At The Bakery

At The Bakery

Our neighbourhood bakery has been around since The Songwriter was a little boy.  As is his custom, he always shows up bright and early on the Friday morning after Thanksgiving, for his first holiday order of bright red Santa cookies. He will continue to stop in every few days until the New Year dawns and the Santa cookie cutter is stored away till the next November.  He is not alone in his devotion to this local bakery.  Stop in anytime of the day and you are sure to see a crowd gathered there, staring hungrily into the long glass cases, lost in the delicious difficulty of choosing between cream horns and chocolate eclairs, red velvet cakes and sweet potato pies.  It’s all here and it’s all incredible.  People drive many miles to visit this place but it’s just a short, pleasant walk from my front door, sitting on the hill, just past the Little League park where a flock of Sugar Maples glow in the sunshine.

Around four o’clock last Monday afternoon, during a rain storm, a runaway car jumped the curb, flew up over the hill and crashed straight through the front entrance of the bakery, scattering brick, mortar and glass, and coming to rest beside the holiday cupcakes and the gingerbread men.  Any other day, this would have been an unspeakable tragedy, for any other day the bakery would have been packed with children on their way home from school, lined up for a treat before heading home.  But it was Monday, and the bakery is closed on Mondays.  No one, not even the unfortunate fellow behind the wheel of the car, had so much as a scratch.  One more mystery to be grateful for in this strange and wonderful life.  

The randomness of events is often a hard thing to swallow.  So many what ifs and if onlys.  On that awful September 11th, many years ago - though it seems only yesterday - I remember thinking a lot about those who were supposed to be in those dreadful towers, or on those horrid planes, but for one reason or another, were not.  How would you ever make sense of that one?  Then there was my friend who was hit by a taxi on the very first hour of her very first visit to London.  Like so many Americans are prone to do, she looked the wrong way before stepping into the street.  The timing had to be perfect for her to be hit, and it obviously was.  She spent a week in a London hospital, then flew home to bedrest.  Not exactly the trip she had planned.  You hear of people who have won the lottery several times over.  I know someone who’s been struck by lightning three times.  Three times! Frankly, it doesn’t take much imagination to realize that no matter how carefully we plan our lives, so much is simply out of our control.  

   

Not too long after that dark September of 2001, I was in a local restaurant waiting for a table when a rather well-known designer sat down beside me.  Although we had both served on a design panel or two in the past, we didn’t know each other well, so our conversation was fairly trivial.  At some point I happened to mention that The Songwriter and I would soon be heading off on one of our trips to Scotland.  She looked appalled and informed me that she didn’t intend to travel outside the country until “all this terrorism business is over”.  Through the ensuing years I’ve often wondered if she is still waiting at home, her faded travel brochures gathering dust as she keeps an eye glued to the news.  No, we can never predict what’s coming round the corner.  Our lives intersect in the strangest of ways.  Sometimes we step off the curb and the taxi swerves to miss us.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  Sometimes the car runs headlong into the bakery on a rainy afternoon, and no one is there. 

 I have found that there exists a soft, shady spot smack in the middle of Mystery and Faith and that’s where I choose to spend most of my days.  Singer Iris Dement says it best when she sings, 

“I believe in love and I live my life accordingly.

But I choose to let the mystery be.”

And sometimes, this poem by Robert Bly makes perfect sense to me.

People Like Us 

There are more like us. All over the world

There are confused people, who can't remember

The name of their dog when they wake up, and

     people

Who love God but can't remember where

He was when they went to sleep. It's 

All right. The world cleanses itself this way.

A wrong number occurs to you in the middle

Of the night, you dial it, it rings just in time

To save the house. And the second-story man

Gets the wrong address, where the insomniac lives,

And he's lonely, and they talk, and the thief

Goes back to college. Even in graduate school,

You can wander into the wrong classroom,

And hear great poems lovingly spoken

By the wrong professor. And you find your soul

And greatness has a defender, and even in death

     you're safe.

by Robert Bly

Tickets

Tickets

We are told that Life Is Short.  Trouble is, we never believe that when we’re young.  It seems inevitable that we shall take no notice of the evaporation of time until many, many grains of sand have tumbled down in the hourglass.  But there comes a day for all of us when we notice that the catalog of our options, once so voluminous, seems to have been edited down to novella size.  No, I won’t dance the lead in The Nutcracker now, and you probably won’t pilot a rocket to Mars.  Those possibilities are past, at least for most of us.  And although it’s no secret that I love to travel, I am well aware of the multitude of vistas I shall never see.  So many seaside rooms in which I shall never sleep, doorways I shall never enter, corners I shall never turn.  It’s true enough, life is too short to pack it all in. 

