the "To Do" list seemed relentless. So much so that I rounded off 2015 by telling my colleagues at work that I had decided to retire. Retirement, as some of you might already know, is fraught with at least 137 things one has to do. But all went smoothly and I was released into my own custody as a lady of leisure in February 2016.<br />
<br />
I fully expected to recommence blogging, in between lots of knitting, lots of reading, and lots of gardening, but within a few months of retirement I became ill and last November I was diagnosed with Stage IV Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. By December 1st I was in hospital for the first of six cycles of aggressive chemotherapy. My treatment lasted until early April of this year and various complications meant that during those five months I had to spend nearly 73 days in hospital. The upside was that I learned where they kept the popsicles ... and I lost 40 lbs. (I reworked my favorite line from <i>The Devil Wears Prada</i>: 'I'm just one chemo cycle from my goal weight.')<br />
<br />
As a fellow blogger wisely said, one doesn't battle cancer, one battles the treatment. (Which really is like being carpet-bombed with pesticides.) But despite the challenges and setbacks, I'm relieved to say my latest two PET scans show that I am in remission. I can only attribute this to the love and support of my family and friends, the brilliance of my remarkable doctors, and the combined power of prayer and magical thinking. God and Science may seem like strange bedfellows to some, but as far as I'm concerned they work together very well.<br />
<br />
So... here I am, back again, hoping to be able to check in now and then to jot down, as I said long ago, some 'quirky and inconsequential musings'... scattered though those musings might be for awhile. Oh, and if I don't make sense please just be patient and ignore me. Like they say: 'This is chemo. This is your brain on chemo.'<br />
<br />
Carry on.<br />
<br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-25071841443118949172014-05-01T13:41:00.000-04:002014-05-01T13:41:08.031-04:00May Day<div style="text-align: center;">
I enjoy the tradition of hanging a May Basket</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
on an unsuspecting neighbor's door.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #674ea7;">(Although if you do it often enough,</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #674ea7;">how unsuspecting can they really be?)</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This morning a light rain was falling as I tip-toed through my garden,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
snipping grape hyacinth, forsythia, cherry blossoms, and myrtle.</div>
<br />
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>Hail, sweet month of May!</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>Hail, bright month of May!</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>Bring sunshine with thee,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>Chasing clouds away.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>March has left us sighing</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>In cold and chilly blast,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>April's tears have fallen,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i>May has come at last!</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #674ea7;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">—Anon.</span> </i></span> </div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-5810100746194317042014-04-26T09:00:00.000-04:002014-04-26T09:00:06.148-04:00Mirror, Mirror, on the wall...<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">Queen: Slave in the magic mirror, come from
the farthest space,</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">through wind and darkness I summon thee. Speak! Let me see
thy face. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">Magic Mirror: What wouldst thou know, my
Queen? </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span lang="EN-US">Queen: Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the
fairest one of all? </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
When I was very small, and would visit my paternal grandmother's house, one of my favorite pastimes was standing on a small stool to look into her "Snow White" mirror. <br />
<br />
It wasn't a "Snow White" mirror, of course, since no one spoke back to me despite my conjuring. All I saw was my own round, freckled face peering back at me.<br />
<br />
But it certainly looked like the mirror that the wicked Queen questioned in the faery tale.<br />
<br />
When my grandmother passed away, my aunt asked if there was anything of hers I would like.<br />
<br />
"Her Snow White mirror!" I said, knowing she would know immediately what I meant.<br />
<br />
At times I have been tempted to paint it... perhaps a soft white for more of a cottage look. But then, you see, it would no long be the Snow White mirror. And so it remains as it was. Gilded, baroque, perhaps a bit forbidding, and magic in its own way.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Mirror, mirror, on the wall</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Who is the fairest one of all?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-17094370240052320422014-04-25T15:30:00.000-04:002014-04-25T15:30:27.376-04:00A bed's history<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
When I was fourteen years old my parents purchased a maple bedroom suite for me: a Boston rocker, a cricket stool for my feet, a dresser, and a four-poster bed with a canopy. <br />
<br />
Over the years I have brought this suite with me to any number of dwellings. A third floor walk up apartment; the cottage I was raised in; a two-room basement apartment; a bungalow near the bay; a second-floor flat; another second-floor apartment; a first-floor apartment; a two-floor townhouse in a late 19th c. Queen Anne revival Victorian; and finally to my little cottage.<br />
<br />
They are still, to this day, the only pieces of furniture in my cottage that are not second hand. I am their original owner. That cannot be said for any other furniture I own, given my penchant for foraging flotsam and jetsam from family cellars and attics, church sales, sidewalks on trash day, second-hand stores, and garage sales.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I have the canopy on the bed, usually when I feel the need to be cozy and enclosed, and most often in winter. Indeed, I once fashioned bed curtains out of lace panels and felt like a faery tale princess in her trundle bed whenever I'd pull them aside and creep under the sheets. Other times I remove the canopy, giving the bed and the entire room a more airy and simplified look. (If, indeed, any part of my cottage could ever masquerade as <i>simplified</i>, given my tendency towards happy clutter.) <br />
<br />
The mattress has been replaced, of course, and the latest structure is so thick and high I actually have to use the cricket stool to get in and out of bed. An occupational hazard for those who barely tip the tape measure at 5' 1".<br />
<br />
I rarely, if ever, read in bed. It's not for lack of trying, simply a knack I could never master as I would invariably end up either with a sore back or, worse still,
a sore chin from books falling onto my face when I nodded off.<br />
<br />
I have conceived and then nursed a child there, welcomed lovers, soothed little ones who were ill or having nightmares, gathered grandchidren under its covers (they always tend to sleep on the diagonal for some reason, making sleep nearly impossible), and recuperated in its comfort after surgeries and long illnesses or the random winter 'flu or cold.<br />
<br />
I have prayed or cried myself to sleep in its folds. I have rested on my side and watched films, hockey games, or my chuckle-headed Red Sox. I have dreamt there, both good dreams and bad. I have lain awake and gone through lists in my head or watched the moon creep past the window or listened for the haunting whistle of trains bound for New York or Boston.<br />
<br />
It has been lovingly dressed with vintage bedding belonging to my ancestors, carefully pressed and laundered, and depending on the time of year, its underbelly has been a hiding place for Christmas presents, Birthday gifts, or Easter Baskets. <br />
<br />
In short, it has been the one physical constant in my life since I was a young girl, a concrete reminder of my adolescence, young adult years, and middle-age, a touchstone hearkening back to every intimacy, every child I cared for, every dwelling I inhabited. A possession that I, and only I, have owned. Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-22509956937077533622014-04-23T18:56:00.001-04:002014-04-23T18:56:54.339-04:00The Stonehenge Incident<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih07uRA0Ipxw8218JVvDo2bHTVQJxWIEevrnHXNNeVmxyfOk9mVBEvE5-nBdO7r2lyiqS4N6kL3OqUs9if8y4MMYGQ-ujwZN8AoiMy5Cjex08xpgtqJeNfAV_91HU-C3MS3VUlSEdY0AE/s1600/new_wiltshire_map.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih07uRA0Ipxw8218JVvDo2bHTVQJxWIEevrnHXNNeVmxyfOk9mVBEvE5-nBdO7r2lyiqS4N6kL3OqUs9if8y4MMYGQ-ujwZN8AoiMy5Cjex08xpgtqJeNfAV_91HU-C3MS3VUlSEdY0AE/s320/new_wiltshire_map.png" height="320" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our
train trundled over the British Channel (<i><span style="font-size: small;">T</span>he longest rail bridge in England</i>, he told me proudly) leaving behind the
grey, stern hills of Wales and crossing into gentle mounds of English
greenery. We had been spending time with his family in th<span style="font-size: small;">e rolling green of </span>Shropshire, so this rail journey<span style="font-size: small;"> had</span> been revelatory. How much rougher the Welsh countryside
had seemed with rock jutting menacingly from the earth. <span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">The town of Newport seemed <span style="font-size: small;">particularly grey and forbidding and</span></span> I felt warmly
embraced by the lush gentleness of Souther<span style="font-size: small;">n </span>England as we drifted back to her. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Passing
through Bristol, we soon found ourselves rolling through the historic city of Bath, our faces pressed to the window<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">as </span></span>we wa<span style="font-size: small;">tched as </span></span>the crescent<span style="font-size: small;">-shaped</span> marble buildings dissolve
behind us while our train glided into the welcome verdure of Wiltshire. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We<span style="font-size: small;"> had</span> left
Shropshire early in the day, stopping in Church Stretton for a picnic by
a creek before riding on to o<span style="font-size: small;">ur destination: the c<span style="font-size: small;">a<span style="font-size: small;">thedral city of </span></span></span>Salisbury. Our plan was to arrive late in the evening, check
in at the guest house where we'd reserved a room, and then find a pub or cafe where we could <span style="font-size: small;">enjoy</span> a late supper. We would tour the city and the
cathedral the <span style="font-size: small;">next</span> morning and then take an early-afternoon trip to
Stonehenge before setting out on our return journey to
Shropshire.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We were only 45 minutes away from Salisbury<span style="font-size: small;"> when </span>he suddenly turned to me. "How reckless are
you feeling?" </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "Why...?" I countered, already dreading his response. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'd already been the victim of several of his 'adventures', including <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">a<span style="font-size: small;">n unplanned journey to <a href="http://cottage-industry.blogspot.com/2014/04/accidental-tourist.html" target="_blank">Paris</a></span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span>He shifted his weight and peered at
me with an intense conspiratorial look.<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"How's this...?" he began, ticking off the items on his fingertips, "We arrive in Salisbury at
around nine o'clock tonight. We find a chippy for supper and then go off to a
pub and have a pint, staying until closing. Then we buy a few tins
of lager and some crisps and hire a taxi to take us to Amesbury." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <i>Amesbury
is about eight miles north of Salisbury, </i>I thought to myself, fear<span style="font-size: small;">ing</span> why<span style="font-size: small;"> it might be in any way significant to our plans</span>. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Go on," I said, growing more anxious as the sch<span style="font-size: small;">eme</span> unfolded and
wondering why he hadn't yet mentioned our room at the guest house.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"According
to this map," he whispered, struggling to unfold the BTA guide
and nearly decapitating the people in the seats directly in front of us,
"... according to this map, we have only to walk another ...eh, two
miles...<span style="font-family: arial,helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"</span></span> He
ran one finger over the map. <span style="font-size: small;"></span>"...yes! Just another two miles further west
from Amesbury and we'll be at Salisbury Plain!<span style="font-size: small;">"</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
looked at me triumphantly and I stared at him, waiting for the other shoe to
drop. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "And.....?"
