Simple Pleasures.... A List and A Giveaway

Simple Pleasures

A List and A Giveaway

Five inches of snow is not much, I know. But trust me, here in the southern US, five inches of snow, that turned to ice, is more than enough to stop the mail, close the schools, clear the supermarket shelves and totally strand even the most intrepid of travelers. Here at The House of Edward, we were well prepared for the storm and found it to be a completely pleasurable experience. True, Edward quickly decided that walking on the ice-packed snow was less than thrilling, but there was a fire in the fireplace most of the time, and as Edward is really a fireside sort of fellow, he was most satisfied. The clear light of the snow that flooded our rooms found us indulging in the quieter pleasures of life - knitting and reading, baking and writing, a bit of dreaming, a bit of planning, and the occasional flight of fancy. As we now watch the snow dissipate from our lanes and our gardens and begin to make our way back out in the real world, I thought you all might enjoy this list, crafted especially for snowbound days. Oh, and keep reading, for there’s a wonderful giveaway at the bottom to brighten these wintry hours.

Enjoy!

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1. Lamplight

Lamps are the jewelry of every room.

Little bits of beauty that provide the crucial difference between a cozy environment and a harsh one.

You need warm, inviting lighting to set the perfect mood on a snowy day and this fabulous lampshade will give you just that.

Find it HERE.

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2. Candlelight

Of course, the very best lighting, as any woman will tell you, is candlelight.

These candles are wonderful.

So many colours.

I purchased some for myself.

Find them HERE.

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3. Knitting

Yes, okay, here I go again.

But really, isn’t knitting is the best activity on a snowy day?

(Well, reading is up there, of course, but I’m coming to that.)

I’m currently knitting the sweater shown above, and here’s some good news, my favourite knit shop is now online, so you can order their fabulous yarns from anywhere in the world!

They even have the brand new line from that prolifically talented blogger and knit designer, Brooklyn Tweed.

Visit them HERE.

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4. Miss Hargreaves

Oh, Miss Hargreaves. Where have you been all my life?

Imagine a young Englishman in the 1930’s, a rather cheeky inventor of tales. Whilst on a holiday in Ireland, this young man, Norman is his name, invents a fictional friend during a conversation with an elderly vicar - a fictional friend of most singular personality and pursuits. He embellishes and embroiders her till she seems almost real. Then imagine that one afternoon, she arrives in his village, complete with her parrot, Dr. Pepusch, her Beddlington Terrier, Sarah. and a hip bath. (Her harp arrives later.) The game, as they say, is afoot. And it’s a complete romp. The perfect book for a cold January day, I can tell you.

I had seen this book on the sidebar of my favourite book blog, Cornflower Books. If you haven’t visited there, you really should. So, so many intriguing titles listed there, I’ll never manage to get to them all. But what fun trying!

Find Miss Hargreaves HERE.

Find Cornflower Books HERE.

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5. Socks

These lowly little garments - so ubiquitious, so ordinary - become very important when one is snowbound.

They need to be warm and wooly, and if they can also be a bit magical, more’s the better.

These socks fit the bill so nicely.

Find them HERE.

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6. Bed Trays

Snuggled in bed on a snowy evening - a January wind howling outside, dogs sighing softly beside me - with a pot of hot tea, a good book and maybe a cupcake... not much better, is there? Especially when you have your own bed tray like this one, large with pockets on both sides for morning newspapers and magazines. I found this tray, rather worse for wear, at an antique show years ago. I snatched it up, cleaned it up, and told an artist who works with me to just “use your imagination and paint it like Camelot”. And he did, only with animals! To say I was thrilled is an understatement. It’s a treasure and a well-used one.

And by the way, if you decide you do want a cupcake, or two, try this recipe... it’s my favourite!

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7. Cupcake Stand

And of course, once you make those Coconut Cupcakes of Ina’s, you simply must complete the experience by putting one in it’s very own cupcake stand.