 But my passport might as well be stamped on every single page, for I have tickets in my possession that are capable of transporting me anywhere I choose to wander, at anytime of the day or night.  For I am a reader, and books are my tickets to the myriad of places, and times, I shall never otherwise visit.  Through them I listen to mysterious voices and gaze into exotic eyes.  I sail turbulent seas and dine with poets and rogues.  I wander strange cities dressed all in blue, all the while filling my luggage with enough souvenirs to last a lifetime.  Such is the power of words.

Knowledge is a river that flows, swiftly, through our lives.  We stare down into the dark current, searching for our reflection, but all we see are words.  And it is of no benefit to simply watch them rush by.  Indeed, if we choose to sit on the grassy bank for too long, it may well transform into a bog just as deadly to the imagination as Grimpen Mire was to life and limb, leaving us forever stuck in the dim light of incuriousity.  No, far better to grab a ticket and cannonball in.  For there are places we shall never visit, people we shall never meet, knowledge we shall never attain if we don't read.

I adore all sorts of books, but my favourites are those in which the current of language washes over me, leaving behind insight and heart knowledge I couldn’t possibly articulate.  In the hands of wizards such as Virginia Woolf, Edith Wharton, or Anne Michaels, words can crack open a soul and give us a glimpse into truth impossible to find elsewhere. When Mrs. Dalloway walks through London on that morning in June, I feel what she’s feeling deep down in my bones.  That pendulum in her soul that swings betwixt wonder and despair is recognizable to me.  What a Lark!  What a Plunge!  Indeed.

I recently finished another book that explores the inner workings of the soul better than any archaeologist could.  Tinkers by Paul Harding hasn’t gotten very much attention, even though it recently, and deservedly, won the Pulitzer prize.  The story of a dying clockmaker, it is a novel in which nothing much happens, but through Mr. Harding's  brilliant use of the English language, we are taken on a journey through the human soul that is as lovely as it is rare.  There are sentences here that I read over and over, just to wallow in the beauty of the words.   

Now that Christmas is fast upon us, I am busy compiling my annual list of books to consider for presents.  I’ll share that list here soon, but in the meantime, are there any tickets to wondrous places that sit on your own bookshelves?  Do share, won’t you?

Edward and Bigfoot

Edward and Bigfoot

Edward is a dog who sleeps on my feet when it’s cold.

He stands at the window and waits for me to arrive home safely, as the photo above clearly shows. 
 He is a fellow who goes with me everywhere, is enthusiastic and cheerful about everything, and makes me laugh everyday. 

Edward would defend me to the end. 

 So please bear this in mind as you read my latest......

It was the day before Halloween and I had come to the pet store with a list.  In this, the tenth year of my tenure as Neighbourhood Dog Show organizer, (something for which I blame Sister Parish) it was my responsibility to put together the winning basket for the soon to be crowned Top Dog.  So I gathered up gourmet biscuits shaped like ghosts and jack-o-lanterns to go with the big blue ribbon and golden trophy I’d had engraved, and headed over to the toy aisle.  

Let’s see, would it be the fat grey whale that made glugglug sounds when bitten in just the right place?  

Or maybe the hedgehog that grumbled.

  Or wait.... what was that?  

Over in the corner sat a furry black monster of sorts, with a toothy, malevolent grin on his face.  His tag informed me that his name was Bigfoot.  He squeaked appropriately, and to my delight, I discovered that when one of his long arms was pulled, the corresponding leg got shorter, and when one of his legs was pulled, the corresponding arm... well you get the idea.  Needless to say, he was perfect.  I purchased my loot and headed for home, tickled with the bounty the winner was due to receive.