I asked.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"AND,"
he said with a grin, keeping his voice low, "we can find a nice dry place under a hedgerow or a
tree—something really cozy—and we can spend the night there
together!" </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> My
eyebrows shot up in horror but he continued before I could protest, patting our sack of
leftover picnic supplies with relish.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"We'll
have something to drink, and a bit of food to nibble on, and we've got that <i>wonderful</i>
dustbin liner to lie on to keep out the cold and damp...” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I’d
had the inspired idea to purchase a dustbin liner at a shop in case the ground was damp<span style="font-size: small;"> for our picnic. I feared now that this 50 pence purchase might have been a t<span style="font-size: small;">ragic mistake.</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“..
and we've got our coats to put over us so we'll be quite warm and cosy...." he continued cheerfully, ".... it's a lovely June night, after all." </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> I blinked and stared at him, incapable of getting out little more than his name. He cannily ignored me, working himself
into a frenzy of hoarse enthusiasm with each detail, trying to keep the nearest of our<span style="font-size: small;"> rail companions</span> <span style="font-size: small;">ignorant of</span> <span style="font-size: small;">what was, no doubt, an illegal plan on a variety of levels. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "We can wake up at around three o'clock in the morning—in time to see the
sun rise over Stonehenge. I mean,
think about it! Seeing those prehistoric stones at dawn! We can tell our
grandchildren!" he sputtered.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">He
perched on the edge of his seat with excitement while I brushed my hand
over my
eyes, hoping I was dreaming and that when I looked up again, I'd be
staring at him across the breakfast table in our B&B. His voice
continued as if in
the dim distance. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "There
really aren't any terribly negative points to it, if you think about it...<span style="font-size: small;">"</span><i> </i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Right</i><i>,</i> I thought, <i>unless
you count possible arrest ... or death from exposure</i><span style="font-size: small;">.</span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">“...and
tomorrow morning,“ he continued, “I promise we'll come into Amesbury and have a
slap-up breakfast some<span style="font-size: small;">wh</span>ere. My
treat! What do you think?... <i><span style="font-size: small;">"</span></i> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I looked hi<span style="font-size: small;">m in the eyes </span>to see if he was serious. He was. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "You
don't want to <i>know</i> what I think," I warned. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He
winked and nudged my arm with his. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "No
<i>really</i>...
what do you say..." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "I
say you're completely mad," I murmured, snatching the map out of his hand
and folding it deliberately. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> He nodded and looked out the window, biding his time. He knew when all was said and done I was no match for his Hardy Boy adventures.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When we arrived in Salisbury and<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>exit<span style="font-size: small;">ed</span> the rail station </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">a</span> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">fine mist began to cover us. I</span></span></span></span></span> could see the
lights of a Fish & Chip shop several blocks down the road.<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"It’s
raining," I said, hoping that would put an end to our plan.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"No,"
he assured me, taking my arm and steering me down the road to the Chippy, "it will stop.... it's just a mist." </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "This
isn't 'mist'," I insisted<span style="font-size: small;">, huddling again<span style="font-size: small;">st him</span></span>, "in America we call this <i>rain!</i>" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">"If
it gets worse by the time we leave the restaurant," he soothed, "we'll go on to the B & B
as planned. I promise." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
looked up at him skeptically, wanting to believe him. Walking into the
restaurant I ordered two large helpings of fish and chips and then sat and waited while my lunatic dinner companion scouted down the road for a pub. Within moments he returned with
a small box
of cigars, sliding into a booth next to me<span style="font-size: small;">. W</span>e both hungrily tucked
into supper. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "I've
found a pub," he announced between mouthfuls, "we can go there
afterwards and have a pint and relax before we set off for <i>you know
where.</i>" </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">I
swallowed another pieces of fish and
peered out the rain-soaked window, wondering what the inside of our Bed
&
Breakfast suite looked like. Was there a fire on the grate? Chintz
curtains? A short plump landlady ready to bring us cups of hot tea<span style="font-size: small;"> and plates of biscuits</span>? </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finishing up our dinner, we </span>walked down the road to the
pu<span style="font-size: small;">b, </span>a heavy
"mist" still falling about our ears.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyezxPsD0pqNtSnKOh59f9alsb2NQxgjnRoRLIQxRZaTMACjU_6AAjnvN8rPcZ_G6qotwpBjh7MuqVPKP84Y0vpgBsDkpcEgr9ynU1hg2vWGXg_ZVsjVruvbe_rGqRJy6PpbMHaE16hg/s1600/Stonehenge_Inside_Facing_NE_April_2005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyyezxPsD0pqNtSnKOh59f9alsb2NQxgjnRoRLIQxRZaTMACjU_6AAjnvN8rPcZ_G6qotwpBjh7MuqVPKP84Y0vpgBsDkpcEgr9ynU1hg2vWGXg_ZVsjVruvbe_rGqRJy6PpbMHaE16hg/s200/Stonehenge_Inside_Facing_NE_April_2005.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>To be continued....</i></span></span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-82163945548319852542014-04-21T09:00:00.000-04:002014-04-21T09:00:03.979-04:00Not quite yet...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRSTEaau9KtuG9zjWqz3SLjrhpxdtBR42sKgAwWbsiwLLKZEpE9N8eNIJ_7G3H2ZSpXa5d9Ip1OqspTVtYgYrTAm_K_yKzWTGPBOo1WgmBpdQtbHkT7_7YR1GUdIHZbCzYYjt7Gj87j8/s1600/100_2379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLRSTEaau9KtuG9zjWqz3SLjrhpxdtBR42sKgAwWbsiwLLKZEpE9N8eNIJ_7G3H2ZSpXa5d9Ip1OqspTVtYgYrTAm_K_yKzWTGPBOo1WgmBpdQtbHkT7_7YR1GUdIHZbCzYYjt7Gj87j8/s1600/100_2379.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
... but soon.</div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-38822811564530718392014-04-20T04:30:00.000-04:002014-04-20T04:30:01.326-04:00The Invitation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo1x0erRe_UVM7zscG7HSHZI-6Sxv_Svf1V1TsNPYmmE-lTlXrAgXqOej7lVQWASeIsRNqvIXsB3rGJucugwFI8go_k6-m4JfCpXHsubw-nm2K3UnHYs8e8J2nepqKFrI3bmlExz7KJE/s1600/3d-abstract_hdwallpaper_vintage-easter-violets_26450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFo1x0erRe_UVM7zscG7HSHZI-6Sxv_Svf1V1TsNPYmmE-lTlXrAgXqOej7lVQWASeIsRNqvIXsB3rGJucugwFI8go_k6-m4JfCpXHsubw-nm2K3UnHYs8e8J2nepqKFrI3bmlExz7KJE/s1600/3d-abstract_hdwallpaper_vintage-easter-violets_26450.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I leave this notice on my door</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">For each accustom’d visitor:—</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">‘I am gone into the fields</span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">To take what this sweet hour yields.'</span></i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Radiant Sister of the Day,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Awake! arise! and come away!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Where the lawns and pastures be,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And the sandhills of the sea;</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Where the melting hoar-frost wets</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The daisy-star that never sets,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And wind-flowers, and violets</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which yet join not scent to hue,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Crown the pale year weak and new;</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When the night is left behind</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In the deep east, dun and blind,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And the blue noon is over us,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And the multitudinous</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Billows murmur at our feet</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Where the earth and ocean meet,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And all things seem only one</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In the universal sun.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">— Percy Bysshe Shelley</span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 22px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqOKt2QI41TOqHAcC4JmEUt_FmDXsrJHonb5G8Xsrcl2zlWT8rKhhnSZMlS4fmJTsJz2-Zb6GM6tjVOx63d9bTADcbKWmhrm3Fl0k2Ll9fn97LOHdU1p7uUmugjU1ZKBDOXSHLWJyY74/s1600/vintage+easter+basket+of+eggs+purple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqOKt2QI41TOqHAcC4JmEUt_FmDXsrJHonb5G8Xsrcl2zlWT8rKhhnSZMlS4fmJTsJz2-Zb6GM6tjVOx63d9bTADcbKWmhrm3Fl0k2Ll9fn97LOHdU1p7uUmugjU1ZKBDOXSHLWJyY74/s1600/vintage+easter+basket+of+eggs+purple.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Urlicht</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; border-collapse: collapse; color: #252525; line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<dl style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.2em;"><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; margin-left: 1.6em; margin-right: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I am from God and shall return to God.</span></dd><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; margin-left: 1.6em; margin-right: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The loving God will grant me a little light,</span></dd><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; margin-left: 1.6em; margin-right: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which will light me into that eternal blissful life.</span></dd></dl>
