Quiet Time

Basking in some quiet time and pondering the joy of Christmas Day.   

Stocking Stuffers

A quick trip to the art store for a few stocking stuffers--always get lost in there thinking of the many possible projects that could be done in the new year.

Afterwards a brief stop at Tandem for a cookie and latte--which made the trip worth it.  And I have to say the light fixture was something I would've loved to bring home with me.

Crossing off the days.

Reflecting

When the children were little we had Advent calendars to mark the days before Christmas--the visual helped keep me on track.  Maybe I should've invested in an Advent calendar this year, so I'm mindful of how few days remain before Christmas.  I've been crossing them off on the calendar since the first of December, but fell behind on that this week as well--I thought the week felt a bit long.

The childlike wonderment of the season is still a part of me, but at this point in my life, the wonderment has matured and deepened--maybe it's better described as a peaceful joy.  And perhaps it's this that has me thinking less about what I have to "accomplish before Christmas" and find myself reflecting more on the past and present--and musing a little on what the future may hold this coming year.

For a number of weekends I've been picking up this icon here and there to embellish it a bit, but now's the time to put it aside and return to it after the New Year--coming back to it with new eyes will be good.

Nights I've been reading  Alice Taylor's  An Irish Country Christmas;  it was either that, or Dickens's A Christmas Carol.  Alice won out--I was charmed by her book when it was first published and the time was right to reacquaint myself with her childhood memories of Christmas.

Before bedtime, I'll glance at my "to-do" list for Christmas and not fret too much.  Things will get done--they always do.

Giving Thanks

We called it a night when we lost power, but hoped it would return in time for the holiday.  The nor'easter left thousands without power, so it was doubtful our bird was going to be ready for Thanksgiving Day.

I can't say we weren't a little disappointed when we couldn't celebrate on the actual day, but when we were finally able to come together the day after Thanksgiving, it didn't seem any less celebratory.  In fact it gave us more reason to be thankful where power had been restored, and we could have a meal together.  

My daughter mentioned her husband has their children say one thing they are thankful for after they've said their evening prayers.  After hearing that I thought I should start the same practice each night. More often than naught, it's the little things in a day that I'm thankful for: an unhurried cup of  coffee, a clear blue sky, a tiny holly blossom, an unexpected letter from our grandchild.....  

Reflecting on the little things that bring joy reminds me each day is a day of thanksgiving.   

Muslin

I probably should paint, or embroider on a fabric a step up from muslin, but I do love its humble nature.

I'll work a little on an edging of sorts for the Immaculate Heart and embellish the watercolor of Our Lady with some embroidery.

Creating is an admixture of faith, fear, folly, and fate.  Sometimes you think you're in control, and then you realize only to a point.   You accept what comes and take joy in the results.  

Last of the Garden

This past Saturday it was about harvesting what little remained in the garden before a predicted Sunday snowstorm.  There hadn't been any killing frost before this weekend, so I left things in the ground until the threat of freezing temperatures.   The plant I really regretted to see go was the borage--such beautiful blue star-shaped flowers.

As a young girl I romanticized about what it would be like to grow up on a farm.  About the closest I came to it was helping my father plant his small vegetable garden,  as well as tending half a dozen bantam hens and one Plymouth Rock.  I think the Plymouth Rock was more about the name of the breed than its egg laying capabilities.

After reading The Seasons on Henry's Farm, I am most grateful for any and all farmers who grow crops and raise livestock--it makes my life so much easier.  I can honestly say God in His wisdom knew my family would starve if they relied on my green thumb or animal rearing abilities.  

I spent a cool afternoon in the rain pulling and washing the baby carrots along with what little mesclun remained; the mint leaves were collected and dried for tea.  My bounty was meager, especially this late in the season, but no matter how small, my grandparents and parents encouraged my siblings and I to always plant a vegetable garden.

The Sunday snowstorm only amounted to about a half inch of snow once it moved off, but the color of the early evening sky brought many "oohs and aahs" as it went from magenta, to mauve, and finally to gray-blue.  I thought again about Henry's Farm and how the author spoke of winter being a welcome time of rest after the labor intensive work they face most of the year.  Maybe it was best not to complain about any aches and pains that resulted from my afternoon work.  My hat's off to Henry and families like his whose hard labor benefits so many.

