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Fall Reflections

The huge arctic blast that everyobraadfordpearne has been talking about has reached my area.  Lows last night hit nearly 20F, and today’s highs will be in the low 40s.  These are temperatures we normally see in January, not November!

I admit I don’t care for the shorter days of winter, but the quality of sunlight this time of year is so golden and so magical, it almost makes up for the brevity of days.

The leaves have been beautiful.  It seemed to take a long time for them to turn, but I don’t know when I’ve ever seen a more beautiful display. The peak never lasts long enough to suit, so I’ve tried to absorb every moment of the splendor that I possibly can. Driving late in the afternoon, earlier this week, along a stretch of country road, it seemed the red-leafed Bradford pears, the dogwoods, the crepe myrtles were ablaze!  And the golden maples, sycamores, and ash were lit from within themselves.

So often people give only a cursory bit of attention to such details, but this beauty has really fed my soul.  I pray I may never be too busy, or too low in spirits, or too distracted, to be able to appreciate such generous, even extravagant, indications of God’s Love.

 

 

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Preparing for Winter: Remembering Grandmother’s House

The first wave of really severe arctic air has hit my part of the East Coast.  Today feels more like January than mid-November. It looks as if it’s going to be a long, bitterly cold winter.

I love summer, when I can stay comfortable with lots of fans moving air around, even when it’s hot.  And I love that my electricity bills drop to around $55 for the month. But I hate being cold.  I hate being cold, and I hate power bills that have jumped as high as $300 for a single month, during our worst weather.

I hadn’t thought about it for years, but suddenly I had a memory of my grandparents’ house – one of those wonderful, vivid memories that momentarily transports one back in time to a much-loved place.  Papa and Mama lived in what had been built to be a practical small farmhouse just outside their town’s business district.  It was probably a hundred years old, built before electricity had been introduced to the area.  There were fireplaces in the living room and both bedrooms, as well as the flue opening for a wood stove in the kitchen.

When electricity was added, an electric furnace was installed under the house.  A hot air return was cut out of the floor of the hallway. In summer, this ugly grated opening was covered with a throw rug, but in winter it stood uncovered and dangerously hot, belching heated air into the house.  (Mama always fretted over the danger of children tripping and falling on top of that grate, and being burned.  I did it once — Not Fun.) To save money — that generation was frugal — they shut off the unused living room, and Mama also shut off her bedroom. That room was like ice!!!  I don’t know how she could stand to dress in there, twice a day!

But Papa’s room, which also doubled as a den, was always toasty warm with a small fire burning in the one fireplace in the house that hadn’t been sealed off.  He and Mama would get through their daily work quickly, in the mornings, then they would settle into that one heated room, he with his newspaper and magazines, and she with her kitting or crocheting or tatting or sewing . . .

So I’m going to give it a try. I’ve moved my office into what was formerly the master bedroom, and it’s large enough I can tuck a couple extra chairs in.  I can warm it with a space heater while I’m working in here, and keep the rest of the house a bit cooler.  Maybe I’ll even get more work done, this winter.

 

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Spring birds

Blue Grosbeak

I’ve had some unusual birds at the “Funny Farm” this spring – unusual not for this region, but unusual to me. In addition to the usual suspects – titmouses and sparrows, brown thrashers, cardinals, cowbirds, starlings and bluejays – there have also been some newcomers to my yard: indigo buntings, blue grosbeaks, goldfinches, purple finches, a redwing blackbird. There is a pair of doves who come outside my window and walk along, stately, every afternoon, picking at the spillings left by the other birds. It’s quite a nice distraction, and I’ve moved my desk up to accommodate my need to watch.

One of my tasks for today is to make up some nectar for the hummingbirds that have been visiting in search of food. (I think I know just where the hummingbird feeder was left… hmmmm….)

One evening I saw quite a lot of deer in the field to my north, and I see tracks between the house and the mailbox, but so far I haven’t seen the deer up close. That’s okay, though; it’s everyone’s busy season.

I hope all is well at your house, and that the joys of spring are upon you.

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Catching up –

It was a long winter, unusually unvaryingly cold. It’s normal for us to have some very cold weather (anything below 20F is very very cold for this area), but then after a couple of days we always bounce back up even into the low ’60s. Not this year. We went from November until late February with temps hovering from 10-45. My power bill has never been so high (and I economize).