<dl style="margin-bottom: 0.5em; margin-top: 0.2em;"><dd style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.1em; margin-left: 1.6em; margin-right: 0px; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">—from <i>Des Knaben Wunderhorn</i></span></dd></dl>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 22px;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-89641660677054564902014-04-16T09:32:00.000-04:002014-04-17T15:49:12.916-04:00An Ideal Weekend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRSiF2Q7FCp01tVlANXMl0ZS7H-WkZiP4dqa7YN3Rjfcy32OU8nOEuaF3k4-C54DLgNYIPgTPUeSPOdvIm4Y5ZI3lUg6X1-HYMoxgQWvtEEgnpoHrm63XF84Vt_dnbmVvrxeLXYh83wY/s1600/100_2381.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRSiF2Q7FCp01tVlANXMl0ZS7H-WkZiP4dqa7YN3Rjfcy32OU8nOEuaF3k4-C54DLgNYIPgTPUeSPOdvIm4Y5ZI3lUg6X1-HYMoxgQWvtEEgnpoHrm63XF84Vt_dnbmVvrxeLXYh83wY/s1600/100_2381.JPG" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I so love the scent of the steam and the quiet that ensues when I'm ironing.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(It's a very good time to problem solve, daydream,</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
or contemplate where each item came from.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZwGpykCbZqWZfT2FpIbLkjqgvVWmIpezWbNt7iqcQRxj1MXO4Roxilk1LiVRuguJQTtIX3vjEqpSUdVxEfEA3uuYNKWfz0gbQNXkjCBH59k_hoYXF-ch5877W8d4OUmvfN4aBGo_XCs/s1600/100_2374.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZwGpykCbZqWZfT2FpIbLkjqgvVWmIpezWbNt7iqcQRxj1MXO4Roxilk1LiVRuguJQTtIX3vjEqpSUdVxEfEA3uuYNKWfz0gbQNXkjCBH59k_hoYXF-ch5877W8d4OUmvfN4aBGo_XCs/s1600/100_2374.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Great Aunts.... dear friends.... jumble sales.... antique shops.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndraSG-U4ogIsXUdBj5jPzNZvm-kzxx8R5-FcmwLUiGC5-4a7dflEZ3CPitURYPeh8fvuaHMWvuZ8Hcg2DZMCCjiDJyWsyBzG-yJ4qndaFRM-eqiPxexKsgkXsXczIeNVAn92Z6ryUjA/s1600/100_2378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgndraSG-U4ogIsXUdBj5jPzNZvm-kzxx8R5-FcmwLUiGC5-4a7dflEZ3CPitURYPeh8fvuaHMWvuZ8Hcg2DZMCCjiDJyWsyBzG-yJ4qndaFRM-eqiPxexKsgkXsXczIeNVAn92Z6ryUjA/s1600/100_2378.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Despite the danger of fraying and wear</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
they are routinely used, washed, and ironed. </div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjE9T_Tc8H7DkBg6WfQ1C1_yCI_Np6ZhHzP1BKLzXpv4tCysVOdLO5GB3lkPBNQoudKWsJOK9Edy_QoPIJZD3xQNYo1cO7YMIPD8bkhw3Se9W0rjZWiecSAqytizG8VPw4L1XDSwdrqDE/s1600/100_2376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjE9T_Tc8H7DkBg6WfQ1C1_yCI_Np6ZhHzP1BKLzXpv4tCysVOdLO5GB3lkPBNQoudKWsJOK9Edy_QoPIJZD3xQNYo1cO7YMIPD8bkhw3Se9W0rjZWiecSAqytizG8VPw4L1XDSwdrqDE/s1600/100_2376.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Better to be pressed into service than languish in a drawer or trunk,</div>
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their beauty never seen or enjoyed. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZ1WlfUefMtFk0rAi1yIHM-mQugkErClJtqXNx-YKRhYjYg49klbE6XXJhbZCmuEdLgYH8i7lKmuNw7ygIMVpiVfIf84GRzIQXdLFaY6-z-Et-1BBNchGd5o7d5RO9yWChQER08K7Nz4/s1600/100_2384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDZ1WlfUefMtFk0rAi1yIHM-mQugkErClJtqXNx-YKRhYjYg49klbE6XXJhbZCmuEdLgYH8i7lKmuNw7ygIMVpiVfIf84GRzIQXdLFaY6-z-Et-1BBNchGd5o7d5RO9yWChQER08K7Nz4/s1600/100_2384.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The more mundane towels are left out and at hand,<br />
ready for dish-drying or cleanups.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There is a lovely satisfaction that comes from indulging<br />
in all those relatively mindless tasks</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that leave me feeling I've actually accomplished something.<br />
<br />
Carry on. </div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-63892709082522500312014-04-15T16:57:00.001-04:002014-04-15T16:57:26.910-04:00To the Moon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our moon on Sunday evening was shrouded in mist<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">,</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">b</span>ut she was beautiful nonetheless<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">My bedroom used to be at the front of the house,</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">and my den was at the rear of the house.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Since the bedroom was larger and was filled with light during the day,</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I switched the two rooms.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">But this meant I <span style="font-size: small;">could no longer peer through the bamboo<span style="font-size: small;"> shades at night</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">and watch the moon's progress across the sky.</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">So now<span style="font-size: small;">, once a month, I slip downstairs with a pillow and a quilt,</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">to sleep on the sofa and watch her as she sails slowly past. </span> </span></span> </span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6UJygRjvaMHGpqvNiPT8lP3A6jUC244Lk3A4_pzEIs3QtolRNZEpFRla8meP75zQoCAh28b1fGs5RX-f4HOBVaN_KH_9Too0wkM63cgxxyEnFwKeCKzwKXN78dYyb6PEt4LcSVWY4EZg/s1600/moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6UJygRjvaMHGpqvNiPT8lP3A6jUC244Lk3A4_pzEIs3QtolRNZEpFRla8meP75zQoCAh28b1fGs5RX-f4HOBVaN_KH_9Too0wkM63cgxxyEnFwKeCKzwKXN78dYyb6PEt4LcSVWY4EZg/s1600/moon.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">April is the month of the <span style="color: #a64d79;"><i>Full Pink Moon</i></span>. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The <span style="color: #a64d79;"><i>Full Pink Moon</i></span> was given its name by the Algonquin tribes from New England to Lake Superior. This is the name</span></span> the Colonial Americans adapted.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A full Moon in April brings frost. If the full Moon rises pale, expect rain.</i> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The <span style="color: #a64d79;"><i>Fu<span style="font-size: small;">ll</span></i> <i>Pink Moon</i></span> heralds the appearance of the moss pink, or wild ground phlox—</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">one of the
first spring flowers. It is also known as the <i>Sprouting Grass Moon</i>,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">the
<i> Egg Moon</i>,<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>and the <i>Fish Moon.</i></span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">—<i> Old Fa<span style="font-size: small;">rmer's Almanac</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">CCLXIV. <b>To the
Moon</b></span></span></span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">AND, like a dying
lady lean and pale, </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">Who totters forth,
wrapp'd in a gauzy veil, </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">Out of her chamber,
led by the insane </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">And feeble wanderings
of her fading brain, </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">The moon arose up in
the murky east,<i> </i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #000020;">A white and shapeless
mass.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> ART thou
pale for weariness </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">Of climbing heaven, and
gazing on the earth, </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> Wandering
companionless </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> Among the
stars that have a different birth,— </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">And ever-changing, like
a joyless eye<i> </i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">That finds no object
worth its constancy?</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><b>The Cloud</b></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><i>That orbed' maiden </i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><i>With white fire
laden </i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><i>Whom mortals call
the Moon.</i></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">—P<span style="font-size: small;">ercy Bysshe</span> Shelley </span></span></span></i></div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-27773963479695187972014-04-11T13:10:00.000-04:002014-04-11T13:10:07.457-04:00For lo, the winter has passed<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxCFM9azyd5BexXJsEPmXqDA5bvBQhfUMzudUbeiOWsus6zjzPGloCBvuvfi0J1owCZNkP5kLLM9T7MZ9puQuGNHaHvKqH1w389i2YDqelKbc1Jo9FMT-WaK7qYVwqdTHAsLv9aRotjw/s1600/100_2339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoxCFM9azyd5BexXJsEPmXqDA5bvBQhfUMzudUbeiOWsus6zjzPGloCBvuvfi0J1owCZNkP5kLLM9T7MZ9puQuGNHaHvKqH1w389i2YDqelKbc1Jo9FMT-WaK7qYVwqdTHAsLv9aRotjw/s1600/100_2339.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