All Hallows' Eve

Dad stopped painting a number of years ago because of failing eyesight.  Prior to that he painted regularly after his retirement.  Painting brought him joy, but an even greater joy when he was painting for others.  For a number of years he created Halloween paintings for our children.  I found these tucked away in the attic and closest--things get misplaced, or forgotten for various reasons, but this All Hallows' Eve, they're being displayed around the house.

His work has an even greater significance now then when he first painted them and are even more endearing since he's unable to paint.  In the first painting, it's difficult to discern from the photo, are ghostly figures surrounding the abandoned house.  In each of these paintings, he has placed himself alongside the grandchildren--hiding with them, observing what's before them, but most of all protecting them from the unknown.  It appears at least in one of the paintings, they have no choice but to travel through the darkness, but he is with them--the narrative could continue to change.

Now more than ever, since converting to the faith 18 years ago,  I find comfort and reassurance in the Communion of Saints.  There's that fraternal charity we share with those who have gone before us, or are still among us.  Relatives who have been called home are more vivid to me now than when they were alive.  Something intensifies when you get older: perhaps it's the realization that love doesn't die,  but continues to work its good even when family and friends aren't present in an earthly way.

Dad may say I'm  reading too much into his work, but for me it represents the ongoing love and concern he has for his family.  Prayers offered by the deceased or living, continue to guide, lift us up, and protect us.

I'll be dropping in at the church more frequently this month to offer prayers for all friends and family who are separated from us.  Prayer binds us no matter where we are.

Nature's Installations

When we visit the Lamont Gallery in Exeter, I'm reminded of my copy of A Separate Peace that is packed away with our other paperback books, but heaven knows where.  I read John Knowle's work in high school and enjoyed it, and now I'd like to give it a second read. But it would probably be easier to locate a copy of it at our local library than to rummage about boxes of books that are stored in our attic or basement.

Exeter is a picturesque New England town and the look of the main street hasn't changed much since my childhood days.  The academy's campus, a short walk up from the main street, is particularly handsome this time of year.  The Lamont gallery at Phillips hosts some thoughtful exhibitions that last for a brief time before another takes it place;  the latest show "Self Made" was soon to end.

Exhibitions encourage you to look at things with new eyes--it's seeking the art in the everyday that surrounds you.  After a gallery visit I'm always inspired to pull out the art materials and create, play, or just experiment.

As we left the gallery and were spectators to fall's beautiful displays, it was easy to imagine nature had created her own installations.   This maple tree on the main thoroughfare had a few remaining leaves that would be gone in a few days, but the tree's shadow reclaimed the fallen ones and gave it a new kind of upside-down "Halloweenish"silhouette  The leaves on the asphalt pathway appeared as if stenciled on the walkway, and though I knew they couldn't be, I had to pick one up to confirm that they were in fact nature playing a trick.

Later that evening when supper was finished and the sun setting,  I walked about our back yard for a few minutes and considered how the witch hazel blossoms might have been the Milky Way Galaxy spilling over into the trees,  or the sunset, an ocean of fire--"oceans of air."  I think while fall is still with us,  I'd better grab the camera and document some more of nature's exhibitions in all their glory.

Viburnum acerifolium

The leaves are dropping quickly now--this past weekend  I gathered a few of the maple-leafed viburnum before they are completely gone.  

For such a small bush, it has a variety of colored leaves: orange and red, green and maroon, yellow and pink, and then sometimes a combination of all of these.  

The woods and backyard are filled with viburnum, also called arrow-wood, and this time of year its blue-black berries are striking against the colored leaves.

I'll add a little more color to these drawings and then press the leaves for a few weeks before finally taping them to the journal pages. 

Fall keeps on giving!

Weekend at a Glance

A simple jersey skirt for Mom to wear--something a little easy for her to slip into days.  A fleece one is next on the list to sew for cold winter evenings.

Brazilian bread to go with a beef stew now that cooler temps are upon us.

Fall apple picking. New recipes to try and old ones to revisit now we have local apples from the orchards. 

Peppermint and mint tea to go along with  G.K. Chesterton's The Man Who Was Thursday.

Feast of the Archangels

A small acrylic study of St. Michael the Archangel.  

Today is the Feast Day of the Archangels: St. Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael.

Gotta' love the day when you know you're being watched over in a large way!

Fabric and Watercolor

I'm still working on my embroidery piece of the Immaculate Heart.  It's one of those things where I'm not quite certain when to stop.  So I'll keep adding until it either looks overworked, or intuition kicks in and tells me to "put down that needle."