I am in love with this!

Find it HERE.

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8. Flights of Fancy

The mind tends to wander a bit when shut up inside and, during this snowbound week, mine was no exception.

I found myself wondering what life would be like to live in this magnificent setting in Iceland.

I don’t know.... I think I’d be afraid Edward might fall off!

See it HERE.

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9. Thoughts of Spring

I love living in a place that has four distinct seasons, each with its own individual personality and feel. As magnificently wintry as this winter is shaping up to be, I know full well that the new greens of Spring will soon awaken from their sleep and begin to stretch leafy arms up from the frozen soil and over the hillsides.

So naturally, I am planning for Spring.

Seed catalogs, garden colour palettes, maybe a new checkerboard pattern for the back porch floor?

Wouldn’t this onion domed playhouse be the most sublime addition to any garden?

Find it HERE.

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10. Keep Moving

Edward decided early in the week that icy snow wasn’t his favourite medium on which to travel, even with his natural four wheel drive. He slipped and slid, his paws crunching through the packed snow with every step. He marched through a couple of walks like a drum major, before coming to the conclusion that he found this a most unenjoyable experience. After that, he refused to participate and settled down by the fire.

But a dog, and a woman, need to move around a bit to keep lethargy at bay, so.... we danced. The Songwriter turned the music up to ten, usually The Stones, and we danced in the kitchen like crazy. Edward and Apple love to do this. Before long, they are both rolling and tumbling all over the kitchen floor, and soon are off chasing each other through the house - over ottomans, under tables, up and down on beds and sofas. Eventually, all four of us collapse in a heap, heart rates up, exercise done. And it’s so much fun!!

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And as an Extra Treat....

11. Stealing Magnolias

A Very Special Giveaway to Warm the January Hours

A friend of ours escaped the snows of this past week in a land far away from his home in the icy hills of Tennessee. He hid out in New Orleans, and what a lucky fellow he was. I feel a bit like I’ve spent a few precious days in that most enchanting of cities myself, for I have had my nose in a marvelous new book called Stealing Magnolias.

Stealing Magnolias, by Debra Shriver, is a unique paean to the exotic world that is New Orleans. And truly, to enter New Orleans is to enter another world. From its lyrical language to its extraordinary cuisine, from its slightly decadent decor to the lush gardens that break their natural boundries and spill over the courtyards and sidewalks as if bewitched. New Orleans is like no other city in America, or in the world, I dare say. Americans love even the idea of New Orleans, for it proves we are fascinating. No matter how boring or pedestrian we may otherwise appear, we can always point to New Orleans as evidence to the contrary.

It is a place where the improvisational notes of a jazz riff mix and mingle with the heady fragrance of gardenias as both waft through the twists and turns of the French Quarter and out over the cool waters of the Mississippi River. Just think of the vocabulary of this city.... words such as “etouffee” and “jambalaya”, “muffuletta” and “”remoulade”... and of course, “voodoo”, “zydeco” and “mardi gras” - words that roll off the tongue like incantations.

This lovely book manages to capture the illusive quality of New Orleans right between its glossy covers as it leads the reader through all the wonders of this incredible city. There is luscious photography throughout and you’ll even find recipes for both a Banana Pudding Trifle and a love potion!

I’m tickled to offer this magnificent book as a giveaway. I know the lucky winner will treasure it.

You can read more about it HERE.

How to enter?

Just become a follower of this blog if you’re not already and leave a comment here on this post.

The drawing will be at midnight on the 19th, the night of the full moon.

Appropriate, for as Tennesee Williams once said...

”New Orleans and the moon have always seemed to me to have an understanding between them”.

Good Luck! and Stay Warm!

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Congratulations to Doris!

She's the winner of Stealing Magnolias!

Doris, please email me your address, okay?