Yesterday was the sort of day we have been waiting for, here in New England, and—let it be said—it was a day we have <i>earned</i>, after the winter we've had.<br />
<br />
Yes, there was more snow in previous years, and there were colder winds in past seasons, and I recall a winter where I felt like I was a character from an <i>Ice Age</i> film. But for some reason this most recent winter has left everyone I've spoken to in these parts feeling grumpy, exhausted, and yearning for a day like yesterday.<br />
<br />
By midday it was sixty-two degrees, the sky was a soft blue and utterly cloudless and the breeze was invigorating.<br />
<br />
Robins have been hopping about here and there, plying the earth for worms after the rain we had a few days ago. The squirrels have been up to their antics as well, chasing one another in dizzying circles up and down tree trunks.<br />
<br />
Wherever I look there are swollen buds on the flowering trees and shrubs, just waiting to burst. The Witch Hazel is already in bloom, its fragile golden filaments a welcome burst of color in what has been, until recently, a barren landscape.<br />
<br />
It was thirty two degrees on Wednesday night, but it didn't feel that cold. Not after the sunny afternoon we'd had only hours earlier. But, as they say, it's all relative. Clear the streets and sidewalks of snow and ice, bring out the sun to coax green shoots from the earth, and then throw in cloudless skies and a nice spring breeze, and thirty two at night doesn't feel quite so bad.<br />
<br />
In fact, I experienced an unexpected sensation yesterday evening. I opened the French doors that lead from the dining room onto the verandah, something I rarely do in winter, and a soft rush of stifling warmth greeted me. All that day's sunlight and heat had been trapped within the glassed in space. I sat there for awhile, reveling in the closeness and in the sense that a new season had arrived in earnest. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CwlfF0FlCnxvQFiULkwl-ANFyC96e06EHrt0PTkDSA0vKVs77I8fbi50ixjB2YYdZ1a5vdB-UWPXtZubY9fnWMAbbEiggxhXM8VgOICZxecoxpLtsTYXJzT1rrvCkpA2e7BaUd2UXLg/s1600/100_2345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9CwlfF0FlCnxvQFiULkwl-ANFyC96e06EHrt0PTkDSA0vKVs77I8fbi50ixjB2YYdZ1a5vdB-UWPXtZubY9fnWMAbbEiggxhXM8VgOICZxecoxpLtsTYXJzT1rrvCkpA2e7BaUd2UXLg/s1600/100_2345.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-85337286474504750812014-04-08T13:40:00.000-04:002014-04-08T13:40:19.676-04:00When the trees sing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbaoWBuTy7DfOnEkuQvPYJi6P-EwJ5AJBDgdXYPVzMJnUfivkLQ5JHuD4dPKFSUlMwcNBs5JyHJKxXtwUAOAFdXWODpqasa1bTKlhGKEImttY2xpObSdaqHH1V8MYVbKhZTT15sw4kg/s1600/Maples1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVAbaoWBuTy7DfOnEkuQvPYJi6P-EwJ5AJBDgdXYPVzMJnUfivkLQ5JHuD4dPKFSUlMwcNBs5JyHJKxXtwUAOAFdXWODpqasa1bTKlhGKEImttY2xpObSdaqHH1V8MYVbKhZTT15sw4kg/s1600/Maples1.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">Ah me... on early spring days like this I love to imagine my garden</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;">at the height of summer. <span lang="EN-US">It won't be long until the trees overhead</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: black;"><span lang="EN-US">will be looking this way again. I simply cannot wait! </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">When the trees sing,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">It doesn't really
matter</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">If you know the song,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">Or if you know the
words,</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">Or even if you know the
tune.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">What really matters is
knowing</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US">That the trees are
singing at all.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span lang="EN-US"><i>—Mattie Stepanek</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-US">Matthew Joseph Thaddeus Stepanek, known as
Mattie Stepanek,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-US">was an American poet,<span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span>who published five books of poetry and
one book of essays.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-US">His volume <b>Heartsongs</b> reached </span></i><span lang="EN-US">The New York Times</span><i><span lang="EN-US">
bestsellers list.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span lang="EN-US">He was born in July of 1990 and died in June of 2004. </span></i></span></div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-63251883548445353392014-04-07T15:10:00.003-04:002014-04-07T15:10:25.012-04:00Spring Idyll<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sat outside yesterday for most of the afternoon, soaking up the sunlight as it beat against the front steps. I left the front door open wide enough to let the warm air creep into a cottage that is still shivering now and then with the built-up cold from the winter we've been through.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Oh, but winter was so far from my mind, yesterday, as to be a mere memory. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The children played in the garden, digging holes and then filling them again, occasionally coming across a worm ("Good") or a grub ("Bad"). </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyone, children and grownups alike, sat around <span style="font-size: small;">o</span>n mis-matched chairs, or on the steps, or on the ground<span style="font-size: small;">, </span>eating pizza, sugar cookies, chocolate milk and watermelon, in no particular order.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">The sidewalk chalk was brought out, along with toy car and story books. There were trips into the cottage now and then, to gather maracas and old walking sticks and some of my hats. Another trip to the shed to get a trowel. And then a request for seeds.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Oh, it's such a perfect day</i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>I'm glad I spen<span style="font-size: small;">t</span> it with you</i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Oh, such a perfect day</i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Problems all left alone</i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Weekenders on our own<span></span></i></span></span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>—Lou Reed </i></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It won't be long now...</i></td></tr>
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<br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-73009155071417589522014-04-04T09:30:00.001-04:002014-04-04T09:30:46.310-04:00The Lure of a Cottage<div style="text-align: center;">
There were several things that won me over when I first looked at my little cottage.</div>
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One of them was certainly the black-and-white 1930s bathroom.<br />
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I fell in love with the large set in tub, the pedestal sink,</div>
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the vintage etched glass medicine cabinet,</div>
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and the step-up shower on the other side of the room</div>
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with its old-fashioned ripple-glass door.<br />
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Another aspect of the cottage that wooed me was the 'verandah'.</div>
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I call it a verandah but it's more like an old porch you find on a beach house.<br />
It didn't have an exterior door, which I liked,<br />
and you entered it through french doors from the dining room.<br />
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I immediately envisioned this little oasis filled with green plantlife</div>
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and white chipped wicker furniture.</div>
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It had enormous screens on three sides, offering a perfect view </div>
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of the rear gardens I was already planting in my mind.<br /><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDX8hX6yftOdVxNB8oIDXttP8ASHrxuhyphenhyphen4yowTi_nykfEKVYVGMyn9URR2MydYteCmt5pf5ZeB7iFtdIM_7gjBw01nBCU-08Nzg_Ryr3BXV-zKTCXeuAwpD0X46LTIT7qemCMOmeo7GU/s1600/VerandahCorner2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirDX8hX6yftOdVxNB8oIDXttP8ASHrxuhyphenhyphen4yowTi_nykfEKVYVGMyn9URR2MydYteCmt5pf5ZeB7iFtdIM_7gjBw01nBCU-08Nzg_Ryr3BXV-zKTCXeuAwpD0X46LTIT7qemCMOmeo7GU/s1600/VerandahCorner2.JPG" height="265" width="400" /></a> </div>
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I knew that once the fair weather arrived each year,</div>
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it would become my official thinking post.</div>
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A place to stand first thing in the morning to watch the birds,</div>
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a place to sit at at mid-day with lunch or a cup of tea,</div>
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and a place to curl up at night to listen to the crickets.<br />
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Even on chilly days, I could picture myself wearing a shawl or sweater</div>
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and taking my tea out there, just to feel nearer to my imaginary gardens.<br />
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And then there was the fireplace. Enough said.</div>
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It had a lovely mantle I could use to display family treasures,</div>