In between projects, I experimented with fabric and watercolor.  It's not the best day to attempt it--rainy weather prolongs the drying process.  I limited myself to painting in the facial colors and will add the darker garment colors after this is completely dry.  I used the dry-brush technique, but it still seemed prudent to wait so there'd be no bleeding over of colors.

When we were visiting Quebec this past summer, we spent quite some time at Notre Dame's  museum--it was her 350th anniversary and we didn't want to miss one aspect of what she had to offer.  The displays of various embroidered pieces and vestments were exquisite:  I was drawn to two pieces that were painted and then embroidered.  Fabric, paint, and thread;  I tucked the thought away until today.

I'll stumble along and see what I can do with this.  At some point thread and beads will be used to enhance this icon.  Some aspects of producing art are like trying to wade out against the incoming tide, but the nature of watercolor on fabric is most pleasing.   The watercolor appears to know where it wants to go, so I'll give it free rein and enjoy the happenstance.

Labor Day

Labor Day may not be the start of fall, more like a forerunner to it, but it signals a change all the same.   Fall is more about adhering to schedules and routines--unlike the spontaneous and carefree happenings of summer.

We had our usual family Labor Day get-together, which gave me an excuse to make my new favorite chocolate cake.  I'm a firm believer in, "It's not dessert unless it's chocolate."  I'd make this cake even if we weren't eating Primal/Paleo--it's that good.  I doubled the recipe and made it an 8" two-layer, with plenty of frosting in between.  Because everyone was casting their eating habits to the wind that day, we indulged in a piece much larger than we should've.  But Labor Day is only once a year, so why not?

My sister gave me saucer-sized dahlias to take home for a bouquet for my kitchen table.   I have no luck with dahlias in my garden, but don't I wish I did.  These were so splashy and over-sized--it was eye-catching and a change from the smaller arrangements that are my usual norm.

And last came a trip to the harbor to watch the setting sun--the amber rays gave everything a golden glow. Ahhh, I wished it weren't all so fleeting.  Of course sea air gives you an appetite, we have to believe that, so we had our"end of summer" Dairy Queen--it has been a tradition since ours were little.  They're all grown and no longer enjoying the tradition with us, but my husband and I keep it all the same :)

The sun rises an hour later now and sets almost an hour earlier.  Another change and another season on the way.   But guess that's what the various seasons of our life are all about.

Blues and Blackberries

Max and the Wild Things was always a favorite when the children were little.  

And tonight, it's still about wild things--only these are about the edible ones growing in our yard. 

A little whipped cream on top, and dessert is done--it doesn't get any easier than that.   

"Littlest" Stowaway

Airports are all about either cheerful hellos, or tearful goodbyes.

While we were waiting to board our flight home,  I found myself misty-eyed thinking about our goodbyes to the grandchildren.   I dug through my purse in search of tissues knowing that once the tears start, they're going to continue to flow.  

Of course it's impossible to find anything in your purse that you're in immediate need of--no matter how small the purse.  As I fumbled about it the black abyss that swallowed up that one item I was seeking, I happened upon this little stowaway that one of the grandchildren tucked inside. 

I can't say the tears stopped, but my little stowaway brought a big smile when I needed it most.  And yes, it will be returned to the rightful owner and bet it will be greeted with a wide smile and a big hello.

Sunday Afternoon

I think back to when I was of elementary school-age and recall Sundays being ever so long.  Everything stood still on Sundays--no stores were open, traffic was light in town, and few "if any" events took place. The town welcomed a day of leisure--it truly was a day of rest for the adults.  But like a young child who fights a nap because there's so much to do, I yearned for the busyness of Monday--looking back, it was the desired pace for one so young.

Now I look forward to Sundays.  I know each day is a gift, but so much these days is about being busy 24/7--it's hard differentiating one day's pace from another.  For a number of years now Sunday has been a "day of rest" in our home. It's exactly what the Divine Physician ordered--and I'm taking His advice.

Sunday meals are leftovers, or something equally as simple.  No laundry, no mowing, no cleaning--everything is put on hold.  It's a day where I look forward to quiet.  It may be visiting with family, taking a walk, riding a bike, reading a book, or just sitting and not being made to feel guilty--it's what the Doctor prescribed, so I can't be faulted.  Yes, there may be times when something demands differently, but unless it's an emergency, the "Closed" sign is in the window.

