Climbing the Marshmallow Tree

Being four years old, and having grown quite tall, Xavier proclaims that he can reach things because his arms are stretchy!  With the help of an older cousin, he has discovered trees are for climbing, and he has staked his claim. This Great Weeping Willow will be HIS tree.

The approach...
Not pictured, is the little boost, given by Big Daddy...
Perched among those branches, he calls for a picture with Grammy...
The pump, pouring and splashing water over the rocks into the pond sings its water-lullaby:
 "Grammy and Xavier, sittin' in a tree..
H-U-G-G-I-N-G.
First comes school,
In books, he'll be buried...
Then comes Xavier,
All grown and married."

It will happen in the blink of an eye.

So, at Grammy's house, we are about the business of cherishing moments.

On the long wagon ride back to the house, Xavier waves to me...
...as I lag wearily behind, happily exhausted, after a wonderfully blessed weekend.
Happy Boy...Happy Grammy!

A Summer Cutting Garden

The evening wind was blowing, cooling the summer-like temperatures of the day, inspiring us to traverse one more time to the cottage...this time, our little helper is joining us...ready to "work hard."

We notice the weighted bud in the midst of the hollyhock leaves...
Xavier chooses Grammy's new pink watering can. He is so strong, he can lift it all by himself and begins to water the freshly planted peonies.
Big Daddy has made headway on the new bed that will be our "Summer Cutting Garden" so Xavier determines he must do his part.
This is our package of bulbs...
He says our garden will be a rainbow..."just look at those pretty colors, Grammy!"

We retrieve our trowels and commence planting these tiny "holders of rainbows"..
"Morning, Glory" looks so charming....even as the sun begins to set behind her...
Shall we call you, "Evening, Glory"...

We pack away the potting soil and gardening gloves and make our way to the Great Weeping Willow by the pond, where Big Daddy has found the comfort of the reclining Adirondack chair.
We will meet you there...

Planting Peonies



These sweet girls will finally be placed in their new home beside the hollyhocks at the "Morning, Glory" Cottage. They have already produced buds and will be blooming soon.  The sky appears ready for a storm, so we must make haste.

I add a few more books to the wagon...


One single bloom peeped out from the leaves...one last sweet pale "teacup" from Nancy's Daffodils.


Pretty pink grape leaves.

I just had to capture one more photo of these lovelies.

Onward to the cottage....

My sweetheart will not allow me near the shovel, as liniment was needed this morning to ease this stubborn gardener's neck and shoulders.


He does allow me to help determine the girls' new home.
And happy, they are...



They will grow fairly tall and will need the help of pretty spiraled trellises to gently guide and support their blooming stems.


Inside, the new Tula gardener's hat awaits a sunshine-y day to protect Grammy's head, face, and freckled shoulders.


The wonderful adjustable strap, will be a tremendous help on those blustery days....the wind loves to swoop them away!

I have pressed the violets  grandson and I gathered at the pond the other day, and they will remain in my cottage Bible.


Much progress has been made on this perfect peony planting day...I feel rain drips....

"Morning, Glory" and her new curtains

Many months ago, I came upon an antique set of tiny lace cafe curtains (originally from France).  Very few dollars were spent for their purchase, and I wasn't quite certain where they would hang, but they were darling....I could not pass them by. Upon arrival, they were a dingy gray and showed signs of age...tiny holes, here and there, but still...they were darling. I laundered them with much care, but soon realized, they would never return to their crisp, white days of old.
What to do....
The evening following the "Morning, Glory" makeover, I dropped into bed completely exhausted. As the lights through the house were extinguished for the night, a flickering lightbulb went off in my head....those tiny, darling cafe curtains were surely the size of the miniature cottage windows.
And yes, they were...


Aren't they sweet, blowing in the little open window...


A collection of Morning Glory seed packets, accumulated over the years, look so sweet tucked into the window frame. Do you see the Scarlet O'Hara....a dear friend of ours, refers to me as our county's "Miss Scarlet"...she embraces my whimsy, and I love her, in return.