Still with much to do before the Dog Show next day, I threw my shopping bags on the red damask chair in my office, and sat down to catalog the fifteen contestants.  I soon became aware of a slight rustling sound behind me.  Turning to look, I spied Edward, well, part of Edward, as he was standing up on the chair, with his big white head submerged deep inside the red shopping bag wherein sat the Bigfoot toy.  Now, in his defense, Edward loves toys.  He really does.  He carries them around with him.  He employs them as pillows during his long afternoon naps.  Without prompting, he  brings them in from the back garden at dusk, lest they get ruined by inclement weather.  I’m not kidding.  But this was not meant to be his toy.  He hadn’t even seen it, hidden as it had been inside the bag on the chair.  But somehow, he knew it was there.  I stood up hurriedly to snatch Bigfoot away but, as his head slowly rose from the depths of the shopping bag - Bigfoot held securely in his jaws - Edward cut his big brown eyes my way and I knew I was licked.  Edward would have his Bigfoot and I could see myself, clearly, driving home from a return visit to the pet shop later that night, with a hedgehog that would remain in the car until showtime.

I ask you, what would you have done?

Fashion

Fashion

Although I am not its slave by any means, I have to admit that I’ve always found fashion endlessly entertaining, setting aside an evening each month to read both Vogues, US and UK, cover to cover.  With a cup of hot tea and a gingersnap or two at the ready, I get lost in the exuberant creativity that teems between those glossy covers. The visionary work of artists such as photographer Tim Walker, or stylist Grace Coddington, often rocks me back on my heels.  I pore over the tailoring of a Stella McCartney suit, marvel at the boundless imagination stitched into an Alexander McQueen gown and always close the issue completely inspired and often rather hungry for a new pair of boots, or at least a change of lipstick.  To me, fashion is an art form as vital any other and I’m always fascinated by how people express themselves sartorially.

 One of my favourite pastimes is to sit in a cafe and people watch.  As I study their clothing, I imagine them all a few hours earlier, sleepily rummaging through their closets, deciding what to put on for the day. 

 Did they examine themselves in the mirror before leaving? 

 Did they change once, or twice, before giving approval to their ensemble?  

What made that person choose the blue coat over the red one?  

 That gentleman’s tie in a prominent plaid?  Was it a gift, or did he choose it for himself?  

 I notice how often best friends seem to dress alike, right down to the shoes and the handbags.  Rarely do I see a preppy with a rocker, or an artist with a senator’s wife.  Curious.

I create back stories for the people I observe, much like Miss Marple at a seaside hotel.  This one went to Wellesley, but veered from the path set out for her and left in her second year to travel through Asia.  And despite her impeccable black suit and red-soled heels, that one is chafing in a corporate career; her jewelry gives her away. 

Now I am well aware this is a pretty superficial analysis on my part, and I doubt I would ever wish to volunteer my wardrobe for such scrutiny.  But I do feel that how we choose to dress speaks volumes about us, telling the world who we are, or often, who we wish to be.  Just think of the two Hepburns, Audrey and Kate.  Didn’t their wardrobes tell us so much about their very different personalities?  Today I love to watch Cate Blanchett or Tilda Swinton, both masters at dressing to reveal or accentuate their delightful individuality.  And I was happy to read, just this week, that Harper’s Bazaar UK  named the luminous actress Carey Mulligan, pictured below, as the best dressed woman of the year.  Her unique style sets her apart from the pack, beautifully.

My mother tells me that from an early age I had most definite opinions about my wardrobe.  Even now, I am rather impervious to trends.  But I can still be surprised by secret facets of my own personality, unknown parts of my psyche just waiting to be given voice.  By way of example,  I was once boutique shopping for a fancy dress occasion The Songwriter and I were scheduled to attend.  Not finding anything that charmed me, I was preparing to leave the dressing room when the elderly saleslady opened my door and said, “Here dear, do try this on.  I think it would be perfect for you.”.  She handed me a dress I would have never pulled off the rack in a million years.  Gold (!), with a deep vee neck and metallic threads running through the fabric, I held it out in front of me, and fixed it with my most disdainful stare.  But thinking it might be worth a giggle, I decided to slip it on.  Turning to face the mirror, I was astounded.  It was lovely.  I felt like a princess.  I couldn’t purchase it fast enough. Who knew?   I had obviously unlocked a hidden room down one of the side hallways of my nature, and discovered that golden dress waiting patiently inside.  That, I suppose, is the fun of fashion.  As we grow and change on this twisting journey of days, clothing helps us translate ourselves in colour, texture and style.

