It is a strange and wonderous day here at the cottage ... The wind blowing first quite dry, and now tossing about raindrops. The flowers are all turning up their faces to catch what they can and I believe they are all smiling.
Wish you were here to see them.
=^..^= love, zU
January 15, 1929 - April 4, 1968
There is something magical about the neighborhood in which I live. One of the delights is that one never knows what to expect next. Unquestionably I live in a wonderland.
Walking along the avenues one day a year or so ago I spotted something rather unusual. Rather ... something oddly large. Not something you would not expect to see on a walk ... matter-of-fact, I can name a half dozen or so houses with windchimes hanging from their eaves. But that day I felt like Alice. I had to stop and think if I had consumed anything from a small bottle that morning labeled: Drink Me.
In my hood, I have favorite houses. Ones I feel compelled to visit on daily walks. I pass by and sorta nod hello asking nothing in return but to be there and admire them. That's eleven-twenty Spruce. This place is awesome. Nothing left to make this house better, thought I. This house is my favorite on the block to begin with ... Like a cottage taken from a fairytale. The perfect pitch to the roof, the colors it is painted of greens with berry-red trim and white ... the porch has a welcoming bench stacked with pillows that sits under a stained glass masterpiece ... and of course the beautiful evergreen trees that surround it makes it perfect. At least in my eyes. But that day something else made it more than perfect.
Enchanted beyond compare.
Someone in our town makes these huge pipe chimes ... You've probably all seen the small versions. Windchimes made from different size silver pipes, cut at different lengths and of several widths. The sound can be incredible. The larger the richer and deeper the tone ... they resonate and carry each note in the air, sharing like church bells. But this guy in our town makes these chimes bigger than life. The pipes are each the size of tree trunks. The finished chimes can be two-stories tall. And one day when I was walking past my favorite cottage ... There it was. One really enormous, I mean HUGE windchime hanging in the big walnut tree by the road.
I was so taken I thought nothing could possibly make that moment better. I was wrong. At the very moment I was standing there, the wind picked up. And with a firm gust, the chimes began to play. I could have died on the spot and been happy.
You know what's best of all? Whenever there is a breeze, I can hear them at my cottage. Across the roads, over the trees ... I can sit on the porch here ... and listen to them ... playing ... there. The wind carries the notes all the way to visit me.
Now that's enchanted.
. :: listen to the chimes :: .
.::.
=^..^= love, Alice ::zU::
Ever have a day when you wake up and just know that today, there is an adventure out there waiting for you? The air is just the right temperature and is breezing in through the open window ... The curtains move in little waves. The flowers are beckoning to you from just beyond the billowing lace. Come outside and play you hear in whispers and shouts. A butterfly flitters past and you could swear you saw her wink.
An invation for you to come out and join the party ...
It's spring! You cannot be inside!
Ready and packed in a split second for spring will not wait. You have your sketchbook in hand and watercolors clutched tight. Grab a bottle of water and you turn towards the door ... And there in your path are two huge brown eyes watching your every move. Was she not asleep in the chair but a moment ago?
You smile at the big brown eyes and say, Yes. But of course! It wouldn't be an adventure if anyone was left behind, your voice is almost singing as you turn the doorknob.
Then you do the ::DaNcE::Of::JoY:: down the road, watching a little dog bounce with glee at what unknowns are ahead, just happy to be right there in that very moment.
And suddenly you realize she is right ... It's the journey.
The journey is the adventure.
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!
--edna st. vincent millay
wishing you a glorious journey of moments.
=^..^= love, zU
We could use a little springtime here.
Gloomy and cold outside today.
Snow predicted for tomorrow.
Outdoors all the little root children are tucked in for the nights, asleep underground perhaps soon covered with a blanket of white.
Inside our tiny dwelling the little bears & animals are gathered about the fire, watching expectantly out windows for the first snowflake, and staring at the hoomans of the cottage to see what will be read aloud tonight by firelight.
Someone has left a copy of jill barklem's, Winter Story where I can see it ...
(I expect it is a ::wish:: to hear the tale of The Snow Ball again.)
It is a favorite of my little brood.
They Ooo and Ahhh at the pictures of The Grand Palace of Ice built by the mice of Brambly Hedge, a palace carved from ice in which to hold a winters dance. For days the boys of the cottage talk of nothing else but how they will build one too ... The girls talk of what they will wear, sneaking peeks at the boys wondering if one might ask them to attend. The boys pretend not to notice, but clearly are delighted.
Tonight ... Potato soup w/carrots and fresh cornbread for dinner. Candied ginger pieces passed out later for a treat. Beeswax candles to be lit leaving their yellow glow in steamed windows.
Perhaps a second watching of this movie, then asleep dreaming of waking to an icy wonderland.
Winter isn't so bad.
It fills the need to make excuses to stay in and nest. To hold up and cuddle under quilts and read until the light disappears outside and you can't see the pages anymore without lighting a lamp.
