I awoke this morning from a dream I’ve had many times before. It involved a quaint garden, crumbling stone walls and a kitschy interior.
This cutie is close to the one in my dream. I wonder what lies beyond that adorable cottage door.
This charming look would do until I saw this beauty below, for sale and in my neck of the woods.
I came across this little gem, for sale just three hours north of my house, on 2 acres and within walking distance to the beach. It was listed for under $80,000. The perfect little project which could become the ultimate summer house. It looked like my dream may come true. I couldn’t dial the phone fast enough but unfortunately it had been sold. My dream will have to stay a dream for now.
The secret is almost out…
It’s time for the 3rd annual Mad tea party, join us this Saturday .
The magic of morning crept through my window and I came alive under her spell.
Fresh herbs growing on the potting table, patina pots and warm sunshine are my favorite parts of summer.
A little something, something I’m working on for my Etsy shop, little cards and envelopes made from a collage of lovely images, professionally printed by Tiny Prints.
Wishing you a zenful day…
I’m looking to add a little color to my garden, turquoise perhaps.
Love love old pots with a great patina or chippy paint. This image from country living caught my eye.
This little green house would be the perfect place to spend my summer. I may be a city girl but my heart is stuck between the pages of a country living magazine.
We have had so much precipitation this year that a mini flood came through my garden during the last terenchal down pour. So now I have to rebuild. The wood chips are gone and my flowers took a beating. The little play house/potting shed is wet but still standing. The images from country living are a great inspiration.
Enjoy your day
Just a few reasons why I love summer…
What could be better than running through the sprinkler in a pink bikini?
Playing in the rain.
Splashing in the water table.
Raindrops on roses.
Enjoy the sunshine!
Someone once said,
“Your wings already exist.
All you have to do is fly.”
I’m soaring through the rain today
how about you?
The light filtered through my window in such a way that I became engaged, motivated, no, compelled to capture it’s essence. One click and it was done, the color, the moment, the magic only lasted for a minute or two before the morning light took on another position. It morphed itself into something benign.
If you wait long enough anything will change. It happens when you’re not looking, at night when you are fast asleep but sometimes the transformation takes place right in front of your eyes.
One of my roles in the family is peacemaker or it maybe better defined as channel master. I listen, I talk and then I defuse the situation. It’s not as simple as all that and it doesn’t work half the time but I always give it my best shot. I’m comfortable in that role most days except a day like today, when all I want is to be my own guide, my own channel master. To have time to listen to me and then quickly change the channel if I don’t like the feature presentation.
The act of writing/typing this on-line diary is a revelation for me. I start out on one subject and then quickly change to something entirely different. It’s a great opportunity to reveal my inner most thoughts. What starts out as a quick post becomes a river of words which are the deepest aspect of who I am at this very moment. I’m so glad I have someone to share them with.
Yesterday morning I awoke to the sound of black birds squabbling over the last of the winter berries and a cupboard completely devoid of anything edible. No matter how much I detest a trip down the isles of my local grocery store it’s impossible to put it off for even one more day.
I don’t check the cupboards, make lists or have even the vaguest idea of what is on the menu for the up-coming week when I set out on my shopping trip. I wander through the isles with everything but cooking on my mind. I look at the young woman pushing the cart in front of me and wonder. Does she walk like that because her jeans are too tight or does she have a genuine disability? Is that guy with the cart full of beer and cookies having a party or does he eat like that on a regular basis? I sniff the laundry detergent in an attempt to find something that doesn’t make my clothes smell like wilted flowers or some other offensive aroma. I look down at my cart and notice that so far I’ve managed to toss a tube of mascara and a bottle of advil into my cart, no fixins for dinner or anything remotely edible has come close to this four-wheeled basket that’s in desperate need of a front end alignment.
After another hour or so of wandering through the isles, noticing the loose tiles on the floor and savoring the smell of freshly ground coffee beans, I do manage to secure a few items worthy of consumption. This mix in my basket doesn’t resemble anything that would make a meal but it inspires me to go home and create something warm and fresh with a little spice.