Of course, I had to bring along a few of my favorite things...
gardening themed books, graniteware, (found and purchased for me, by my daddy on his many trips through Kentucky), and other supplies necessary for a gardener's respite...





The book A Place Called Sweet Apple and the accompanying gardener's book, by the same author, Celestine Sibley, is another top-of-the-list favorite. It recalls the author's acquisition and loving restoration of a vine-covered log cabin in rural Georgia. It saw me through my own days in a small little house, my mother referred to as "Christie's Sweet Apple." 

A Bible, a Christmas gift from my dear mother-in-law, we call "Nana"....


... will remain in the cottage ...a reminder of "my role as grandmother" and "from whence comes my strength."
The sage green bookmark was my first completed knitting project on which I learned the process of "binding off"...I added the hand-dyed ribbon, in the shade 'Delphinium' that was purchased along with the shade 'Blossoms' (used for Andrea M'lynn's new bow).
I long to live where delphiniums grow...Tennessee is not their preferred residence ...at all!
In the book The Keeper of the Bees the frontispiece reveals the sweetest picture of hollyhocks, with a sea of the truest of blue flowers in the background.


During our travels last June to the beautiful Victoria, on Vancouver Island, we visited the renowned Butchart Gardens. In their lovely gift shop, I purchased flower seed packets. The knowledge that those beautiful blue flowers will never reside in my garden, did not hinder my motivation to own the pretty envelope bearing their image. (They are pictured in the first photo, above)

The author Gene Stratton Porter, remains one of my all time favorites, due to her extraordinary knowledge of nature. These are a few of her books in my collection...


 A Girl of the Limberlost, was my first love...a book my mother found for me at a yard sale, when I was 14. Later she revealed that this had been a favorite of my grandma, Effie Belle Aly.  Freckles opened to reveal the characters in the sequel to Limberlost, is another, must-read.

My ever-talented, nine-year-old cousin, found this bookmark and mailed it to me from her new home in Montana. (These antiquated spines are retrieved and repurposed when an old book is beyond repair) I was so delighted that cousin had remembered and knew this would be a treasured gift.

The final addition for the day, was on old window, painted a perfectly soft shade of pink and bearing a sweet message, serving as a  prop for a very special packet of Morning Glory seeds and handmade card.


If you look closely, the pond and weeping willow are visible in the reflection of the glass.


These seeds and the beautifully handmade card, were amongst the sweetest of Mother's Day gifts from my grown daughter, Olivia, two years ago.  (This shade reminded me of the profusion of 'Glorys' at my grandmother's home in Kentucky.) Daughter and I planted other varieties years ago, when she was a little girl. This gift was such a precious reminder of that time in our lives.

These things...these memories...culminate...and affirm...  the well-suited name of this gardener's cottage is gloriously perfect.

Morning, Glory!

I am ever inspired by our dear Kindred, Jeri Landers! Her extraordinary post, which revealed the building process of the most adorable potting shed I have ever seen, can be found on her Hopalong Hollow Gazette.  So, as the weather was compliant, I determined that this would be the day I would transform our well house into a darling, welcoming, gardeners cottage...a tiny place to dream and plot and plan and rock...yes, I would carry a little white rocker, along with gardening books, watering can, and other various and sundry supplies, by way of our Radio Flyer wagon, down the long drive, to the well house.

How can one peruse this lovely English Cottage Gardening book and not feel the urge to create? Tasha Tudor's inspiring words and photos of her enchanting gardens was ever-present as I set out to the task ahead.