The Sun Of Lapland

The Sun Of Lapland

It was an optimistic sky, wearing robin’s egg blue, that nudged me awake in the morning. A sky unaware of the future, unconcerned with the past, it beckoned me come outside with long fingered rays that reached through my curtains and tickled my bed. Though tempted, I had heard the warnings, seen glimpses of the weatherman wringing his hands as he stood by his map now vivid with the pinks and whites of ice and snow. So I shut my eyes against the tranquil tent above my head, and struck out with a list in my hands, to gather up all the essentials I'd need for a long winter's night in the snow.

To the feed store for bird seed.

To the farmers market for navel oranges and honeycrisp apples.

Fresh green vegetables and armloads of white flowers.

Pots of white hydrangeas with blooms the size of a sheepdog’s head.

To the knit shop for advice on how best to shape the neckline of the caramel coloured sweater I’m currently knitting.

To the bakery for cinnamon bread.

And sure enough, that carefree blue sky was in full retreat and a queer silence was descending as I hurried back home with my staples. With firewood stacked and chicken soup simmering, and Edward asleep on my feet, I sat down to patiently wait.

Did it come?

Oh yes, it came.

Unheard, almost wraithlike, it fell all around us. It fell and it fell and it fell. With the dedication of an athlete and the talent of an artist, this snow plunged down at rates of speed rarely seen in our little corner of the world, painting us inside a landscape worthy of Pissarro. It covered us so quickly it seemed to fairly bubble up from the frozen ground, to bloom like a strange winter flora all over the bare trees.

I ran outside.

As if hidden inside a grey Chinese lantern in a sky hanging close to the Earth, the Moon lit up the garden like the Sun of Lapland. It cast an eerie blue light, bright enough to easily spot a big white furry dog as he scampered amongst the black trees at midnight. Bright enough for the silhouette of a great horned owl to float across the white garden floor like a velvet clad dancer at a winter cotillion.

I stood marble-frozen in the garden at one in the morning, shin deep in this exceptional snow, enveloped in the silence created by this heavy blanket of eiderdown and, much like that blissful blue sky of the morning, I found myself happily unaware of the bother that can arise when one is completely snowed in. I only thought how marvelous it looked, how delightful it felt, and how inviting was the orange glow that shone out at me from the cottage windows.

I thought of the fire now roaring in the fireplace.

The mugs of Horlicks.

The stacks of books.

The knitting, the white flowers, the crisp sheets.

So we scrambled back inside, the big dog and I.... where we now remain, deliciously snowed in! For two days and counting.

Shame

Shame

It is a high pitched squeal that pierces the air of this cold Sunday morning in America. Emanating from the rocky coast of Maine to the thin atmosphere of Arizona, it screams out from televisions and radios, over computer screens, around dinner tables and even, sadly, from more than a few pulpits. It is a sound both familiar and expected, but no less irritating for being so. The unmistakable screeching of brakes, coming from those wishing to distance themselves from the horror of yesterday’s shooting of a Democratic Congresswoman at a public event.

It spews from the one-half term governor of the state of Alaska, who now claims the crosshairs she placed over the congresswoman’s name on the map of the Democrats she “targeted” for removal in 2010 were actually nothing more than “surveyor’s symbols”. (She has yet, to my knowledge, explained away her admonishment to her followers to “Don’t retreat, reload!”. Perhaps that applies to surveyor’s as well?)

It is a sound that pours from those who refer to the individuals with whom they disagree as “evil” or “nazi”, who compare our President with Adolf Hitler and tell their unfortunate listeners that he “hates America”. To the sane amongst us, these words are preposterous, heinous and disgusting to be sure, but we hardly see them as marching orders. To the unbalanced, however, they can be heard at an entirely different decibel.

Here in America, we are taught at an early age that we live in the “greatest country on Earth". (Although, as writer David Sedaris so perceptively says, “no country ever proudly declares... we’re number two!”) With age, hopefully, comes a bit of wisdom and we begin to see that our greatness is not guaranteed merely because of our existence. If we cannot admit our deficiencies and alter them for the good, if we lose our ability to feel shame, history clearly teaches, our greatness will wither and die.

