palm sunday

i go to mass and i get my palms for this year, flat and fresh and clean smelling. when i was a kid, i always thought palm-sunday-palms came from jerusalem since they symbolize jesus' procession into that city. at an older age, i figured jerusalem would be out of palms pretty quickly if they supplied fronds to all the catholic churches in the world so i decided they just came from the middle east somewhere. in my adult life, i just didn't question where they came from. but now, i know! on a tulip-buying trip to my local florist thursday, i found her standing at a counter covered in palm leaves, cleaning them with a white washcloth. palms come from the florist?? i asked in disbelief.  no, she said, palms come from mexico. and of course, it makes perfect sense.

pranked

a late april fool's day gift from the little girl. not a brownie, but a brown e. she thinks it's absolutely hysterical - and she almost got me.

needful things II

always, i've loved to burn candles - candles everywhere, all over the house! i like the light, the ambiance, the scent, the way a flame quiets the soul. but over the years, i've cut back on candles a lot. they sometimes leave soot on the ceilings. so much of the candle is wasted after the wick is gone and wax remains. and most candles have a link to petroleum products which feels wrong to me. i've replaced lots of candles with the newish battery operated ones and, from a distance, they'll suffice. but the one candle i won't give up is this soy one that i found years ago. heavily and heavenly scented, clean and slow burning, no waste, and i reuse the jars after they're cleaned. it's my other needful thing, my guilty pleasure. i allow myself one candle a month and burn it mostly at night, after the dishes are done and the kitchen's cleaned and dark. while i write or read or work nearby, the scent drifts out to me and the flickering light calms me. 

my order had arrived when i got home too late last night, and i waited until this morning, until i had my tea, to open the carton. i unpacked my april candle first and lit it, and the scent of a maple filled the kitchen. there were other candles as well - lavender lemongrass, chamomile, basil & berries, lemon drop, and for september - indian summer. before i stashed them away, i opened each surprise and i sniffed, a heady preview of the scents of my summer nights! 

robins!

robins, all over my yard! so many robins! in the patches of brown grass and earth, in the crabapple, all over the compost pile. there's so much birdsong and activity this morning, it makes me wish i had gone outside sooner.

morning light

this time of year, when the sun rises due east, i love to stand quietly for a minute and watch the morning light angle its way into the house. it looks hopeful, springlike. and this morning, i hear birdsong.

vernal equinox 2014

spring in new hampshire. 

overnight, nine inches more.  

longing to see green.

needful things

so much snow with the ides of march - but warming air brings melting and giant puddles of water with icy bases! i need spring now and hurry off late to see my friend, the local florist. she has tulips and daisy-like mums, shamrocks and roses. but my choice is stock, almost gone by, and she gives it to me at a bargain price. i love the pale yellow of the flowers, but i buy it for the smell. now, hours later, the heady scent of clove wafts across my desk as i write. just what i needed!

at the window

on the left, an old tool for grading maple syrup. the finished syrup was poured into bottles like these then held up to the light. the amount of light that passed through the syrup determined the grade.

on the right, a canning jar with lint from the drier tucked inside. i always start a jar like this at the beginning of march. when the weather warms and the birds come back, the little girl scatters the contents at the edge of the field, hoping someone will use it for nesting material.

outside the window, spring hasn't even thought about returning yet.

sick of winter, tired of cold

these february days are when i am most whiney and most unhappy with myself. the days when i try the hardest to not complain about things (like weather) over which i have no control.

the increasing hours of daylight are encouraging. 

turning my face to the sun, it feels warm. 

roads are finally clear enough to walk. 

the temperature climbs to 34° and i open windows.

i am thinking about gardens and dreaming of seeds. 