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and a hearth where I could enjoy fires in the autumn, winter, or early spring.</div>
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It would, literally and figuratively, become the heart of the house.<br />
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And perhaps at no time during the year is a fireplace more useful</div>
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- or more iconic - than at Christmas time.<br />
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I would certainly put it to good use during the holidays,</div>
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with boughs of holly and festive candles.<br />
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There were other things I loved about the cottage, of course.</div>
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A kitchen that reminded me of the one I adored in the film <i>Green Card.</i> </div>
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A laundry chute with tiny doors in the upstairs hallway and the kitchen.<br /><br /></div>
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An ironing board that pulled down out of the wall in the kitchen.<br />
A narrow pantry cupboard with lots of shelves. <br />
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Interior shutters throughout the house: on the side-lights by the front door,</div>
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on the windows on either side of the fireplace, and on the stair landing.</div>
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But it was the bathroom, the porch, and the fireplace that sealed the deal. </div>
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Odd things, perhaps, to inspire someone to buy a cottage,</div>
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but there you are.<br />
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Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-53359333574905651642014-04-03T08:54:00.000-04:002014-04-03T08:54:07.424-04:00Eagerly Impatient<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span lang="EN-US">verb</span></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">verb: wait; 3rd person present: waits; past
tense: waited; past participle: waited; gerund or present participle: waiting</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">1. stay where one is or delay action until
a particular time or until something else happens; stay where one is or delay
action until (someone) arrives or is ready; remain in readiness for some purpose.; be
left until a later time before being dealt with.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">2. used to indicate that
one is eagerly impatient to do something or for something to happen.</span></span> </span></span></div>
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It's not every day you find yourself in a place you didn't expect to be.<br /><br />
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It happened to me one summer when I was staying at college</div>
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with a friend in Oxford, England.</div>
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It started innocently enough.... a random conversation about travelling down to Canterbury for the day, to investigate the cathedral, enjoy a walk along the river, stop for a pub lunch somewhere and then travel home again by nightfall. It would require taking the Oxford coach into London and then boarding the train to Canterbury which left from Victoria Station.<br />
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The morning's journey was going quite well until we were just about to pull into the Canterbury Station. My friend, who has a penchant for upending excursions with his spur-of-the-moment schemes, turned to me and said, "What if we stay on the train and go on to Folkstone?" Folkstone is just south of Dover, on the coast of eastern England.<br />
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"Why would we go to Folkstone?" I asked, a bit alarmed.<br />
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"Because then we could take the ferry to Boulogne," he replied, "have lunch and then come home. You'll get your passport stamped and be able to say you'd been to France!"<br />
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He said this as if it was the most logical thing in the world and I'd be a fool not to agree. By the time we hashed this out, the train had stopped in Cantebury, dropped people off, collected a few more passengers, and resumed it's journey. To Folkstone. Paying the extra money to the conductor as he ambled down the aisle, and committed now to this whimsical plan, we settled back and discussed what we might have for lunch in France! Oysters? Mussels? Pate?<br />
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When we arrived in Folkstone, we were told that the next Ferry was entirely booked and there would be an hour's wait for another one. A bit disappointed to have our journey interrupted this way, I was starting to have second thoughts... imagining our walk throughout Canterbury which now wouldn't be taking place. But within minutes the ferry master beckoned to us and said we could board after all.<br />
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Happy to have the extra hour on the <i>other</i> side of the Channel, we boarded with what seemed like at least 246 school children and travelled towards the continent. The journey wasn't as long as I'd imagined and soon the coast of France loomed and we landed at the <i>Boulogne-sur-Mer</i> Hoverport.<br />
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While the town of <i>Boulogne-sur-Mer</i> is incredibly picturesque, the terminal was decidedly <i>not</i>, being a veritable maze of counters and ticket agents, with options for taxi cabs, coaches, or trains, and it was difficult at first to know where to turn to find a conveyance into the little town. Motioning for me to wait, my friend dashed to up to an agent and used his best school-boy french to purchase some tickets for what I'd assumed would be a coach or commuter rail. <br />
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"Hurry!" he said, grabbing my arm, "It's leaving now!"<br />
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I ran beside him, managing to mount the steps of a train mere seconds before it started its slow crawl out of the station. Walking down through the cars he found an empty private carriage where he slid the door open and guided me inside. I collapsed next to him onto one of the seats and smiled with relief as the countryside started to pass us by.<br />
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"How long will it take?" I asked.</div>
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"A few hours," he smiled.</div>
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"Hours...??" I realized our train was picking up speed. Too much so for the brief journey into Boulogne. "Why? Where are we going?"</div>
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"Paris!"</div>
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"PARIS???? Are you serious???" <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJh-E6kCeFTox-Qx96O49O2aH6qSVsJh48AHPFgsY_0nTdgob2VGdqRavqd9YigPzFXqehqLSwUteJ4l9eJCUSJvhbavyYp8zNgnL1HqfhSowbVP8Ho8qIYNGgUejWbizy-1QjpKHTck/s1600/notredame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJh-E6kCeFTox-Qx96O49O2aH6qSVsJh48AHPFgsY_0nTdgob2VGdqRavqd9YigPzFXqehqLSwUteJ4l9eJCUSJvhbavyYp8zNgnL1HqfhSowbVP8Ho8qIYNGgUejWbizy-1QjpKHTck/s1600/notredame.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a>I looked down at my clothes: a black and white cotton print dress, white canvas flats, and a tapestry carry bag with my journal, a camera, a shawl and my wallet. Audrey Hepburn may have looked adorable in such a simple ensemble, but I looked like a charwoman. And he was no better off, sporting jeans, a worn jersey, and heavy boots.<br />
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I then did the math in my head. We would arrive in Paris just before the dinner hour, which meant all of our day-return tickets for the ferry back to Folkstone, the train back to London, and the coach back to Oxford wouldn't be worth the paper they were printed on. It also meant we either had to stay up all night (not a difficult thing to do in Paris, I was certain) or find a hotel room. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing.<br />
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"I think we should either find the grandest place we can, or the most seedy...." he mused, "we need to see the city one way or the other."<br />
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Our penury notwithstanding, I was secretly opting for grandeur over bedbugs or being knifed in my sleep.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4j-1Lzcm4HVJv-PcAOX90ZHdTxWeJbs9CnL0h21ycn7NsiRVgfDsn7MVNjM6hcryv3rotAqM656fO-bNDY-hgV5jRZWYEL4m1DZ7yIjAbyGo-pUpPdH1F1gD93D6nHi_fy6v5g9u8kE/s1600/opera.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4j-1Lzcm4HVJv-PcAOX90ZHdTxWeJbs9CnL0h21ycn7NsiRVgfDsn7MVNjM6hcryv3rotAqM656fO-bNDY-hgV5jRZWYEL4m1DZ7yIjAbyGo-pUpPdH1F1gD93D6nHi_fy6v5g9u8kE/s1600/opera.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a>We arrived at <i>Gard du Nord</i> and after considering our options purchased Metro tickets for <i>Place de l'Opera.</i> Why we chose this <i>arrondissement</i> escapes me now, but it seemed like a good choice at the time.<br />
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When we climbed out of the Metro station into daylight, the Paris Opera loomed over us like a rococco dream, while the Paris traffic whizzed around us like a video game in which the objective was to annihilate as many pedestrians as you could. (Pedestrians, I soon learned, never have the right of way in Paris. Ever.)<br />