So spring has come at last. The cold kept all the things that usually bloom in February all dormant until fairly late in March, when suddenly everything burst open and we had a pollen-dust storm of unprecedented dimensions. The air looked like a smog of yellow. It even crept in through closed windows, leaving a thick yellow coating on everything. I took to covering the computer with a towel when I wasn’t actually using it. I’m still cleaning up.

This year the wisteria on my front porch suddenly decided to bloom – after nearly 20 years. Last year one thin and puny cluster of blossoms surprised me one afternoon; this year, there was a riot of blooms. And perfume. No, the photo isn’t my front door, but it looks very much as my front door did for about a week and a half.  – – – An interesting thing I noticed. I’d observed that the wisteria by the highways turns grey as it fades; my wisteria kept its vivid blue until all the blossoms had fallen. I suspect that wisteria is a vivid illustration of the automobile pollution that is dirtying our air along major highways and even residential roads – the grey being the dirt from the cars and trucks going by.

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Early signs of SPRING

1) longer days (for which I’m extremely grateful!)

2) warmer weather (we hit 60 today. We’ll have more cold before Easter, to be sure, but after two months’ unremitting cold (highs in 30s and 40s, extremely unusual for us), this is a wonderful respite.

3) Robins and bluebirds – and other birds as well, but those are the two noticeable species.

4) Green! – tips of green from bulbs and daylilies are poking their noses above-ground.

5) Patted Simon a few minutes ago, and my hands came up covered in cat hair. He’s already shedding!

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The Mouse Saga (cont.)

In our last thrilling episode, Laura was bewailing the ineptness of a certain cat at keeping live mouse prey CAUGHT. In this episode…

Laura: Simon, what’s that noise in the kitchen?

Simon: Mrowr?

Laura leans back on the sofa and looks into the kitchen, where one… TWO mice are gazing at her from the back burner of the stove.

Now, after our last episode, Laura went to the local feed store and bout a set of humane traps. So far they have been patently ignored… she re-positions the traps in closer proximity to the stove.

One mouse is caught the next afternoon – not one of the two adult-sized mice from the evening before (these mice, I have a feeling, are akin to Douglass Adams’ description of mice in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy:

Mice are the physical protrusions into our dimension of a race of hyperintelligent pan-dimensional beings who commissioned the construction of the Earth in order to find the Question to the Ultimate Answer of Life, the Universe, and Everything. As such, they are the most intelligent life forms on that planet.

So – I have a young juvenile mouse in a humane trap, and the plan is to take said Mouse with me the next morning when I leave for work, and to drop him/her/it off at the creek about a mile from my house – the OTHER side of the creek, to be as precise as possible, since everyone who has ever encountered a Mouse knows that said Mouse will go to great lengths and distances in order to return to its favorite B&B when transported Out. On the other side of the creek there is water to cross in order to come “home” – cold water, this time of year. And there are a variety of other houses and barns to (hopefully) distract the Mouse and keep it occupied until Nature, in the form of snakes or my cousins’ cats, takes its Course.

But as I was pulling the car over to the shoulder of the road, the humane trap lid jiggled open, and Mouse JUMPED OUT of the trap and onto my coat, and then to my feet, and, by the time I was able to stop the car and get out to try to catch it…. out of sight.

I cannot win for losing, sometimes.

I did stop by a DRUG STORE and purchase a new, larger, and heavier humane trap. We’ll see how well IT works once the mice become complacent to its presence in the kitchen. It’s baited with peanut butter and Cadbury chocolate square.  For Cadbury Chocolate, I’d climb into the trap, myself (but I have the rest of the bar to console me, so there’s no need for such measures).

 

to be continued… sigh.

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Thanks to Angela for directing me to a delightful blog – My 50s Year is a charming attempt at adopting retro living –

It seems to be a developing trend, and why not? We are all hungry to return to a time when life was simpler, morality and decency were the norm – when you could turn on the television or go to a movie and not have to mentally edit the profanity… when you didn’t have to be voyeuristic in other people’s sex lives…

People hunger for decency and simplicity. We long for the days when men were men, women were women, vive la difference! and never the twain shall meet – much less disappear.

So check out this charming little blog, and think of pulling out your own hats… and where do you suppose I might be able to find some dress gloves? hmmmm

 

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Passages from Favorite Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher

I love the novels of Rosamunde Pilcher. She has such a way of incorporating lovely domestic detail into the lives of her characters that I find homey and gracious. Rosamunde herself is a gracious lady; retired from writing and living in Scotland now, she still takes time to respond to fan letters – I have a charming note from her pinned to my bulletin board as I type this.