A carton of organic chicken broth set to boil, a cup or so of chipotle bisque, ( I never measure anything) a quarter box of frozen corn-the kind with both white and yellow kernels, stir-fried chicken strips, dance in the pot for a few minutes before I add some brown rice and a handful of spices. It smells okay, earthy but not quite finished-the toppers are the best part. A handful of cilantro, a half dozen chips, a few slices of avacado-soft and creamy but not too ripe and a large spoonful of fresh salsa… whala, I have a bowlful of the most delisc bohemian soup ever-tasted,well at least I think so.
It’s earthy, spicey and more importantly, edible. I don’t like to cook unless I can experiment with whatever ingredients sound good to me at the time. I know what I need to eat in order to feel good for the day but the whole idea of going to the store and figuring out what to buy is painful. If only I would have thought beyond last nights dinner and bought something for breakfast this morning, this rainy day- hovering just above 40 degrees wouldn’t be so challenging to maneuver, maybe next shopping trip. 😉
Photo borrowed from myhomeideas.com
So here we are living, dreaming and sharing our experiences with one another. We all have our ups and downs in this quest for a perfect life. Sometimes we know what we want, sometimes we can fill in that blank- if… but sometimes it’s not so clear, you could say, it’s kind of a gray area.
We could say things like- my life would be perfect if…
I had enough money to live it the way I wanted to,
if I had an awesome body, healthy and beautiful, that will never grow old,
if I had a great job, that I loved,
If I had the time to do the things I wanted to do and had the time to spend it with the people I wanted to be with instead of those who just happen to be in the same place at the same time.
Yesterday while driving home from work I listened to an interview with Meaghan Daun the author of “My life would be perfect if I lived in that house”. It made me think about how I might complete the sentence- my life would be perfect if… but I really couldn’t come up with a viable option or the perfect line and then I thought… what is perfect and is that really what I want? hmmm…
The following is an excerpt of this book… I like it!
Yesterday, a piece of my house came off in my hands. I don’t mean that metaphorically. I banged the garbage can against an outside wall, and a piece of stucco about the size of a sheet of paper came ever so slightly loose. When I touched it, it fell gently into my palm. It was as if the house were giving me a lock of its hair, or perhaps coughing up phlegm. I was concerned, but it also happened that I was really busy that day. I just couldn’t get into it with the stucco, not right then anyway. Also, I was coming up on my five-year anniversary of owning the house, and if there’s anything I’ve learned in five years, it’s this: if a piece of your house falls off and you don’t know what to do with it, throwing it in the trash and forgetting about it is a perfectly viable option. And it so happened that the trash can was right there. Once upon a time I would have made a beeline to the yellow pages to look up “stucco replacement,” but I’ve come a long way since then.
So has the house. I bought it in 2004, and as I write this, it’s supposedly worth $100,000 less than what I paid for it. By the time you read this, it will probably be worth even less than that. I try not to care because if I cared too much, or even thought about it too much, I’d go insane. I’ve spent enough time here being insane, believe me. I was insane when I bought the place, and I went even more insane afterward. Then again, the whole world was high a few years ago. The whole world, or at least the whole country, was buying real estate and melting it down to liquid form and then injecting it into veins. For my part, it’s tempting to say I succumbed to peer pressure, but it was really much more complicated than that. There is no object of desire quite like a house. Few things in this world are capable of eliciting such urgent, even painful, yearning. Few sentiments are at once as honest and as absurd as the one that moves us to declare: “Life would be perfect if I lived in that house.”
I’m writing this book in homage to that sentiment, which is to say I’m telling the story of a very imperfect life lived among very imperfect houses.
I, too, have had fantasies about the perfect house- a quaint little cottage surrounded by a garden of roses and other aromatic bloomers, the creamy white kitchen is old but still very functional, the wood floors creak with every step I take, but the windows open up to a panoramic view of the sea. The smell of sea-spray and romantic flowers fills my breath as the breeze gently graces my cheek like the touch of a feather and this house, this view, this experience makes my life seem,,, well… perfect!
My eyes are closed and my head is laying back in my chair, I can feel it- I’m there and it’s perfect…