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We somehow managed to cross the road to the <i>Cafe de la Paix</i>, where we indulged in cup after cup of rich coffee and crunchy baguettes with creamery butter.<br />
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We people-watched for over an hour, trying to let the glorious reality of our situation sink in, and smiling at one another periodically with disbelief. We even found ourselves being serenaded by a busker who wandered from table to table playing his violin. Soon, however, we knew we had to seriously discuss our options for a hotel. Paying our bill, we arose and wandered around the corner, intending to investigate some of the hotels we'd been told were down the road; but within moments we discovered that the <i>Cafe de la Paix</i> was on the ground floor of <i>Le Grand Hotel</i>. In terms of grandeur, it fit the bill perfectly. The lobby alone was breathtaking.<br />
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"If we're going to spend the money, " I suggested, "then why not here?"<br />
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He agreed and we walked in and stood at the desk looking for all the world like we were applying for housekeeping jobs. But once we'd proferred our credit cards, we found ourselves in a luxurious room, heartened that the exorbitant price would include supper in the cafe, a wake up call, and breakfast in their gorgeous palm-laden dining room.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixO2m_vo4LKZEwmq4TEgF1gfvHm_Mk77dhiop3Lvt7Qs70d1Nw6qcp5xYZL2N02PoeHLTyvJokLDnH_LVpzt0HcvckILX38JXuw0VGaI9_Qs_zIRkgpbvXem1xL9lkVg8bbXDx-IOP8aw/s1600/eiffel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGx2RPCA-hJcigV-ENJYOSJ_9Aqm1QwDzeCDGEa3YpAtFBKwTP3jFhpWuDP2uvZkZ_rJtFQoCQYCVhPYrpOlDA_QdHMpuxdcV5CuT_O0yADEIVz88VW61G5kdKZnmIME_b6UQbAcSWis/s1600/champs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIGx2RPCA-hJcigV-ENJYOSJ_9Aqm1QwDzeCDGEa3YpAtFBKwTP3jFhpWuDP2uvZkZ_rJtFQoCQYCVhPYrpOlDA_QdHMpuxdcV5CuT_O0yADEIVz88VW61G5kdKZnmIME_b6UQbAcSWis/s1600/champs.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></div>
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Not knowing where we might end up for the night, we had stopped earlier at a <i>pharmacie</i> where we purchased soap and toothbrushes ... all of which we found in abundance in the elegant bath quarters of our hotel room, which were nearly as large as the ground floor of my cottage! </div>
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After freshening up we deciding the best plan was simply walking as much as we could and enjoying whatever we saw along the way. We rode the Metro to the <i>Palais Royale</i> and then gradually found our way to the <i>Champs-Élysées</i>, strolling the length of the magnificent avenue to the <i>Arc de Triomph</i>, all the while marvelling at our being there at all.<br />
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Eventually we ambled down a side street and crossed the river to <i>le Tour Eiffel</i>, where we paid a modest sum to travel up inside the iron masterwork to gaze out over Paris. The city sparkled like diamonds in the night and we could see the streets spidering outward from the Trocadero up to <i>Sacre Coeur</i> at the top of Montmatre.<br />
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Thoroughly elated but feeling a bit tired, we journeyed back to our hotel where we enjoyed a late supper in the Cafe's glassed in restaurant.<br />
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The next morning, we had a wonderful breakfast in the palm room,
squirreling the extra croissants, pots of jam and pats of butter into my
carry bag for an impromptu lunch afterwards along the Seine. We then
boarded the Metro for a brief but memorable day in Paris.<br />
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Despite a compressed schedule, we managed to wander through Notre Dame,
pick our way through a labyrinth of market stalls, investigate the
booksellers along the Seine, and ramble around the Louvre where my
friend stood in front of the Mona Lisa for what seemed like hours, while
I paid homage to <i>Le Jeune Martyre</i> on the other side of the gallery. We enjoyed our makeshift lunch by the fountains at the glass pyramids, studying the Louvre's façade and grinning at one another. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFH_9FbM2mNBCXqvsYQDIU7LEXju-_ddS9u_vaXcFrLiBWQkrakZuNae0BTNXAdLCgAeC1xg-wttXhU3_vWLbknuRQGMUZLNQU_TNiNGV4J-IoBzTrf4lQOk6pgydoOFnAU2QimIgJL0/s1600/103677684.thV3a7wB._8092597_ptDsVersion2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFH_9FbM2mNBCXqvsYQDIU7LEXju-_ddS9u_vaXcFrLiBWQkrakZuNae0BTNXAdLCgAeC1xg-wttXhU3_vWLbknuRQGMUZLNQU_TNiNGV4J-IoBzTrf4lQOk6pgydoOFnAU2QimIgJL0/s1600/103677684.thV3a7wB._8092597_ptDsVersion2.jpg" height="400" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Le Jeune Martyre by Paul Delaroche (1855) - Musée du Louvre</i></td></tr>
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Sooner than we'd hoped it was time to return to the <i>Gard du Nord </i>rail station where we purchased one-way tickets for Boulogne. Settling down for the ride to the coast, we consulted the ferry schedule and realized, too late, that we would never get to Boulogne in time for the last ferry. What to do?</div>
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There were really only two options. We could wait in the ferry station overnight until morning, which was hardly appealing. Or we could remain on the train and continue on to Calais where the ferries ran to Dover long after midnight. This was much more sensible, surely, but our ferry tickets were not good for the Calais to Dover run... and our London train ticket was only good if we left from Folkstone. Two more tickets to add to the unused pile!</div>
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We hesitated, not making the decision really but simply letting the train pull out of the Boulogne station. Too late now. We were bound for Calais. We waited for an agent to stride through and ask to see our tickets so we could pay for the extra journey. No one came. We watched the scenery flash by in the darkness. "I'm fare hopping," I thought to myself with chagrin. "I'm a grown person, and I'm fare hopping..."</div>
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When we arrived in Calais we detrained quickly and ran to purchase tickets so we could board the next ferry. (Despite not having paid for the journey to Calais, there were no police sirens awaiting us and no handcuffs or jail sentence in a foreign cell, for which I was mightily grateful albeit feeling terribly guilty.)</div>
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It was midnight as we slipped away from Calais towards Dover. Unlike the hovercraft that runs between <i>Boulogne-sur-Mer</i> and Folkstone, this was a proper ferry, its bottom securely anchored in the choppy waters as it plied the Channel waters with a lumbering grace. It was misting slightly so I wrapped a shawl around my hair and shoulders, standing by the railing and looking out as the lights of France faded to a mere glimmer in the night. So many people had taken this journey over time: Historical figures who had either escaped to France or were returning to
England, in secret or in glory; literary icons who'd found their
way to the continent; artists who sought the inspiration of Paris for
their canvases. Mary Queen of Scots, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Charles II, John Singer Sargent, Gertrude Stein. All had travelled over these same waters, and perhaps all had stood as I was now standing, peering out at the distant lights that grew smaller and smaller.<br />
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Soon all was darkness and while it didn't last long, it was strangely peaceful to be adrift in the black middle-night on the deep waters of the English Channel. And then, like magic, the chalk cliffs of Dover appeared in the night, and the lights of England beckoned us home.</div>
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We had to wait at the ferry landing for nearly 2 hours for the next coach into London. (The trains weren't running until much later and we couldn't bear the thought of staying longer than we had to in the ferry station.) Sleeping for much of the journey, we arrived in London quite early in the morning, catching the first coach to Oxford and barely able to speak for exhaustion and lack of sleep. As we rolled into the City Centre, we stumbled to the nearest cafe on St. Giles street and tucked into an enormous breakfast, smiling at one another idiotically over our bacon, sausage, fried toast and eggs.</div>
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<i>Were we just in Paris? Was that possible? Had it all really happened?</i></div>
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A pocket full of useless rail, coach and ferry tickets in my pocket told me it had.<br />
And they were worth every penny. <br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">The three h</span>otel photos are from <a href="http://www.intercontinental.com/hotels/gb/en/paris/parhb/hoteldetail?qAdlt=1&qBrs=6c.hi.ex.rs.ic.cp.in.sb.cw.cv&qChld=0&qFRA=1&qGRM=0&qIta=99504425&qPSt=0&qRRSrt=rt&qRms=1&qRpn=1&qRpp=10&qSHp=1&qSmP=3&qSrt=sBR&qWch=0&srb_u=1&icdv=99504425&siclientid=1911&dp=true" target="_blank">Le Grand Hotel </a>site; all others by the author.</i></span></div>
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Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-43140820081089404622014-03-31T16:27:00.001-04:002014-03-31T16:27:47.174-04:00Waiting...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Ah, New England in late March, you never disappointment. With only a
few more days on the calendar, the month lived up to its meteorological
tradition with lion-sized winds last week, some gusting up to 50 miles
per hour. [Note to self: those little left over piles of leaves, twigs
and soil you were going to sweep up this weekend? Don't bother...