The talk of summer from friends of the Australian blogland makes me itch to go out and play in the dirt. To fill vases with bouquets of bright flowers, pick raspberries and pull weeds in the sun. Alas, it is not the view from the windows today.
Today it will have to be the paintings of flowers remembered, with my feet in the fire and a corgi princess at my side. Tonight stories of mice that live in a magical place close enough to touch will warm my heart.
Snow is on the way ::sigh:: It is an inside day.
Looking out from within. A winters reflection.
Wish you were here.
=^..^= love, zU
Hot chocolate and fresh popped corn. Colored paper cut into strips and pots of rice paste to make paper chains ... Silver glittered stars hung under the porch ceiling & strung with lights. Spilled glitter sparkling underfoot and tracked everywhere. A fabulous overnight visit with my little friend Oskar, who is seven this year. We had fun! It's beginning to feel like Christmas.
The truth is I must find a tree to start the season off properly. That and snow must fall in the meadows. At least it seems an imperative to get me to feel the excitement. I believe that the little winter lights that appear suddenly in the night on the icy eaves, look for houses with ice crystal glittered windows filled full to brimming with the warmth of Christmas.
They peek inside, those little imps. The spirit must be there. I want them to choose this cottage as one to light the way. So first thing, a tree. Into the front windows it goes. A fire is lit and the wonders begin for me.
The cottage smells of the season. Grand fir, cinnamon and bowls of tiny oranges. Cloves and apple cider. Ornaments are pulled from their resting places ... Tissues unveil the treasures kept from year to year. Loaves of gingerbread cool on the side board ready to slice to go with the fresh vegetable soup for a simple supper.
The kind of evening where giggles abound. Candy canes are tasted, stir chocolate, even some make it to the branches on the tree. Red and white and tied with little ribbons so the kittens cannot carry them away.
Yes, this year we welcome as our guests, two kittens. Found left alone in an empty box placed in a shed, door shut. I cannot imagine the why let alone how someone could ever ... It was twenty-nine degrees outside. But angels exist. Discovered half frozen by a dog that made someone listen. We call them, Jesse's kittens.
A knock on my door. A neighbor dog (Jesse) & his person standing before me holding a towel presented with a plea. Inside I spy, a quiet bitsy gray kitten. Maybe two-weeks old. Twenty minutes later, another knock. Same neighbor. Another kitten.
Weeks later and what must have been a hundred bottles of KMR (kitten milk) & strained chicken ... And I am chasing & pulling two frolicking monkeys from under wrapping paper covered with teeth marks, out of boxes of now shredded tissue, and repeatedly removing the two dangling furballs from the tree top.
Every year (since for as long as I can remember) a birthday cake has been baked for Christmas Eve. This year the cake will probably have footprints in it.
::sigh:: Christmas at the cottage.
I may be standing in the middle of the kitchen apron on, next to the table with frosting prints across it, perplexed look on my face ... but always, everyone is welcome. If you find yourself down our lane, stop by. But check your pockets before you leave.
I may have misplaced a kitten.
=^..^=love, zU
I had the most delightful afternoon this past week. I was awash in spitty kisses and a soft wet nose pressed to my cheek ...
I walked through the bottom garden carrying a borrowed small bundle in my arms and watched for butterflies. Everything was worth a close look and held in awe and wonder. Each & every moment encountered was accepted as a gift given to delight by this one small girl. A good lesson.
I gave a short lecture or two about the fat buzzing creatures going from blossom to blossom not being at all delightful if captured by mouth, and I pointed out bullfrogs in the pond that startled and hid under lily pads when discovered by my small charge of unbounded energy.
This is happiness bursting at the seams.
This is Izzie.
Princess Izabelle to be proper, but to her friends (and to me, her Auntie) she is just Izzie. Izzie the faerie corgi princess.
She is ticklish. She is a cuddlebug. She is a ticklish cuddlebug ... And if you turn away for even a moment to laugh, she grows an inch.
She will steal your heart in a beat.
This sweet thing has acquired my friend, Kate and now lives only doors down from the cottage. Izzie arrived just a couple of weeks ago to reign over her new kingdom of hearts, and I count myself to be one of her humble servants of the court. I could not be more delighted of her arrival.
I tell you ... I am living in the dream hamlet, Corgiville.
How lucky am I?
Alas, I must now take leave of you.
The Princess awaits her Kong filled with cheese & biscuit.
... And then she must be carried to the nearest sunbeam to lay stretched in it's glow, and nap for a period of time.
One needs to keep up on one's beauty sleep she claims ... But after an afternoon with, Izzie ... My theory is that she is absorbing the suns energy and storing it disguised in a suit of cute for use on each unsuspecting hooman that happens to pass by her regal self.
Be careful. She will make you want a puppy.
She will make you forget she pees on the floor.
Do not look directly into her eyes ...
You too will risk being ... Enchanted by Izzie.
=^..^=zU
It is only with the heart that one can see rightly;
What is essential is invisible to the eye.
-- the fox to the little prince
.::From my cottage to yours::.
. :: . =^..^= with love, zU . :: .
