twenty-five years

Set Sail

I saw the sign and my heart sank. The Silver Thimble is closing.

On my way home today, I popped in to say thank you and good wishes. Together we reminisced, fondly recalling experiences shared. My eyes welled up as I sang the shoppe's praises and, for a moment, I thought oh my gosh I might cry. The dear lady owner laughingly winced and said, "Ohhh, now don't get me started." We hugged and, after a brief linger, I left.

I loved that place.

love matty

Credence

I treasure this birthday greeting my nephew gave me a couple of years ago. His face shone as he handed me the envelope ~ so pleased was he to have found such a lovely sentiment. I framed the card and his tender expression of affection now graces my bathroom wall. What better place to hang this gentle understanding than amidst the day-to-day routine? A small act of kindness has the power to change the world.

sovereign house

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the latest styles

A Lifetime

There's a man I want to meet. I saw him sitting in his red chair outside his shop entrance. He was dressed with impeccable style - white dress shirt, black suit pants, suspenders, red bow tie, not a hair out of place. I wondered if he was breathing he sat so still.

I've heard about him from a friend. He cuts my friend's hair. He charges seven dollars for the latest style from New York, London, Berlin, Paris, Rome.

I am filled with curiosity. He drives in to his shop every day from Toronto. Every day. He has eight red leather chairs inside - the ones with the foot pump that raises a head of hair to cutting height. He has the shaving creme mugs with the shaving creme brushes and the leather straps for sharpening the blades.

I've been told he's been a barber for over 70 years. I saw him check his watch. Seven o'clock time to close. I saw his curved back and ear-high shoulders. I saw him leave his chair and enter his shop.

There's a man I want to meet. Another day, perhaps.

puddle passion

I had to Laugh

A gaggle of geese were dawdling in the cool, shaded grasses when I arrived. There were goslings of varying age - some as young as several weeks, fuzzy little birds of spun-gold yellow. After a time, the geese began to assemble (as school children do) in lines of two-by-two. The parade to the lake for an afternoon swim began with several mama/daddy geese leading the way while the guardians rounded up any rag-tag stragglers.

Marching onward, the flock took a short-cut across a small parking lot where an earlier rain had puddled the pavement. A trio of six-week-old goslings raced off toward the water slick and belly-slid into the puddle as if landing on the great waters of Lake Ontario after a long winded flight. I had to laugh as they romped around in this little patch of water-heaven. My heart burst open as I witnessed their unbridled joy. Innocence is so very beautiful.

lawn shadows

Contrasts

It's crazy hot outside ~ sweltering, humid heat with smog-cast skies. The grass is dry yellow and dappled with promises of shade. Yet the day calls and the birds twitter merrily in the cool trees.

I was thinking while I waited outside the grocery store. As a woman walked by, skirt swaying with the casual pace of a summer's day, I recalled the freezing snow-ridden parking lot of last December. (I had sorely struggled against a bitter wind as I hauled my steel-framed cart over the tired ice ruts. Steering was so very difficult and I had forgotten to put on my mitts. My poor chapped hands were left to fend for themselves.)

I smiled to myself. How easily circumstance shifts.

grandma's button jar

All So Delicious

I've been thinking about button jars. My great-grandmothers kept button jars. My grandmothers kept button jars. My mother keeps a button jar. Magical, practical, and everlasting, button jars are home to the daily kindnesses of family. Buttons can enchant the child fancy, mend the worn shirt, embellish the artistic creation. I started a button jar for my niece, Sarah, when she was six years old. Twelve years later, I cherish the bright button bracelet she handcrafted. It was the last present she ever gave me.

Rummaging around my sewing room yesterday, I came across the old cylindrical tea tin one of my grandmothers kept her buttons in. The words Tenderleaf Tea is Also Delicious are boldly embossed across the top of its rather plain lid. I smiled at the words 'also delicious' and wondered what word could possibly carry more import than delicious when describing a prime cup of tea. (Steeped, perhaps, eh?)

I tugged off the lid and buttons spilled across the ironing board surface. Old tea-dusted buttons become markers in time. I've been told that the sea-green blue button belonged to my great-grandma's dress. I conjure up a picture in my mind's eye. The round, white petal-dome button belonged to a summer blouse my grandma wore. I remember the feel of the crisp white cotton on my face when she hugged me. The red-ringed 'Happy Birthday to You' button belonged to my mother when she was a child. She received it from her sunday school teacher and her eyes lit up today when I mentioned it to her.

A simple and practical tradition, Button Jars bring joy and the comfort of knowing home always.

night dandies

The Fading Light Beckons

I was sitting by the window watching the sunlight fade into dusk. There's such a quiet beauty as shades of sunset filter the shadows. I had to see them - the magic wands of night - for they may be gone by morning.