they've been blown into the next town.] And then this past weekend we
were soaked by intermittent showers on Saturday, torrential rain all day
Sunday, and rain mixed with a bit of hail today.<br />
<br />
I was hoping that with the first day of Spring I could finally turn off my heating system. That was a pipe-dream, of course, since the two days of fifty degree weather we'd had the weekend before were promptly followed by nearly a week of 14 degree weather. And of course only days after I'd raked the garden beds and left them
utterly exposed to the elements, the weather casters were telling us a Nor'Easter was heading our way and, depending on
where you lived in New England, would bring either 20 inches of snow
or a mere dusting. Mercifully, we were in the <i>dusting</i> zone and my
crocus, daffodils and tulip greens seemed none the worse for wear. But
for a day or two I was feeling like a very bad mother indeed to have left them
so helpless in the face of what might have been.<br />
<br />
Despite missing all the snow, the cottage was still a bracing 52 degrees on Friday, the first full day of Spring. But rather than fiddle with the thermostat, I decided to set a fire on
the grate. It's always so lovely to
sit by the hearth wrapped in a shawl and let the embers warm your face, hands, legs, and feet. And
then you get up to make a cup of tea and realize the rest of the house is still
52 degrees.<br />
<br />
I haven't seen the Starling family yet but I suspect it won't be long before they'll be converging on the old Alarm box that hangs over my side door, filling it with twigs, grass, thread, and whatever other flotsam and jetsam they can forage to make a nest for their young. Their travels back and forth will be fairly constant, and in time the entire box will be alive with the sound of young ones, chirping excitedly and begging for food. It is a Rite of Spring I look forward to each year and never tire of watching and hearing as it all unfolds. Including the part where the parents sit on the nearby Cherry branches and screech at me if I dare leave the cottage ... lest I "discover" where their babies are.<br />
The squirrel nests are visible now, high up in the bare trees, although by the end of May they will be secluded amidst a canopy of leaves. They are just as industrious about their building albeit far more elaborate, grabbing whatever they can from my garden shed or back garden to supplement their aeries. Last summer they kept stealing hemp rope from the garden. For a hammocks, perhaps? Or an elaborate pully system to haul the purloined bird seed into their homes? They've also dragged plastic bags into the trees, no doubt for weather proofing. <br />
<br />
My primrose are thriving indoors. Or perhaps it's so cold in my cottage they're in suspended animation? Whatever the cause, they continue to bloom and I hope they last long enough to be put into the ground once the soil is truly moist enough and the threat of snow and frost is truly past.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">When that might be is hard to say. This is New England, after all. Where rain frequently mixes with little flakes of snow despite what the calendar might say. </span></span><br />
<h1 class="quoteText">
<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>“If you don't like the weather in New England now, just wait a few minutes.” — Mark Twain</i></span></span></span></h1>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Carry on.</span></span><br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-18675639577551015612014-03-21T18:00:00.000-04:002014-03-21T18:00:01.409-04:00Opening a can of "Get Busy"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The rake will come out this weekend, along with some brown paper leaf bags,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
my worn gardening clogs, and a favorite cotton dress and denim shirt.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Time to get busy in the garden, clearing away Winter's dullness,</div>
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and letting the first shoots of Spring find their way into the light.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Tiny Crocus and brave Daffodils are already pushing through the soil,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
waiting to be rescued from the bracken with a careful hand.</div>
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Forsythia branches have swollen nibs that will open soon, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
their sunny flowers unfurling slowly on the first warm day.</div>
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Indoors there is ironing to tackle, some drawers to tidy,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and closets to go through with a ruthless eye.</div>
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Magazines to read and discard, yarn to wind and sort through,</div>
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and curtains to wash and rehang.</div>
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Seed packets to organize, a garden shed to clear of winter's dust,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and a verandah to clean and garnish. </div>
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It will take awhile to accomplish everything,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
but with the fairer weather comes that vernal burst of energy</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that makes each task a happy one.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And I will be fueled by pots of tea, and perhaps a plate of scones.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Like the birds in the trees overhead, I will be bustling about,</div>
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readying my home, sweet home, for a new season.</div>
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Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-47337706452666918322014-03-21T10:28:00.001-04:002014-03-21T10:28:40.206-04:00Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Behold, my friends, the spring is come;</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>the earth has gladly received</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>the embraces of the sun,</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>and we shall soon see</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>the results of their love!</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>— Sitting Bull</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: black;">I have rarely longed for a calendar date</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: black;">as much as I have longed for this one.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: black;">In the midst of this particular winter,</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: black;">the first full day of spring has been the one beacon</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: black;">that kept me plodding forward. </span></span><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> </span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Awake, thou wintry earth - </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Fling off thy sadness!</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Your ancient gladness!</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>—Thos. Blackburn</i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">I am eager to get my hands dirty in the soil,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">to let the smell of the earth fill my senses,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">as I clear away the last of winter's detritus</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">and let the green shoots find their way into the light. </span></span></span><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Spring shows what God can do</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>with a drab and dirty world.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">—Virgil A. Kraft</span> </span></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">Drab and dreary is certainly how our winter ended,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">like a lady who stayed too long at the fair,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"><span style="color: black;">her gown sodden and dusty. </span></span></span><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Every spring is the only spring -</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>a perpetual astonishment.</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>— Ellis Peters</i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">But now there will be color and light</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">and the gradual revelation of green, growing things,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">and birdsong in the trees each day,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">and a sense, as Browning once said,</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">that all is right with the world. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;"> </span></span></span><i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"> </span></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><br /></span></span></i></div>
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How marvelous that we get to feel this way each year.</div>
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What a miracle of hope's triumph</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="color: black;">and the soul's persistent optimism.</span></span></span> </div>
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Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-5042037801353969312014-03-17T14:01:00.000-04:002014-03-17T14:01:04.534-04:00Lá Fhéile Pádraig<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>That crazed girl improvising her music.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Her soul in division from itself</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Climbing, falling She knew not where,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Heroically lost, heroically found.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>No matter what disaster occurred</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>She stood in desperate music wound,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>Where the bales and the baskets lay</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>No common intelligible sound</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>But sang, 'O sea-starved, hungry sea.'</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><i>— Wm. Butler Yeats (1865-1939)</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Born in Dublin, son of a well-known portrait painter, educated in Dublin and London,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yeats spent his summers in the family's summer house in Connaught.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He founded the Irish Theatre (later the Abbey Theatre) with Lady Gregory.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I had the distinct honor of singing several times with his grand-daughter,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Irish harpist Catriona Yeats. The long mouldering Farleys, Cuniffs, and their ilk</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
