Autumn is fast approaching, and for the past few days we've already noticed a
change in the weather.
Cool mist-filled mornings, and even cooler,
The trees are beginning their changing of color, yellows,
oranges and reds.
Pumpkins are now decorating porches and gardens.
songbirds busily returning to their winter homes.
Season of mists and mellow
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and
With fruit the vines that round the
Summer days are noticeably shorter. There is a cooler rush to the evening air.
Down on main street the shopkeepers are displaying their Autumn flowers, and the feel of changing seasons is afoot.
The Summer's Gold Lantana blooms heartily, as if it knows that Summer's loveliest smile, is fleeting.
"September days have the warmth of summer in their briefer hours,
But in their lengthening evenings a prophetic breath of autumn.
The cricket chirps in the noontide, making the most of what remains of his brief life.
The bumblebee is busy among the clover blossoms of the aftermath,
And their shrill and dreamy hum hold the outdoor world above the voices of the song birds,
Now silent or departed."-
"Don't let yourself get so busy that you miss those little but important extras in life ~ the beauty of a day... the smile of a friend... the serenity of a quiet moment alone. For it is often life's smallest pleasures and gentlest joys that make the biggest and most lasting difference."
Why is it that small things we remember growing up, seems to have such an influence on our taste, as adults ?
My grandma Ciss used a tea kettle on her stove to boil water.
It was a sturdy kettle made from chrome-plated copper, and built with a raised element at the bottom in order to conduct the heat more efficiently from her gas stove.
When the water was at boiling level, it whistled, to let you know it was ready.
It lasted a lifetime, or so it seemed to me.
As soon as I set up housekeeping, I always wished for one of those kettles.
I shopped specialty catalogues endlessly, until one day, I came across the very same kettle, in the Williams-Sonoma Kitchen Collection. "Imported from England" caught my eye.
My choice was the one made from solid copper, lined with tin, without the element, and more suitable for use with an electric stove top.
It was shipped with a lifetime warranty, and a lovely little keepsake card, telling how it was handcrafted, and the name of the original craftsman, whose talent it took to create it.
It gets used everyday, reminding me of all the times my grandma served pots of tea to family and friends alike.
The local "bobbies" (policemen), walking the neighborhood beat, were a staple around her kitchen table.
I can hear them now, shouting through the front door letterbox......."Put'the kettle on Ciss".
Buckets full, with the odd peeking of the sun in between, enticing you into the garden with the hope of getting those much needed chores done.
Just in time for the beginning of the annual County fair, it always seems so.
Three days of continuous rain, for which we are grateful, even if her timing is a bit off.
A break in the heat
away from the front
no thunder, no lightning,
just rain, warm rain
falling near dusk
falling on eager ground
turning toward the clouds
cooling, soothing rain
splashing in sudden puddles
catching in open screens
that certain smell
of summer rain
I have always felt that old pieces of
furniture have souls.
They have been a part of a family's household, have
witnessed births, celebrations, milestones, and even deaths.
When I bring an
old piece into my own home, it's as if I am the new caretaker, mine to love
and enjoy for only a few short years.
A temporary position, until it passes
along to the next homestead.
Last year I brought a century old Kentucky
Pie Safe into our midst, a much-loved piece of furniture, that has served it's
utilitarian purpose well.
I can imagine all of the homemade pies that have
sat upon it's shelves....... still warm from the oven.
stacks of linens, or dinnerware, or served as a pantry, in some
distant rural farmhouse.
Each time I pass it by, I can't help but smile.
I know not how it may be with others
Who sit amid relics of
That date from the days of their mothers' mothers,
But well I
know how it is with me
I see the hands of the
That owned each shiny familiar thing
In play on its knobs and
And with its ancient fashioning
behind hands, growing paler and paler,
As in a mirror a candle-flame
images of itself, each frailer
As it recedes, though the eye may frame
shape the same.
On the clock's dull dial a foggy finger,
Moving to set
the minutes right
With tentative touches that lift and linger
In the wont
of a moth on a summer night,
Creeps to my sight.
On this old viol,
too, fingers are dancing -
As whilom--just over the strings by the
The tip of a bow receding, advancing
In airy quivers, as if it would
The plaintive gut.
And I see a face by that box for
Glowing forth in fits from the dark,
And fading again, as the
Kindles to red at the flinty spark,
Or goes out
Well, well. It is best to be up and doing,
The world has no use
for one to-day
Who eyes things thus--no aim pursuing!
He should not
continue in this stay,
But sink away.
Yesterday I ran into
an old friend, we once worked together in the veterinary field, and seems like
once or twice a year our paths cross.
We shared what is currently happening in our busy
lives, asked how all the kin folk are keeping, and laughed about our escapades
when we spent our younger days working side by side.
When we said our
goodbye's I continued with my errands, and returned home to
be greeted on the porch by the meows of Oliver the cat, closely followed by Tom kitten.
What a great day
It seems to me the older I get, terrific days are not composed of
winning the lottery, a promotion, the expectations of a getaway
Instead, I've started to find happiness in the normal things of
life: the love of my family, the luxury of pottering about the garden, the
escapades of Oliver the Cat and Tom, a mammogram that is normal, sleeping late on a
rainy day, an impromptu visit from a grandchild, a beautiful sunset or a full
moon on a starlit night.
"As the years pass, I am coming more and more to
understand that it is the common, everyday blessings of our common everyday
lives for which we should be particularly grateful."
"He who is born with a silver spoon in his mouth is generally considered a fortunate person, but his good fortune is small compared to that of the happy mortal who enters this world with a passion for flowers in his soul."
" The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. "