♡ day

valentine's day today is overshadowed by a raging nor'easter, with snow and sleet and wind. schools and businesses are closed. roads are horrible and my car is stuck diagonally across the driveway, waiting for someone to come and pull me out. historically, by mid february, i am very sick of winter and i'm afraid this year is no exception. bring spring!

valentine cardinals. my favorite. 

but the little girl and i have an impromptu valentine's celebration since she's disappointed to be missing her school party with her friends. we munch red and pink m&ms as we make valentine cards, sit in heart-stockinged feet as we read stories on the couch (me to her and her to me!), and exchange homemade valentine cards. we take a heart walk from room to room, spotting all the heart cookie cutters, framed heart prints, and small heart decorations. finally, she notices that we've left a snowy bit on the kitchen floor that has melted into a heart-shaped puddle. i mean, really - what are the chances? happy heart day to you!

optimism

winters like this one, i need to look for all the joy i can find. i just stood in the window for too long, watching the bright morning sun glint and shine through this icicle. by the time i got a decent shot, the sun had shifted. but i'm posting it anyway!

happy that january is almost behind us and hoping that groundhog day is good and cloudy!

robin in winter

this little creature has been around my windows for weeks, eating the crabapples and the holly berries in the yard (and in the window boxes and door baskets!). but how can a robin be this fat in the dead of winter? or is he just all feathers and fluff?

full circle

when i was a child, my father's mother lived close by and i'd often walk to her house. food was important there and she was always cooking and baking. she'd feed me ginger ale floats with vanilla ice cream and tell me that i'd remember her when she was gone because of them. i do have a lot of food-related memories of her - she taught me how to measure shortening by putting water in a measuring cup and then adding the crisco. she always let me sift the flour and mix with the egg beater. i make her gingersnaps at christmastime.

as i worked in my own kitchen this afternoon, a forgotten memory came spilling back to me. in my grandmother's refrigerator there was always a partially eaten cold chicken, leftovers sitting on a
flowered plate in the middle of a silvery gelatinous pool of congealed juices. i remember thinking it was one of the most disgusting foods i'd ever laid eyes on. i couldn't bear to touch the quivering jellied mass or eat the slimy chicken. it was just too gross. yet here i was today, the grandmother myself, shredding leftover cold chicken and scraping that same goo from one of my own plates to add to the stock to make soup for my granddaughter's dinner. i've come full circle!

deep freeze

so much for the january thaw. we are back in startlingly cold weather once more. i fill the wood stove several times a day and still wear fleece and scarves in the house. i bury myself under the covers at night and wake up with a cold nose. i even bought long underwear! i'm about to throw caution to the wind - and money out the window - and just turn the heat up to 75°. if anyone catches me complaining about the heat this summer, remind me of days like this one!

it seems all i do in winter is write about the weather. but in extended periods of cold like this one, it's a big part of what goes on around here. it occurs to me, though, that i never seem to remember from one year to the next exactly how cold it's really going to get. and would i leave this area because of it? nah.

january thaw

after so much ice and rain, finally...a perfect winter morning. sunshine, blue sky, temperatures pushing 40°F. icicles drip. puddles expand. a window by my desk is wide open for a few minutes only. and i am working as fast as i can so i can get out and enjoy the day, this hiatus in our cold and snowy weather.

winter herbs

early in the morning, as the coffee brews, i begin a job i look forward to each january: i carefully lift bunches of summer herbs down from the beam in my kitchen where they've been hanging for months and i prepare to store them for winter use. i am intentionally late in doing this. it's an experience i need now, in the blustery cold of winter, more than in the calm warmth of october when the herbs are likely more fresh.

peppermint, orange mint, my favorite spearmint, thyme. i strip woody stems of their crinkled leaves which i gently crush in my biggest bowl. soon the kitchen smells like july as i funnel and bottle and label. i pile the stems to save for an aromatic start to a fire. flakes fall into my coffee, giving it a hint of mint some folks pay for. the scent will linger into mid-morning as i go about my other work. and i'll wait just as long as i can to wash away those sweet summer oils from my fingertips.

a fine new year

happy 2014 to you! i remember watching and reading science fiction that referenced years like this as being in the far distant future - and here it is - and we are in it!