My purchases so far this winter season have been a divine red tartan jacket,
 black and tweed spectator shoes
 and a fabulous pair of grey trousers, in a size smaller than last year!  

How about you?

Gathering In... A List For November

Gathering In

...a list for November

The days are shorter and the air is chilled.  There is a smattering of frost on my windowpane at dawn.  Edward is in absolute bouncy heaven and I have to admit that I share his joy with every fiber of my being.  It is November, the most anticipatory month of the year.  My head is swimming with preparations -   all those holiday meals soon to come, the flowers, the ribbons, favourite recipes to pull out, festive tables to set.   

 I get teased quite a bit for my habit of planning for Christmas  throughout the entire year.  But let them laugh, I say.  My handmade gifts are now completed, my shopping is all done.   I am totally free to wallow in the loveliness of now.  And make no mistake, November is a lovely month.

 In November there is always something scrumptious on my kitchen counter, for those who pop in for tea.  Lavish throws adorn every comfortable chair, and a stacks of new books teeter alongside.  Fresh flowers are always bedside in the guest room. To me, November is a sweet time of gathering in all those closest to you, be they human or canine, to the warmth of the home. Cozy fires, cozy dinners, good books and furry dogs, with visions of sugar plums fast on the way.

So please enjoy this list for November. 
 In no particular order, ten little magical bits to warm you right up in this most warm and wonderful month.

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1.  Trays

Who wouldn’t wish for breakfast in bed to be served on a tray such as this one?

  This entire line is incredible - each piece fit to hang on the wall as art. 

I am completely besotted with them all.

See more HERE.

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2.  Festive Tables

The year after my father died, I, swallowing hard, took on the role as Thanksgiving hostess.  Although daunting at first, it’s now a day I look forward to.  (The key to making it stress-free, I’ve discovered, is to prepare as much as possible in advance!  Getting up at five in the morning to cook is certain to make one grumpy beyond belief.)  And one of my favourite things about the entire process is planning the Thanksgiving table.  I have lots of antique china that I love to use.... which may sound nice until you have to hand wash every single piece... and choosing which plate to use with what is always such fun to me.  I recently came across this fabulous wool fabric by Liberty of London and thought what a magnificent autumnal tablecloth it would make, especially when paired with this William Yeoward china.  And maybe, at each place setting, individual mossy terracotta pots planted with pansies of orange, purple and blue.

Find the fabric HERE

and the china, HERE

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3.  Waistcoat Vases

Aren’t these the best? 

I can just imagine them filled with big fat chrysanthemums and late garden roses on my Thanksgiving table. 

Made in Scotland by potter, Alan Gaff, they really do look like little waistcoats, don’t they?
 Utterly charming.

Find them HERE.

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4.  Tea Set

For all those who knock on the door this month, 
for a cup of hot tea and a slice of blueberry cake,
 wouldn’t it just be lovely to serve them from this most whimsical of tea sets ever? 

It looks almost as though it simply danced straight off the set of Fantasia.

Find it HERE.

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5.  A Furry Friend

I once had the enviable job of decorating a children’s playroom.  Being a person who can hardly pass by a toy store without stopping in to see all the stuffed animals lined up in a row, each one silently asking to come home with me, this was a dream project indeed and I dove into it with relish, commissioning a favourite artist to paint large animal portraits to line the walls and purchasing seven life-sized cushy creatures - giraffes and gorillas, grizzlies and goats.  It was unbelievable fun.  Personally, I think everyone,  no matter their age, should have a teddy bear of their very own. 
 Or, in my case, a monkey.  
Or maybe even a dog, like one from this adorable family of canines. 

One of these has to be just the right size for you, or someone you know.

See Them HERE

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6.  Hot Water Bottle Cover

There is a cartoon that I love.  
It shows a husband and wife snuggled down in their four-poster on a cold winter night, with two or three dogs at their feet. 
 The wife is saying, “George dear, it’s freezing.  Put another dog on the bed, would you.” 

