Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
I love them coiled all snailish and sweet. They'll be keeping the knees of this die-hard skirt-wearer warm on many a chilly autumn night.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
In spring and summer, we thrill in getting out, exploring, adventuring, seeing the new and being seen. Come fall, we turn inward. All of a sudden, it's a September Sunday and I'm laying in bed fantasizing about spending the day with my kitchen. It's the best possible date: there is music, and good smells, and hot tea and a floor to dance on if the mood strikes.
Now I am picking sage. Now I am chopping an onion. Bit by bit, there's the release of the wild expectations of summer, the humble simple acceptance of fall. It's like a drug. I've been grooving to it all week.
I hope fall is finding you similarly enchanted.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Also, I got my favorite table runner out of its drawer. I own exactly four table runners, and they change with the seasons. This is one of my rituals: the old one gets washed and folded, the new one gets pressed and spread out.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
We are back from the beach, and ready to launch ourselves headlong into autumn. It felt like a good transition point, three sandy days to take in the sun and reflect on our summer.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
So. This was the only possible course of action. To absolutely haul through the project, from pressing the pattern pieces to clipping the last pesky threads, and to not rest until I could tie it on. I was a driven woman, head bent to my mission, squinting at that shiny needlepoint.
In retrospect, I would say: do not try this at home. This is not a one-day project. Though it is, emphatically, the absolute most adorable apron I have ever worn (or will ever wear), and despite the fact that I now look cuter in my kitchen than I do in any other room of our house... well, it was still a godawful lot of work. I should not have rushed it. I should've let myself be calm and meditative, not driven.
But damnit, sometimes enough is enough. Sometimes you've just let an unfinished project linger so long it shows up and proceeds to drive you out of your mind at two am.
Well, I've put it to rest now. Whew. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to don a very adorable apron and make me some borscht.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
"Orange P. Phelps!"
"Content Kingsley, 1803."
"Nehemiah Briggs, hey, Revolutionary War."
Of course, underneath their outright interestingness and gentle creepiness, there's something peaceful and almost romantic about them. So many lives no one remembers, so many husbands resting next to their wives under the hydrangea blossoms. So many little tombstones, all in a row. If I let myself, I can get carried away with the traces of stories in these places, so many of them unspeakably sad. What would it have been like, living back then? Life was a lot riskier then, and death a much bigger part of everyday life.
This past weekend we went exploring in New Berlin, NY. I couldn't resist taking a picture of this very unusual grave marker:
Why a tree? Was this guy a nature-lover? A wood cutter? A gnome enthusiast? Is there symbolism here, and why, in all the old-cemetery-sleuthing we've done, have we never come upon anything similar before?