despite my best efforts, it's been a slow start to the new year. christmas came down on new years day. extra holiday food was minimal because i didn't bake much. i skipped after-christmas sales because i don't need anything. but our weather has been dreadful and that's impacted my new year's momentum. we've had snowstorms and ice storms and bitter cold. scarf-in-the-house cold. fingerless glove cold. socks-in-bed cold. but the cold has made for beautiful nightscapes. one sub-zero midnight i got up to find the moonless sky bright with a zillion stars.  i sat in the window wrapped up in a quilt watching and waiting for an aurora. but, as much as i wanted to, it was just too frigid to get up, get dressed, and go out with the tripod to try to photograph anything.

but there has been enough snow just recently to bank the base of this old house in a tight heavy blanket of white; it makes a big difference in the comfort level here. i am thankful for that warmth and for so much more in this fine new year.

year's end

it's the last day of the year, and what a year it's been. so full of old and new - friends, jobs, routines, habits, ways of thinking. a year of big changes for a creature of habit like me. i can't wait to see what wonders the next year will hold.

best wishes to you and yours for a happy, healthy, and amazing new year.

all is bright

a christmas eve gift from the little girl, fashioned by her own hands. it's a centerpiece, she tells me. no, it's a treasure, i think.

merry christmas to all and to all a good night. 

all is calm

a stormy day spent inside, quietly baking and wrapping, puttering, drinking chai and listening to choral christmas music. as much as i truly love being with family and friends at christmas time, peace-filled days like today stay etched in my soul.

inconceivable

how is it possible that i am still christmas shopping six days before the holiday? this year i have more time and less money, more creative ideas and less people to buy for. i began this task in september. in my mind, all that equates to less shopping. then why didn't i just finish this weeks ago?!?

holiday musings

cozy and warm this stormy winter night, a week before christmas. even though i'm behind with my plans and i'm rushed with self-imposed deadlines, tonight i'm feeling so thankful for life the way it is right now. 

comes the snow

every year on this day i am driven to get out one final time with the camera. for tomorrow promises snow. tomorrow the barren late-autumn landscape will be transformed to winter white and will likely stay that way for too many months to come.

winter brings its own kind of muffled, pristine beauty with mounds of white upon white and dark branches on brilliant or muted or star-studded skies. but, for me, color and interest are hard to come by in winter. inside always looks better to me than outdoors. more color. more contrast. more going on.
but for now, for today, it's frosty and still, with perfect glassy ice on lakes and ponds, with crackling air as branches creak in the chill, with gray banks of threatening clouds looming overhead. my eye, and my camera lens, can see things today that will soon be gone too long with tomorrow's snow.

happy thanksgiving

thankful beyond measure this year - for family, for friends, for health & happiness. sitting here in the quiet, the aroma of turkey stock filling the air, and feeling so blessed. 

baking day

a rainy, windy wednesday before thanksgiving, a good day to be warm and dry inside, baking and prepping for the holiday. we make turkey cookies, leaf cookies, and the isolated squirrel, all sporting m&ms for color. we roll with my mother's rolling pin and i tell the little girl about the thanksgivings of my childhood. we reminisce a little about her thanksgivings past, few though they may be. and we talk and laugh and sing, two happy bakers making a thanksgiving memory to recall in years to come.

skim ice

first of the season that i've seen. 

it was even forming on the river beyond. 

prepping the turkey

...for preschool story hour! 

this is the craft that goes along with this week's book!

wandering

i couldn't help myself. the day was clear and cold. i finished up early. i had coffee and music. so i turned right instead of left and went off to places unknown. just for a little bit.

dark, drizzly

it sure has been a long time since i've had to work on a sunday afternoon. i am selfishly thankful it's at least a rainy one. what i'd rather be doing on such a dreary november day: taking a nap, watching a movie, reading by the woodstove, making soup...
but i rationalize it's as good day as any to be sitting at the computer trying to organize my thoughts and write cohesively. so i turn on my mantle lights, put on my quiet playlist, make a cup of tea, and get back to work.

first snow

normally, i'm pretty excited when i wake up to the first measurable snow of a new season. not so this year, though. outside work remains unfinished. here's the sedum i have yet to cut back in the garden that i have yet to put to bed! so i'm only a tad excited to see this snow!

