Pleasure Twice Felt

With its holidays and family gatherings, November seems like the shortest month of the year. We will spend Thanksgiving with my niece in Connecticut where family and friends gather and fill her house to the brim, a tradition she began when she and her husband moved into their new home. In January, a new family member will be born – the next generation to enjoy this joyful tradition.

Of course, then there is the big gear up for Christmas which follows and, in the case of commercialism, bumps heads with November’s (and sometimes October’s) holidays. The push is on for shopping, shopping, shopping – buy, buy, buy. My eyes narrow and I fast forward through commercials touting the latest gadget you must have or excessive spending you can ill afford. In light of the extreme weather and devastation along the east coast, it seems crass to be spending money on ‘things’ that perhaps no one needs just to give an expected gift.

Every year I fill seven stockings (all for adults who enjoy this most childlike pleasure of Christmas morning) so I will go out in search of little treasures to stuff inside them. This year, I will take a page from the practical stockings of years past and add some traditional goodies like oranges and fresh baked cookies.

Not being a shopper, per se, especially when pushed by aggressive advertising, I want to discover secret wishes or make something special for someone I care about. I am not always successful in this goal but when I am, the pleasure multiplies and draws me into its circle. Whether knit, stitched, baked or painted, I am the recipient as much as they are.

Giving is a pleasure twice earned when I spend my time rather than mindless dollars. I vow to enjoy this holiday season like I have no other…mindfully, giving thanks for blessings, prayers for the suffering and ill and savor gentleness within my household.

Some Things Never Change

Frye Measure Mill, NH

I got a laptop a few months ago to replace my old, sluggish desktop and give me freedom to write wherever I liked.  When I first transferred files to the new computer, I purged redundant photos.  Now, I am going through some of the documents.

This morning, I came across some journal writings.  While I prefer hand-writing them, there are times when my book isn't with me and I resort to computer entries.  One file, 105 pages long, was from 1993 when I still had Creative NeedleArts and would write at work after everyone left.  It was password protected and I had a moment of panic - that was nineteen years ago!  I had a universal password then and I tried it - I'm in.

Some things apparently don't change. My laments are pretty much the same.  That doesn't mean I haven't moved forward.  It just means that my creative concerns have a fallback reason for being.  Time and a plethora of ideas.

I constantly have ideas crowding my brain about other things to design and get into.... I am driven (but why?) to create new ideas; I'm just frustrated by the restrictions of time.  I keep pushing the parameters of time. 

I can guarantee that I have sung this song many times over the years.  My interests are expansive; my ideas for paintings, writing and needlework are like a fountain which never turns off.  I read voraciously.  I have messy closets.  I desperately need to have a yard sale.  My art supplies are ordered, though, so my priorities are straight in one respect.  

It occurs to me that a creative mind can be one's bane of existence as well as its blessing.  

Have I finally reached the point in my life when I accept the activity in my head, knowing I cannot act on all of it?  Writing down notes and ideas keeps them from disappearing in the crowd.  I can get them back to the top of the pile anytime I want.  

Relishing my varied interests is delectable.  Worrying over the lack of time to explore them all isn't.  Today I immerse myself in the ones on the top of my pile.

A Bit of Sun Among the Raindrops

Today has been blessedly sunny. Indian summer, perhaps. It seems like it has been raining forever and more is forecast for the weekend. I couldn't resist the temptation of the unexpected warmth and stayed home from work today to get started on readying the house for winter.  I made good headway but I am losing steam.  Perhaps a glass of wine and a comfy chair on the deck will do the trick.  I imagine it is time to stop anyway.

The lake below is ringed with vibrant color.  The lowering sun points out the brightest branches and shines its spotlight on them while allowing the deeper greens to fade into the shade. Reflections on the still water double the pleasure. I am entranced by the pockets of color and I pull my feet up under me to settle in and enjoy the view.

With all our travels this summer, the days have sped by. We have had a good time but now I feel like it is my time to hunker down and take care of the things I have neglected. Appointments are made, some of the broken items are getting repaired. Paperwork is sorted and (mostly) filed or shredded. I am amazed at how much I can accumulate in a few months!  Even though I have simplified my paper handling, so much still comes in.  Even email needs tamed.  Once solicited e-newsletters and postings have been unsubscribed.  My interests have changed and some have expanded in new directions.

I have been focusing on my book research in the past few weeks.  Most of my writing has been with pen in hand lately which is great for short jottings. Impressions and ideas, scenes and phrases for the novel flow unrestrained and I know I'd forget them if they weren't written down.  My little notebook travels with me - I never know when something will set me off on a path.  One word can do it. I am eager to see where it will take me.

October...ALREADY?

My focus this summer has been a creative one.  It started with a long weekend on the Cape painting at a cozy harbor in Truro. Family visits over the Fourth of July were sun-filled and blissful on the lake and at the beach.  A trip to the Adirondacks in August left us nature-saturated and rested.  We finished it off with long days under the sun on East Beach in Charlestown, RI and threw in a trip last weekend to Buffalo to see family and go to Bob's 50th high school reunion.

Hickory Hills July 4th Boat Parade

Needless to say, time flew.

When there is a lot going on, I have to make harder choices on what to do with the rest of the time. This summer, I spent my writing time working on my journal which has evolved into an art/memoir kind of book.  I love how it has expanded over this year and combines sketches, photos, watercolor and words.