This past Sunday I picked up the colored pencils--it's been over a month now since I've done any drawing; as my daughter was involved in some hand sewing, I attempted sketching her.  I trying to finish up George MacDonald's Lilith--I've delved into a number of his books and adding more to my list: I can't get enough of his writing.  And then I worked a little bit on the Immaculate Heart embroidery--ugh, color is not an area I'm comfortable with and "long and short" stitches need waaaaaaaaaay more practice.

But it was Sunday.  It was a quiet day.  A restful day.  And after such a blessed breather, "I'm ready for you, Monday."

Independence Day

The Fourth of July was a real celebratory time for my husband and me because our children, and grandchildren were vacationing with us for a week.   Attending the fireworks was a regular event when ours were growing up, so to have this time once more with our grown children, and now our grandchildren, made it even more special.

We settled on our blankets and were eager for the show to begin--it's not until around 915 that it's dark enough for the fireworks display to take place.  There was so much joy sitting in Prescott Park and watching our family, as well as many others, taking in such a spectacular night. It was only halfway through the event that I realized the flag in the foreground was flying at half-mast.  It was a moment of somberness as I wondered who it could be flying for.

The following day my daughter mentioned the flag had been at half-mast  for a 19 year-old New Hampshire Marine who had recently lost his life in Afghanistan. I paused as I thought of one so young sacrificing his life so that our family, and all those present in the park that night could enjoy such a tranquil and carefree evening.

For all those military men and women and their families who continue to give so much, I am truly grateful. The image of that flag flying at half-mast for that courageous young man will not be forgotten this Fourth of July, or any Fourth thereafter.

To a Wild Rose

It's the wild roses that grab my attention more than any of the others, so I used them as a basis for a little embroidered piece of The Immaculate Heart of Mary.  Both the Sacred Heart and Immaculate Hearts are remembered with devotion this month.

My piece is very homespun I'm sorry to say, but I'll work on filling in the heart now, and then go back to add details to the roses, lilies, leaves and the sword.  

And in the meantime I'm sitting within fragrance's reach of the wild rambling and rugosa roses that occupy containers around the house--and  my straying and less than perfect stitches feel right at home with their roaming ways.  

Flowering Quince

"If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome."  

Anne Bradstreet 

When so much is in bloom, it's hard to imagine there ever was a winter.  And when adversity comes, it's not forever.

May Day

The Mayflower is the one flower that symbolizes spring for me.  It may be because of my grandmother's fondness for it and her delight when she saw it growing in our yard.

Nana recalled May Day celebrations in the year 1900 and of her own crown that consisted of trailing arbutus.  She had no pictures of the festivities, but her description of the day made it real for me--oh to be a part of such a celebration.  And her greatest joy was taking part in the Maypole dance. 

Nana was 2 months shy of 100 when she passed away, yet this spring and every spring, she's a young girl of 10, dressed in white and wearing a crown of May flowers--and all the while enjoying the magic of May 1.  

New Life

Born on Holy Saturday the embodiment of all that is Easter--new life!

We're bowing our heads and giving thanks for our newest little grandchild.   

The Libyan Sybil

As I was copying Michelangelo's Libyan Sybil, I thought of Garrison Keller's Lake Wobegon:

"...where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average."

Michelangelo's women are not fainthearted creatures whom I could ever imagine reaching for the smelling salts. 

It's only a thought, but could it be the Sibyl's muscular physique represents the strength of the cardinal virtues:  prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance? Or might it be the strength of kindness, mercy, and compassion?  

One thing is certain I'm sure, Michelangelo's women would be well-received in Lake Wobegon.  

The Spring Playground

There was a certain playfulness to the way the snow was falling last Monday, and the blue snow shovel that was left outside the back door served a dual purpose. These images aren't very precise, but they're still enough for wonderment.

The air temperatures weren't as cold that day as were past storms, so most flakes tumbled down in clumps like children involved in a game of "Pig Pile", or with hands joined together as in "Red Rover." The few that remained singular were reminiscent of the "stands alone" cheese in "The Farmer in the Dell."  The whole outdoors had the feel of a children's playground: I wonder if these games are still played anymore in backyards, or on school grounds?

As I glanced through each photo and cropped those that had a few semi-focused flakes, it was almost like studying phytoplankton under a microscope, or it might be the blue gave the impression of the ocean.  Oh, if only I had 20x microscopic lenses for eyes, I wouldn't be sadly shaking my head at the weatherman's forecast of snow for Saturday, but instead get my camera ready for the magic that falls from the sky.  And who knows,  maybe it's time to just give in to it all and commit to a game of Fox and Geese ;)