From The House of Edward

A Folly On The Hillside

The sky had changed completely during our leisurely lunch.   My friend and I had met beneath the bluest of blues, but said goodbye under a most threatening grey.  I closed the car’s sunroof and pointed towards home and, as those grey skies foretold, I was soon making my way through a histrionic thunderstorm.  With the air white with sheets of straight down rain, I inched along a winding road where towering trees bent and bowed around me, genuflecting to the strength of the storm.  The Saint-Saens concerto streaming out from my iPod was punctuated quite appropriately with the booming notes of heavy thunder.

I marveled a bit that I was moving along through all this drama, quite dry and comfy in my little green car.  And for some reason, I thought about this blog and what I desire it to be for my readers.

 With so much wrong in the world today, it is my wish for The House of Edward to be a soft place to land for those who stop by to read my words, or to say hello to Edward.  This blog is really just an extension of my view of the world, I suppose.  Yes, I am aware of the ugliness  and that is precisely the reason I tend to focus on the beautiful and the good, to celebrate the pure exquisiteness of the everyday.  For beauty truly exists in the eye of the beholder; we all can see it if we try.  

Each of us makes a choice everyday to be compassionate or dismissive, intolerant or kind, to focus on ourselves or on others, to look for the good or prowl around for the wicked.  And it seems we usually find what we look for, doesn’t it?

So although my opinions are impassioned and wide-ranging - from politics to plastic surgery, oil spills to tea parties, fox hunting to reality shows - don’t look for me to rant about them here.  For just like I drove along through a dark storm today, sheltered and safe,  it is my hope that this blog will always be a harbour of sorts for those who drift in from whatever storms they might know. 

A folly on the hillside, a hermitage on the rutted path -  a warm place for a nod or a sigh, a haven for wonder and thought.

 Or maybe just a happy smile from a big, white dog.