Here’s a passage from her novel, The Shell Seekers (orig. published St. Martin’s Press, also available as a Dell paperback, which is what I have) –

Richard was gone. Penelope learned to live without him, because there was no alternative. You couldn’t say, “I can’t bear it,” because if you didn’t bear it, the only other thing to do was to stop the world and get off, and there did not seem to be any practical way to do this. To fill the void and occupy her hands and mind, she did what women under stress and in times of anxiety have been doing for centuries: immersed herself in domesticity and family life. Physical activity proved a mundane but comforting therapy. She cleaned the house from attic to cellar, washed blankets, dug the garden. It did not stop her from wanting Richard, but at least, at the end of it, she had a shining, sweet-smelling house and two rows of freshly planted young cabbages.

Update Sept 22, 2:00 p.m. Eastern Time: A friend emailed to tell me that she thinks this passage is maudlin – but I love it! It always makes me want to sweep the cobwebs out of remote corners of my home, and to go out and plant cabbages, no matter what time of year it is.

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Help needed?

I’ve already exchanged emails with a couple of girlfriends about this, but want other input wherever I can get it.

I’m buying a sewing machine, a 2d-hand Janome that I’m picking up from a dealer in Cary this coming week, when I drive up for Chorale rehearsal. I’d never heard of this brand until it came recommended to me this past week – well-made, sturdy, long-lasting.

I have tried sewing before, and hated it for being fidgety nerve-wracking work. But in the past year and a half I’ve discovered pleasure in a number of activities that annoyed me, before, so I think it’s time to pick this up and try it again.  I’m going to start out by stitching up the fabric I have for my kitchen curtains, then I’m going to make a couple of half-slips and nightgowns for myself.

Do any of you have recommendations for sewing instruction books you’ve found useful and UNDERSTANDABLE over the years? Ideas for storing and organizing supplies? My sewing stuff will have to share space in a general-purpose workroom which is also my library, study, and craft-and-mend room.

I’m actually looking forward to this…

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My world and welcome to it – This Week: The Mouses Saga

Once upon a time, in the Farm (portion) jokingly called Funny (as in, The Funny Farm – which it was in that season, when, albeit briefly, chickens and goats resided thereon) –
There lived a slightly sentimental female by the name of Laura, with her single cat – who is sequentially known as Him, The Cat, Bubba, and most resently, Simon.

Simon was a large cat, weighing approximately 20 lbs, yet surprising agile. He was a clever and skilled hunter, and throughout the year he was known to bring to his Laura a wide variety of samples of his prowess:

Mice. Birds. Skinks. Moles. Bunnies (see the photo). Field rats. A bat. A squirrel… Once, the Laura barely got the door closed in Simon’s face in time to prevent his presenting her with a rather charming (and still very much alive) blacksnake.

In recent times, Simon’s techniques changed. Whereas formerly he would bring his kill in to impress his Laura, he began to surmise that she might be more enthused for his skill and capability as a Mighty Hunter if she could see just how hard he had to work to capture swiftly-moving prey.

In short, Simon began to bring live prey to his Laura, for her admiration and approbation.

Coming in through an open door, or occasionally window, Simon would bring his latest captive to his Laura, with little purry mrows of invitation. And, when his Laura would look at him from whatever work she was engaged in, he would lay his Love Offerings at her feet, then gaze up to her beloved face in order to see the pride and appreciation glowing there.

Poor Cat failed to recognize that the shrieks and pointings were not of admiration. He did not realize that his Laura was, in fact, saying, “Simon! Pick that mouse up – noooo!!!! Not in here! – quick! Catch it again!!!”

— because, in very Truth, while Simon was gazing with adoring expectation at his Laura, his captive was taking the opportunity of his diverted attention to make a mad dash for freedom. On some occasions, Mouse was eventually caught again, in a plastic cup, or in the Laura’s own hands from under a bookshelf (which won the Laura with a sharp little BITE on the hand!) –

However, two of the Mouses discovered that there was a tall and heavy object against one wall, which, touched, could make pleasing noise and which was too heavy to be moved. A very safe hiding place, indeed!

And so the Mouses hid, and when all was safe and quiet, they ventured out and made their way into other parts of the House, careful at all times to avoid rousing the notice of the Cat or of his Laura. Their favorite place to encamp was the object called Stove, whence small crumbs occasionally fell – but boredom, and a Mouse-like delight in adventure, caused them to venture forth beyond the confines of Stove and into the wider House-world……….

(to be continued, I fear)