What a little paint can do...

Seven years ago we looked for a house in Maine while living in Memphis. We saw a blur of 14 houses in a day and a half. When we got to this house I just KNEW- this was it. The place fit me like a favorite pair of blue jeans. It was more money than we wanted to spend, but it had so much that I had dreamed of. It sat on a sunny lot, had a new kitchen, wooden floors, bead board paneling, an upstairs laundry... and this PORCH! The entire front of the house is a wonderful sun porch. There are over 250 panes of glass there, and they were painted black. A long, LONG time ago. The paint had peeled and flaked and the glazing on the glass was in sad shape. It was a daunting project. So I did what I do best and procrastinated.

This spring we stopped procrastinating and scraped and re-glazed and primed and painted a LOT of windows. It was an ugly project. There were ladders involved, and I don't love climbing ladders. There were also spiders involved, and I don't love spiders.

The end results, however, are so sweet. I love how light and bright the house looks now. My neighbors have commented, too... they like the pretty new look. One said, "It looks so welcoming now." Ahhhh. I like that. Spurred on by the improvement, I am redoing the front gardens, a bit at a time. Making them wider, adding landscaping stone boarders, new plants and deep mulch.

One thing about projects, such as painting... they spur on OTHER projects. I wonder what will be next?

Thinking about THINGS...

The little chest here belonged to my grandmother, then my mom, now me. (When I was 4 or 5 I used to straddle it when the lid was closed and pretend it was a pony. I rode that poor pony hard! But I digress.) The chest spent most of the time (when it wasn't a pony!) in the living room corner, with a copper lamp and an anemic philodendron in a dented copper tea kettle.

The rocking chair on the left was a gift to my mom from my dad. And that doll? She is ancient and plays antique blue records shaped like cups that go into her back. My grandfather gave her to my mom when she survived a very nasty bout of Scarlett Fever. It was during the depression and the dream of owning a doll like this was way out of the realm of reality for the little girl who grew up to be my mother. And she treasured that doll.

That little chair on the right? That belonged to my paternal grandmother, then my dad, then me, then my daughter. The little rung where a child's feet would rest have the sweetest little depressions, worn smooth by generations.

These things. They hold meaning to me both in memory and because I find them lovely. Sometimes I wonder who will have them when they are no longer mine. I don't want to clutter up my daughters home and life with relics of my past... (Rachel, if you are reading this, please remember that just because your mother once touched something it does not have to be yours forever!) but I hope that if she does not want the things that are meaningful to me, she will find someone who loves them. They might not know the history of just who the little feet that wore the chair rungs smooth belonged to, but they should recognize the loveliness of a patina made from memories...

Loud mail...

Today I got the best box EVER at the post office. It contained 27, cheeping, peeping baby chicks. Two days old and no bigger than golf balls, these tiny things are eating, drinking, pooping machines. They are snuggled up in a brooder box in the garage, and are more entertaining than television by a mile. I made many, many trips out there today to just stand and stare at all that
new life. If I had known, when I was a little kid, that I would one day get chicks in the mail, I would have been awfully excited about growing up. Life is good. And there is lots of life in my garage!

Perfection...

I have been thinking this weekend. Thinking that perfection all depends on how you see things. It was a rainy weekend, but pretty darn perfect. We did some things around the house, including hanging up this very neat wine rack in the dining room. We had some old and new friends over Saturday to watch the Belmont Stakes horse race. Scott made his famous salsa- painstakingly diced vegetables (that green stuff? Jalepeno peppers. Lot's of them!) and Chris smoked a magnifcent chicken. Our guests laughed and talked (and made the wine rack lighter by half!)
And I think they all felt... welcomed. And full. And happy. And that? That made for a perfect weekend.

It's been a long time...

It's been a long time since a man made me cry. But today our friend Scott did just that.

Our 2 acres of land had one spot that was all scrub brush dotted by unruly brush piles. We kept meaning to burn down those brush piles, but because that seemed a little daunting, we never have. This area looked bad and really embarrassed me.

Today, moments after I got home from work, I heard a loud noise outside the window. I looked out and there was Scott, on his tractor, mowing around the piles of wood that need stacking, and around the outside perimeter of our fence. Then, to my amazement, he backed that tractor up (as nimbly as if it were a sports car) and the attachment he had on the back of that tractor was lowered over the big, messy brush pile. A loud noise ensued, and when he pulled the tractor forward the pile was reduced to, well, MULCH. He repeated this feat anywhere there was scrubby brush or burn piles. I was so overwhelmed by his kindness I stood there in the afternoon sun and cried.

Swallowtail on chives...

When I came home, there it was. A swallowtail butterfly sipping from the chives in the herb garden. The sun did the back lighting, all I had to do was point and shoot. Sometimes the best things are just so easy.

Bloomin'

In Maine they say we have three seasons; snow, mud and bugs. They don't mention the flower season... and they really should. After the long, cold, white winter we are rewarded with a richness of flowers and birdsong. My garden is full of both.
The rosa rugosa perfume the air with a scent that haunts me. The Lupine bloom in riots along the roadside, in meadows, and (unbidden) in my garden. And there are the daisies I planted, dependable and happy. They are all a bright reward after the bleak months that came before.