must have been smiling (I hope), at their crazed descendant.</div>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFlKx3YPL5I" target="_blank"><i>There is a magical and transcendent quality to the Irish harp.</i></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-80083439682717114002014-03-10T09:08:00.000-04:002014-03-10T09:08:00.097-04:00Why God Invented Grandchildren<div style="text-align: center;">
Two little faces and four little hands at the side door</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
with two pretty bouquets...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
... which I combined into one lovely colorful arrangement.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It truly does not get better than this.</div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-80261250978371381382014-03-08T09:00:00.000-05:002014-03-08T09:00:03.515-05:00Some Pig<div style="text-align: center;">
This little fellow was waiting for me at my desk last week.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
I have yearned for one of these metal pigs</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
ever since I saw them at a local gift shop.</div>
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</div>
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And now this pig is mine. <br />
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Should he get a collar and chain and be kept in the garden this summer?<br />
Or should he stay indoors and guard the kitchen?<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFz2C7IxrVt1wKjEeEzM6OmT3PQx-6LMPyp5Sh8DVfcjo_0As1ZEKHrTOs27NKX4PGIc_kvt2AajsbqtcgWn1O-xHtdsra-kpWjvQmzoRpo81WEV6rJXEQM9zQoQ_fHpphwKrC1OtLeck/s1600/100_2281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFz2C7IxrVt1wKjEeEzM6OmT3PQx-6LMPyp5Sh8DVfcjo_0As1ZEKHrTOs27NKX4PGIc_kvt2AajsbqtcgWn1O-xHtdsra-kpWjvQmzoRpo81WEV6rJXEQM9zQoQ_fHpphwKrC1OtLeck/s1600/100_2281.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a><br />
A girl and her pig. What bliss.</div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-45489831039401300852014-03-07T13:57:00.001-05:002014-03-07T13:57:46.137-05:00Lenten Landscape<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBmzejv2vyFy6EAMBshel31sAtOTY9N6r5CF9aBo0T3Isu-y9r1GSIXD4uLxgfUWvwce8Wqd97OzWGAoP8GhfIZxvPlAsCoHLYZwSF1NQlGqFXihC-YsMt3RyXuiGmNIiOggfP9dWqTI/s1600/100_2263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJBmzejv2vyFy6EAMBshel31sAtOTY9N6r5CF9aBo0T3Isu-y9r1GSIXD4uLxgfUWvwce8Wqd97OzWGAoP8GhfIZxvPlAsCoHLYZwSF1NQlGqFXihC-YsMt3RyXuiGmNIiOggfP9dWqTI/s1600/100_2263.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
The pancakes & beignets have been eaten,<br />
the beads have been put away,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and the forty days and nights of Lent are upon us.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And with it comes a decision as to how best to greet this season.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I like to think of it as an opportunity for a mystical house cleaning.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A decluttering of the mind. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A clearing of the head that helps one to focus the senses</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
on a simpler and less agitated existence.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some find it helpful to exercise denial...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
eschewing those foods or passtimes they love</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
like a spiritual cleanse.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some find it helpful to do something extra</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and perhaps even slightly burdensome... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
tasks and inconveniences that lift us out of the habit of being self-absorbed.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I haven't quite decided what to do... or what not to do.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As if in preparation, I did clean the house on Sunday, from top to bottom.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The right approach will come to me, organically, I hope.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But in the end, if all else fails,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
trying to be kinder is always a good start.</div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-90618013614259395272014-03-06T09:07:00.000-05:002014-03-06T09:07:31.740-05:00One man's Gainsborough...<div style="text-align: center;">
A painting has been "decommissioned" in my office.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfczpixsh0YdjMjBh9wdLN3O_h6JVhfi_iiIY7lFm1eULsMj_CH4pQiM2N-MGrGSHdB_lRsMIBR0bp_ukHTJLJ52AcaV_kF8vWd7kJ6SOBDiygz40aKRfLenyo649LfBIugEOkF8-rR0/s1600/100_2273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfczpixsh0YdjMjBh9wdLN3O_h6JVhfi_iiIY7lFm1eULsMj_CH4pQiM2N-MGrGSHdB_lRsMIBR0bp_ukHTJLJ52AcaV_kF8vWd7kJ6SOBDiygz40aKRfLenyo649LfBIugEOkF8-rR0/s1600/100_2273.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Set aside as being too old, too sad, too depressing</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it was replaced by something more 'now' and more colorful. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbOIL07lFeXthxfBktNC0mXbSG9RQFnn2Sq9NiJa7pWx2XCqfpJavXozcYb9VWvFfB5BBsV-jicCgAFxgGDd4v0LEdevcKO67xK8FlfcuEQLRWGvKbcerdgpjUjmvVKB3VlUXqXX0y5M/s1600/100_2275.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglbOIL07lFeXthxfBktNC0mXbSG9RQFnn2Sq9NiJa7pWx2XCqfpJavXozcYb9VWvFfB5BBsV-jicCgAFxgGDd4v0LEdevcKO67xK8FlfcuEQLRWGvKbcerdgpjUjmvVKB3VlUXqXX0y5M/s1600/100_2275.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have been gazing up at this painting for decades</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in its perfect location over the mantle</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(in what used to be a mid-19th c. mansion)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and it has only grown more beautiful in my eyes over the years.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnCdZep9Rbv74JvrQkYjLKWcfPMYq_1IACibEiqlYQD_ztmqMrJVTieC3uug13ufwU1_B3-ISreC0I0tplwL7Amf4OU5-1t_EIe2LTVig6ugoifVd9pxkQYX0wL-nhffKYp_tZi_7CDs/s1600/100_2272.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCnCdZep9Rbv74JvrQkYjLKWcfPMYq_1IACibEiqlYQD_ztmqMrJVTieC3uug13ufwU1_B3-ISreC0I0tplwL7Amf4OU5-1t_EIe2LTVig6ugoifVd9pxkQYX0wL-nhffKYp_tZi_7CDs/s1600/100_2272.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The title is <i>Homeward Bound.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And indeed, I truly empathize with the cart horse,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
who does look weary and ready to go home.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Something that truly speaks to my heart at the end of the day.) </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GhIyQc_hUUCxJgNHAoFghyvnLJym8DfKNlxXWWO5_YqRFU-Ek8INYLVpXziSUJFlkgQOpq6YHOrC4zmPec7Qw-AmDxQzO-JniTjXzqHbszYGZ5BBQJ5xjJmBYFvjU3C3I4TJ0PNd_84/s1600/100_2278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GhIyQc_hUUCxJgNHAoFghyvnLJym8DfKNlxXWWO5_YqRFU-Ek8INYLVpXziSUJFlkgQOpq6YHOrC4zmPec7Qw-AmDxQzO-JniTjXzqHbszYGZ5BBQJ5xjJmBYFvjU3C3I4TJ0PNd_84/s1600/100_2278.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Still... everyone has different tastes.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And despite being a Gainsborough</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(yes.... <u>THAT</u> Gainsborough)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it no longer has pride of place in this otherwise lovely room.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But... there was a happy ending... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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It is now resting safely next to my desk.<br />
And I could not be happier to have my friend near me as I work.</div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6837122775688867364.post-62032217648575431182014-03-05T15:29:00.002-05:002014-03-05T15:29:56.657-05:00Intimation of Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZOJ0HpJHD6Ae27WI7a284KzR9upLYtebSn_Dn7vuMu67ROkkMqSupXTAmeptbBxrBGqdC3BTTz96pGorsLChgq3PfetdVRIEm6otl8-50wYVwVU0CGp7iE0797igjbO1Kpjf068TV6U/s1600/100_2248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZOJ0HpJHD6Ae27WI7a284KzR9upLYtebSn_Dn7vuMu67ROkkMqSupXTAmeptbBxrBGqdC3BTTz96pGorsLChgq3PfetdVRIEm6otl8-50wYVwVU0CGp7iE0797igjbO1Kpjf068TV6U/s1600/100_2248.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Each February I clip Forsythia branches and bring them into the house,</div>
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placing them in warm water and then waiting patiently</div>
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as I fool Mother Nature. </div>
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This year was no different,</div>
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and the cheer its sunny yellow blossoms brought indoors</div>
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was a tremendous blessing amidst all the snow and wind</div>
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and icy rain and bitterly cold temperatures</div>
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that circled the cottage like hungry wolves.</div>
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As the weeks progressed and the flowers wilted,</div>
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I managed to save a few small stalks</div>
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to place on the kitchen window sill.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSdmfRpj6PShPDRQtkEMrLtN-RTz7WflM5IKseY5QjEH-E_HtWM73fFpQhddFTSwfR9OvpocE4BMESBtarIGUYn_cY_1BLSQsPRgnkcBH2kQ0omvSVouDjMsHCIn7YTBpGAZwovzGldE/s1600/100_2267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSSdmfRpj6PShPDRQtkEMrLtN-RTz7WflM5IKseY5QjEH-E_HtWM73fFpQhddFTSwfR9OvpocE4BMESBtarIGUYn_cY_1BLSQsPRgnkcBH2kQ0omvSVouDjMsHCIn7YTBpGAZwovzGldE/s1600/100_2267.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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What a pleasure it is to peer out at the dormant garden</div>
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through these golden branches!</div>
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Soon the house will be surrounded by a variety of flowers sporting</div>
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pink and lavender, blue and white, and golden blossoms,</div>
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shaded by a canopy of greenery overhead.</div>
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But for now, there is a little hint of that color,</div>
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and a tiny glimpse of spring, inside these walls.</div>
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Carry on. </div>
Haworthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03674542285398289771noreply@blogger.com2