november woods

one of the things i love about november: the woods are clear - no growth on the forest floor, no leaves on the branches of the trees...there's nothing to block the sunlight and the image of the scope of the woods. suddenly, you can see deep into the woods and to the horizon beyond.

second time around

walking in the yard today, i found this. look familiar?

i was surprised - and then laughed and laughed. 

i don't know how it got here. last i saw it, the little girl was tucking it into her pocket. i wonder if she placed it so that i'd find it and be surprised. by the way, notice some hungry someone has been nibbling on the acorn man's hat!

simple pleasures

so many times today, i smiled and thought to myself, this really is an amazing day. i was up and out early, my walk finished in the clear early light of morning. it was scarf and glove weather, the first such day this fall, but skies were cloudless and blue with brilliant sunshine. by midmorning, a problem weighing heavily on my mind had been lifted. later i made a bit of a dent in christmas shopping. a frame i bought at 40% off was eligible for my 20% off coupon. during lunch, i read four chapters because the waitress brought me a whole pot of decaf. i received a wonderful email from an old friend. a wrong turn took me to the cutest little consignment shop and a sweet little basket. i visited a new bookstore. i listened to my thanksgiving playlist several times, whistled a lot, and felt grateful for all the good things in my life. and, on the ride home, i watched the first star appear bright in the sky.

christmas cactus

for too many years to count, i've wanted a christmas cactus that blooms. most of the plants i've had have been green and beautiful, but sadly flowerless. once i bought a christmas cactus at an estate sale, sure that if it bloomed for some old deceased lady, it would bloom for me as well. not so. then, i had a huge christmas cactus at school that i left there with a colleague. it never bloomed for me - maybe my friend can coax it along. but this one, this tiny little slip of a thing, is a cutting i bought from a fifth grade fund-raiser last year for two dollars. it had a few blossoms then. but look - it's really going to bloom this year. i'm pretty excited - and i don't even care that it's going to bloom for thanksgiving and not for christmas!

all hallow's eve

i have little patience with halloween, mainly because adults have taken over what used to be a pretty good children's holiday. in the drug store today buying last minute treats, i saw a witch, a pirate, and a devil, all over thirty. that said, i am dressed for the day in the traditional orange and black and am sporting my halloween socks, the ones that say 'this IS my costume!', mostly because i'll be around children. and i have to say, some halloween decorations, like the one pictured on the mantle, are kind of fun in a bizarre sort of way.

first flakes

as i was out walking early this morning, it began to snow - the first flakes of the new season. it was a special moment to actually be outside in the quiet as it slowly began to fall.

last bloom

here it is: the last plant to flower in the garden. i watch these tiny buds from late summer on, hoping that cold and frost will hold off long enough for them mature and bloom. i'm always so amazed when they do - here it is, the last week in october and i now have flowers. they're tiny, they're leggy, they're spindly, but they're all mine.

winding roads

life has slowed down this autumn and i've been happy to have time to meander and explore. i love to find new routes and byways, places and roads that i've only heard of or seen squiggled on a map. four times this week, i passed this barn, and the last time pulled over to photograph it. i love the symmetry of the windows, the angles of the roof lines, and the colors, still rich despite their age. the on-point window on the back section makes the whole scene a little quirky. and my eyes kept being drawn down to the vivid marigolds by the sliding door, still in bloom in late fall. to my blogging friend who loves barns - and you know who you are - thanks for the inspiration!

pond at dusk

it's fast coming up on my favorite time of year. there have been some windy days of late, so a good many of the leaves are now down. those that remain are faded, muted colors...those caramel browns, tarnished golds, and rusty reds. leaf peeping tourists have come and gone, back to the south where there's still vibrant color to chase. back roads are empty now, long and winding and good for meandering home. at dusk tonight, i stand by the pond, still feeling the warmth of the day. and i listen to the quiet that is late fall.  

october

"i'm so glad i live in a world where there are Octobers."  

-LM Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

glorious

a glorious day, in many ways. a young man heals. an old friend writes. a surprise reminder of my dad. a brisk walk. productive work. brilliant skies. and a cup of tea in the adirondack chair.