The rules were different when I was growing up. I can only imagine the thunder in my father’s face if anyone dared to ask him for whom he intended to vote. We knew not to go spelunking in the deeply held beliefs of others. Society was a bit more gracious and respectful then and, at the risk of sounding like an old crank, our country was all the better for it. But we now find ourselves in world greatly altered, as well as one infinitely smaller. Change can be threatening for those who lack the propensity, or perhaps, sadly, the capacity, for reasonable thought. But we cannot flourish with our hands over our eyes and our fingers wedged deep in our ears, locked in a room that admits no one save those who think and look and are just like us. If those of us of sound mind, with a love of home and country that walks hand in hand with a heart for good... if we do not stand against the hate and vitriol that is surging through our streets and over our airwaves, exactly where will we find ourselves in the next decade? In the next year?

There is a clear picture that remains in my mind of our senators and congressmen standing shoulder to shoulder on the Capitol steps, some weeping, some with heads bowed low, singing with humility instead of pride the well-known verses of God Bless America. This happened in the wake of September 11th when we were attacked from without. I can now only wonder what their reaction might be after the horror of yesterday’s attack from within.

“Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame.”

Benjamin Franklin

The King's Speech

The King’s Speech

They give breath to the pages of history, they wander the fictional world. Within their numbers stands a shepherd boy who rose to slay a giant armed with nothing save a slingshot. A young man who firmly stared down a tank in the heat of Tiananmen Square. From Jacqueline Kennedy, who, on the blackest day of her life, controlled the blind wrath of a grieving nation with her exquisite dignity and strength, to the dozens of firemen who ran up the towers when the rest of the world ran down. They are celebrated in literature - think of Atticus Finch, or Charlotte, the grey spider, or perhaps the tiny hobbit, Frodo, who volunteered to go to all the way to the hell of Mordor though, “he did not know the way”. They are the heroes, the ones who accept the impossible challenge, not for glory nor renown, but because it is the right thing to do, because it has to be done. There are more of them than we realize, invisible and unsung, scaling incredible mountains, overcoming the most vicious odds.

I confess I knew more about his infamous brother than I knew about King George VI. Oh, I knew he was the father of the current Queen Elizabeth, the husband of the much-loved Queen Mother, and that his own mother, Queen Mary, wore an inordinate amount of long, wide-reaching pearls, as well as a rather sour expression, in most of her photographs. I knew that he and his wife braved the London blitz with admirable bravery. And perhaps I had heard that he once had a stammer, though I’d never given the matter great thought. But thanks to the genius of the actor, Colin Firth, I now see the former King in a much different light.

Accolades are swarming like honeybees around the new film, The King’s Speech, as well they should be. A near perfect film, its material is taken from the diaries of Lionel Logue, the unconventional speech therapist who treated the King for many years, assisting in his ability to rise above his debilitating stammer and lead his nation through a monstrous war. Bertie, as the King was known, was never meant to be King. Never wanted to be King. But when his elder brother threw off the mantle of duty like an itchy wool coat, Bertie, who couldn’t utter a sentence in public without acute embarrassment, became King. And not only a King, but a King in a time of war. Imagine being a man with a stammer and having to compete on the international stage with raging orators like Mussolini and Hitler. Imagine a country holding on to your every word, for comfort and guidance in a horrible time, and you are unable to trust your own voice. I wonder if I would have run far far away, changed my name, my appearance, and hid for the rest of my natural born days. It is a weighty testament to the man’s integrity and strength of character that he did not.

I highly recommend The King’s Speech for those of you who wish for something more than eye candy from a movie going experience. There are no car chases, no blue aliens, and not a teenage vampire in sight, but you shall leave with ideas to ponder, history to discuss, and a great man to admire. Go see it and tell me if you don’t agree.