 On even the coldest of November nights, we here at The House of Edward always turn the heat completely to the off position.  Our central heating is provided by Edward, who takes his place at the foot of the bed, plops his wooly white heat across my ankles, and generates enough warmth for us all.  (More cold natured, Apple chooses to sleep in the windowseat.  Go figure.)  Before Edward, however, we were die hard fans of the Hot Water Bottle.  But who likes to feel that rubbery cover it comes with?  This is a most cozy solution. 

Everyone should own one. 

And, they are hand-knitted, beautifully.

See Them HERE

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7.  A Happy Ending

The Songwriter has a cousin who has always owned Collies.  Yes, as a child she fell in love with Lassie, a love that has endured for the whole of her life.  The last Collie she and her husband adopted was an eight year old fellow who could no longer be cared for by his owners.  He lived with them, happily, for four years until his passing a few months ago.  Our cousin and her husband were grief stricken to lose him, but they knew in their hearts that another dog was out there somewhere that needed them.  And sure enough, just last week they found their Collie.  Discovered wandering alone and left unclaimed at the county animal control center, three year old Clara Grace was picked up by Collie Rescue and our cousins found her online.  We met them for breakfast the day they came to town to get her, and their excitement was contagious. 

This lovely photograph was taken on the journey back to their home. 

I think Clara Grace looks rather happy, don’t you?

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8. Christmas Gift Boxes, Horlicks and The Bartering System

I have been busy this past month creating lots of Christmas gift boxes to fill my Etsy Shoppe.  I usually try to work on these when The Songwriter is out of town, as I turn our entire cottage into a replica of Geppeto’s workshop when I’m at it.  

Christmas trees, Polar Bears, and snow covered Stags are in practically every chair, waiting their turn to adorn a gift box.  It was so much fun making these last year - I spent more time than ever at the post office, sending them on their way to be part of Christmas celebrations all over the place. 

If you’d like to see more, they are all in my Etsy Shoppe, HERE

Also, since this is a list of favourites, I have to confess that one of my favourite things in the whole world is a cup of Horlicks Light Chocolate Malt before bedtime.  (I can hear my British friends laughing even now, but I assure you that I’m quite serious.)  I load up my suitcases with the stuff whenever I’m there, as it’s nowhere to be found in the states.  Sadly, I have just run completely out.

  So here’s the deal.....  

If one of you lovely, laughing, British friends would be so kind as to send me a couple of tins of this elixir, I will be more than happy to exchange the Christmas Gift Box shown below.  Just email me, my address is there on the sidebar, and let me know!  You’d be giving me such a treat, and getting a lovely little Christmas box in return. 

Any takers?  

The first one of you to write gets the box, postage paid.

The Christmas Box below,

For a couple of these!

Good Deal?

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9. Sherlock Holmes

I once had the privilege of meeting Jeremy Brett, the quintessential interpreter of Sherlock Holmes, at least in my opinion. It always seemed to me that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself must have sprinkled some sort of pixie dust over his book illustrations that caused them to spring to life in the form of Mr. Brett, so uncanny was his likeness to the great detective.  Any other version is always met by me with a sceptical eye.  So naturally, when I heard of the new PBS series, Sherlock Holmes, I was decidedly sniffy about the whole thing, but deigned to give it a look see.  What a sad thing it would have been if I had missed this one!  So creative, so witty, so beautifully done.  It is Holmes and Watson for the 21st century and, trust me, it works.

  I have circled my calendar for the upcoming episodes. 

They are truly a treat! 

Don’t miss them.

See more HERE.

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10.  Father Christmas

Of course, this fellow, as illustrated here by the remarkably talented, Rima Staines of The Hermitage, hovers over this month like a fat, happy cloud.  I have always loved Rima’s colour palette,  it’s so perfect for this magical time of the year.  She tells me she’s busy at present with book covers and folk tales, as well as commissions, all of which makes me so happy.  Her imagination sparkles.  Any one of her pieces would fit perfectly into St. Nick’s bag, just catch him before he makes it into that chimney.

 You can find more of Rima’s work in her shoppe HERE.

or you can visit her remarkable blog HERE.

Enjoy, Enjoy November!