Built in 2007, (and completed the day before our wedding that June) its purpose was to house the well and pump  in an inconspicuous way. My husband had found plans, and set the artisans to work. It was to blend in with the style and roofing of our barn, even including a cupola with a horse and carriage weather vane.
Over the years, it has collected fishing poles, old paint cans, fish food, seasonal decorations, bug spray, wasp spray, nails, hammer....trash...folding tables and chairs...trash...spider webs, bugs...and more trash (the kind that is left in the bottom of a plastic shopping bag and tied in a knot...tossed in a corner for later retrieval...and is never retrieved).  This must end...today!
I choose an inspiring name for my little cottage, juxtaposed between our home and the pond. I will call her "Morning, Glory", in honor of the announcement my daddy would make, on the first day of the new school year, standing at my bedroom door, early in the morning, every year, as long as I can remember, followed by, "It's gonna be a big day!"
So I stand here, on the first morning of Spring gardening, and wake this darling cottage with a hearty,


"Morning, Glory!" 

For it certainly will be "A Big Day!"

Can you see my Hollyhocks? Xavier and I  planted them last Spring and by summer they had yielded only one, solitary bloom. How thrilled I was to wade through their leathery leaves, this morning, and discover buds....oh, my gracious...it is a wonderful omen! Sleep, Creep, Leap!!


I could not bear to post photos of the mess that greeted me....so I tucked the camera in my apron, extracted every occupant...down to the last dusty sprinkler...and swept with great passion. As the wind was having a heyday, it seemed every bit of dust and dirt that was swept out, re-entered with as much force as had been used for its exit. In the end, determined as I was,.... and with the help of a dust pan...I and my broom prevailed. Long awaited order was brought to the tiny abode, and with much satisfaction, I rocked.


Surveying the room, I  contemplated a vintage floor lamp, and possibly some shelves, for those things that need to be kept out of reach of little ones, pretty curtains for the miniature windows, and on and on my mind wandered....
I love the vintage tablecloth and its pink morning glories. I will keep my eyes peeled for a weathered table and ladder back chair. The folding table will do, for now. This is, after all, a work in progress.


Once my thoughts for the interior were explored, I ventured out to the pond. 

A fire pit was commissioned, after the completion of the well house, and the three artisans returned to our property once more...


How wonderful it was to hold a chili supper on a "chilly" Fall evening. Guests huddling around the fire, roasting hotdogs and marshmallows, enjoyed the festivities. What an inviting addition, it has proven to be, especially on those cool nights here in Tennessee.

This is a fairly young "marshmallow" tree, (as Xavier calls them...known by everyone else as a weeping willow)  rooted from the Great "marshmallow" tree across the pond, by my dear father-in-law. He planted the sapling the summer we were married. He had rooted and planted the Great tree, as well, so many years before. 
When we are confident that the "frosts" have subsided...the waterfall will appear from the stones and large slabs of rock, relieving the stresses of the day with its soothing sounds...


...the sounds we heard as we exchanged our wedding vows...during our marriage ceremony held at the pond's edge, with only family members and a few beloved friends in attendance.


We stood here....

I recall the scripture "What mean these stones?" Altars of stone were built as an ever present reminder of God's faithfulness. 
And as I look at the stones placed so thoughtfully around the edge of this pond, I am reminded always...
Yes, God is faithful!

I am thankful for Spring and God's promise of new life...which is abounding, here at Grammy's House!

Update on "the growing things"

On this windy, sunshine-y day, I have ventured out with my camera, 
wishing to capture all my growing things. 
Even though the predominant color, as the camera snaps, will be shades of green, 
I am already seeing the colors of the blooms. 
You surely have had this same thought,
 if you are as attached to your outdoor "babies" as much as I.  
Not all the things photographed will be of things placed in the soil by my hands.  
Some were placed lovingly by the hands of the woman who shared the first half of my husband's adult life...
I humbly offer my efforts to tend to the grapevine, the yarrow,
an azalea, and the daffodils that remain ...
adding phlox, hydrangeas, and other varieties of daffodils from her mother's farm 
(of whom I affectionately call 'Mamaw'...
and in return, she tenderly refers to me as 'Nancy's husband's wife'...it works for us.)


