Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I missed my window

My cutoff for getting all the leaves raked up and out to the curb is the first snow.

Guess I blew that...

At least I got some into bags first!

Saturday, November 5, 2011

Some pretty things

It's definitely autumn here, with either bright blue skies behind starkly orange tree canopies or grey days that could stand in for murky movie scenes in a graveyard.

The local church has had its big fall rummage sale, and I got some vintage linens, one of which makes a nice background for the white bowls I bought recently:

The excitement about those is, they match my current dishes.  White dishes are pretty boring in their way, but they look very peaceful in the cupboard with strong clear glasses that all match each other from size to size.  My dish cupboard is one of my favourite things about my kitchen: even in the most chaotic moment, I can open that door and take a deep breath knowing that some things get to stay orderly no matter what.

I found a mug in the same shop - Anthropologie, if you're shopping - with an M on it.

It's not a great mug, or rather, it's a great big huge mug with a terrible handle.  The position is wrong for balance and the size is wrong for fingers and you can't really carry the mug at all without burning your knuckles.  On the other hand, it's got an M on it!  And pretty scrolly flowery things.  And you can fill it once and then sit down for a really long time.

Also: I discovered that the local posh grocer makes a cranberry-orange loaf every bit as good as the one mum taught me to make, which means I can have it without having to make it.  Not that I don't like making it.  But if I did make it, it would use up all the time I might otherwise spend eating it.  You can see my difficulty.

Since August I've been thinking a lot about writing, by which I mean writing has been happening in my head, but my hands are busy knitting.  I don't know why that is.  I used to think all those other interests are me putting a barrier between myself and my writing and feel quite annoyed with myself for not being more responsible and focused.  Now, at least some of the time, I wonder whether the other interests are feeding future writing, like random plants do a fallow field. 

It's a pretty thought, isn't it?  And it leaves me free to do what I like, which at the moment is to drink another cup of tea.