Our new long-haired dachshund, Mario, loves adventure and riding in the convertible.  His limit is about 55 miles an hour and then he slides back along the window.  We have to keep a firm hand on his leash or I bet he would try to climb right out onto the hood for a better view.
Water is his other passion and will swim and explore, jumping from rock to rock, until he is shivering and must be bodily removed and wrapped in a towel (for which he is grateful until he warms up and is ready for another go at it).

The weather has been wonderful - summery hot with nice breezes.  Now it is autumn and the leaves are building wattage towards brilliant color.  Pumpkins and mums grace front porches.  The air is crisp and I need to go to the Price's barn in town and see if the first batch of cider is ready.  I will look for the table by the road with the jugs on it and put my money in the Cool Whip container with the rock on top.  Then I will know it is autumn for sure.

Quiet Musings



Close-up of a painting at Fruitlands, Harvard MA

 I relish the times when good music infuses me with pleasure. As I grow and mellow, though, quiet is a balm. I avoid most TV now and prefer books and 'doing'. With less time before me than behind and an appetite for so many activities, I need solitude to pursue my interests. Sometimes it is painting or writing but often it is the peaceful pleasure of sitting outside and just listening to my surroundings. Bliss.

A moment ago, I finished reading a post on A Design So Vast and added my comment to those of others who sound surprised at the changes their psyches demand as they grow older. A thread runs through each of their observations. Sometimes just being is the greatest solace of all.

Simplifying and streamlining, purging and organizing – many of us are looking at our lives with new eyes. I am fairly preoccupied with simplifying my surroundings. With so many interests, I don’t want to be using up my precious time cleaning and rearranging ‘stuff’ or letting it clutter the corners of my mind. Less stuff gives me a place for my eye to rest and an ease of home that is comforting. It is no less cozy but it is becoming calmer.

I’d like to feel the process will be done someday, but I know it won’t. Just as I have evolved from a cluttered, country décor, laden-Shaker-peg decorator to preferring a blend of treasured antiques and traditional accents, there will be more evolutions in my future as I downsize from the ‘big’ house to something, hopefully, antique and cozy in the center of a New England village. My favorite afghans and treasures will come with me and I will hang my paintings on the walls and scatter rugs on gleaming hardwood floors. If the season is right, I hope to bring starts from my garden to plant around the patio and front door. I like the continuity of bring a bit of the past with me, especially with living things. I have cultivated many a garden and plan to have the quiet time to dig in the dirt in my next incarnation.

Will my vision happen as I see it? More than likely. Affirmative visualizing often nets the expected results. A regular dose of quiet time to ‘see’ your heart’s desire will grow aspirations into reality. I should know. My early visions of my ideal home have come to fruition in this place on the shore of a lake in Massachusetts. The images in my head now show sun-dappled brick sidewalks and clapboard houses close to the cobblestone street. Compact but ample, the house is a cozy haven within walking distance of water, the library and small town shops where I can meet friends for breakfast. A flagstone patio in the small backyard is surrounded by color and a wide-branched tree shades the chair where I read.

Where is your ideal home? Who lives there with you? Walk through it room by room and visualize all the details, the yard, the street. Pick a day and describe it from awakening to end – the weather, what you are doing, who is there (it is startling to discover who is not) and write it down. Save your story and peruse it often. Make your vision a reality.

Ode to Summer's Mellowness

Summer is pure pleasure to savor and enjoy.  A video from Kinfolk, music by Sea Chant Production.


An Ode to Summer from Kinfolk on Vimeo.

One Tiny Ant

Yes, I know this is a cat but he is crawling

I am sitting in front of my computer on the third floor of the house where the walls are cozily slanted and the two shaded lamps close by are casting shadows behind me.  The windows are closed against an unseasonable chill and have been for weeks to keep out the bright yellow pine pollen which has blanketed everything in its path.  So why did a tiny ant walk across my thumb?

A different one walked over the back of my hand yesterday.  Maybe two - or was that on another day as well?  When I lifted the papers on the desk, nada - not an ant to be found.  Just one at a time, walking on the mountain ridges of my fingers.

Now the itchy phenomena begins.  I scrunch up my back against an imagined tickle along my spine and scratch my head above my ear which is momentarily sensitive to a pin prick of feeling.  I scratch my ankle but nothing is there.  Why is that?  Why am I squirming when nothing is really there?

We all do the ant dance from time to time.  Little prickles set off an avalanche of bothersome signals which claim our attention.  We imagine what someone is thinking about us when we pass in the hall or interpret a glance the wrong way and think we forgot to do something.  The pile of unread magazines grows and the folder which has two inches of torn-out recipes (and not one ever made) bother us. We squirm a little in our imaginings wondering what to do remedy the situation.

What we think and what is real can be as far apart as the ant and the itch. The itch is of our own making.  That person in the hall with the screwed up face was thinking about the meeting he was rushing to.  What is another recipe in the stash if it has possibilities?  It is all small stuff, minor annoyances which distract us for a time or, perhaps, gives us a moment of clarity where we see what is really there and what isn't...important.

Like the tiny dancing ant using the back of my hand as a stage.  All he wants is a little attention.