Oh, and Helena Bonham-Carter is a revelation in this performance! Just wonderful. And the peeling plaster walls of Mr. Logue’s offices! Perfectly sublime. How I would love to get my greedy little hands on those rooms!!

You Just Never Know

You Just Never Know

The new year pops in the night air above me, like a bubble of pink champagne. As waltzes play in the background, down comes a shower of shining possibilities, three hundred and sixty five in all, each one taking its place on my unsullied calendar, where they stand straight and tall, with fresh, clean faces that smile out at me, expectant, ready to do my bidding, waiting to see what I’ll make of them. As I flip through the crisp pages of this new year at hand, I can’t help but wonder what these clear, unmarked days might bring. I mean, you just never know.

What new books might I read during this icy cold month of January?

What sort of Valentine will I make for The Songwriter in February?

Will I plant English Peas in my garden in March?

Will I sit at the seaside on my birthday in April?

Might I walk in a garden under roses in May?

Could this June be the best one ever for all my hydrangeas?

What new hat will be my favourite in the heat of July?

Will I nap in a hammock in the white light of August?

What day in September will I feel the first hint of fall?

Will I knit a red sweater to wear in October?

Who shall gather at my table on November’s Thanksgiving?

And will next December’s Christmas be a white one again?

No matter how carefully we may plan our days, we never quite know what will happen. So much is beyond our control. But would we really have it any other way? Would we choose the safe coldness of certainty and forever lose the delicious possibility of surprise? Who knows, the heat of July could fry all fifty-four of my hydrangeas just like it did last year. But then again, perhaps instead of English Peas, I’ll plant magic beans in March. And perhaps those beans will produce a flower the colour of butter - a flower so large that Edward and I will climb right inside it and wait till a gust of pine scented wind blows us up and away over the clouds where we’ll live out the year in a land full of kookaburras and oranges and no one will even notice that we’re gone.

It’s a brand new year my friends.

And you just never know.

Painting above, "Jack and the Beanstalk" by Maxfield Parrish

Heading Out Into A New Year

Heading Out Into a New Year

They seem much too much of a folly and too prone to fail, so I never make New Years resolutions. If I find myself thinner or richer by the end of the year, I am certainly pleased, to be sure, but it’s way too much pressure to resolve to be either of those things in January. However, I do believe in fresh starts and second chances and when it comes to this blog, I thought perhaps a redesign might be in order, a fresh look for a fresh new year.

But what?

Maybe a new background colour?

But, I sort of like this one.

Let’s see.... a new profile picture?

But that smile of Edward’s! How could I change that?

Perhaps a new direction?

More critique, less whimsy? More reporting, less caprice?

Ummm, I don’t know.

To be honest, the more I considered the idea of a change, the more I rebelled at the thought. I mean, well, this blog is me I suppose, so I’d best stay true to form.

I will hint that there are some opportunities for adventure coming in this fresh new year, some “close your eyes and jump” sort of days. I am trying out some different writing outside of this blog and I’ll keep you all posted on that, I’m sure. I have a whopper of a trip coming in February that I’ll let you all in on soon.

But for now, Edward will continue to scamper through these pages.

Good will and Beauty shall reign.

I plan to keep sharing my favourites, be they books or films, music or shoes.

I shall keep believing at least six impossible things before breakfast, and encouraging you all to do the same.

And I will continue to be grateful, immensely so, for all the sweet people who stop by and say hello each and every day.

It’s difficult for me to believe that I’m still blogging after two and a half years! Who knew the ideas would keep coming? Who knew anyone would read them if they did? Your comments and emails are dear to me. I thank you all so much and it is my wish that each and every one of you wake up to a beautiful new year, full of kindness and love.

May the words of this glorious poem by that natural genius, Mary Oliver, be the good spell that is cast over all the days of this year.

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

Edward and I wish you a wonderful New Year!