This patch of Yarrow was given to Nancy by her sister Bonnie. It produces the loveliest yellow flower with a strong stem, perfect for drying and adding to wreaths and other dried arrangements.

But where have all the wild violets come from? 
Did God remember that they are my most dearly loved flower? Did he direct the wind as it sprinkled wild violet dust over this lovely acreage? 
That would be just like Him, wouldn't it?


Let's begin the tour, shall we?


Turning to take a photograph, I noticed my shadow...garden hat perched just so, gardening apron blowing...it portrayed a more romantic version of the gardener than a mirror....

I digress...aren't the blooms on this azalea the most gorgeous shade?  This is tucked in between the giant boxwood, nandina and evergreens at the front of the house,
so laboriously planted in the late 90's. 
(I've tucked a photo of our front porch...it patiently awaits the pretty geraniums I will soon find for sale at our local fresh market.)




The climbing hydrangea we purchased and planted last Spring, was fascinating to watch, 
as it appeared that it was attaching itself to the brick even as we were blinking. 
This side of our home was in desperate need of a focal point, 
and it happens to receive the most shade on those hot summer afternoons. 
Perfect for hydrangeas. 
I carefully mapped the outline of the bed and where each transplant/purchase would be planted.  
A young man was hired to take on the arduous task of digging, planting and mulching.


The hydrangea growing to the left of the climber, was transplanted last Spring from Mamaw's farm. It was blue last year, and I am hoping our soil will allow it to remain that beautiful shade. Our climbing girl already has little "pincushion" buds! How exciting!


Phlox, also from Mamaw's farm, has a growth spurt.



These buckets of Peonies were purchased as an afterthought end of season, last year, 
because of their beautiful pale pink blooms. 
I had set them, still potted, out of the way, assuming they wouldn't come back; 
I had surely given them a sad welcome. 
Why would they have the will to live?  
Low and behold, the red little heads popped through the soil, 
and if I don't make haste transferring them into the ground, 
I shall certainly regret my delay. 
Hang on my sweet Peony friends!



This massive arbor was built by Nancy, 
and her hands set out and trained the grapevine that still remains. 

Another large root was sadly mistaken as a "tangled mess of weeds." 
It was plucked from the ground by the fellow who had been asked to paint a fresh white coat. 
He apparently thought he had done a worthy deed..... 
We must never linger in our frustrated thoughts of  the past, I continually remind myself.

The Japanese Cherry in the background was a small "bush" when I arrived, and it has multiplied in size, over these last seven years.  
It stands next to the fence that Nancy constructed, as well.





The barn to the rear of our property was constructed in '04-'05.  The artisans who carefully pieced the stones in place, also completed the stonework around the banks of our pond and the four corners of our well house.  (You will see these in an upcoming post)


Aren't the violets lovely? I could pick them and press them into every book in my cupboard!



If you are a subscriber to Mary Jane's Farm magazine, 
you would have seen the article, in the April/May issue, 
written by Natalie Wise of Rookery Ramblings Blog and office manager of the Rookery...
Tasha Tudor and Family. 

I spoke with her on the phone, giving her rave reviews on her article, 
and inquired which Wellies they preferred...
which ones held up the best..
and she replied that 'Hunters' were their favored choice.  

I couldn't believe they came in this shade...the color of our state flower, the Iris, 
and, as you can see, the color of our "estate" flower, the Wild Violet!! 
(it doesn't take much to thrill this budding gardener!)

Each of these Irises were grown by my daddy, divided, and brought to me to transplant, alongside daffodils planted many moons ago, by other hands, who had acquired those pale yellow flowers from a family farm, holding century old bulbs in its rich soil.

All these "growing" things have a story...
I am a keeper of stories.
Call it gardening...
Call it storytelling...
Is there a difference?

Patty-Patty and Tara Squirrel's Baking Day

Baking Day with Patty-Patty and Tara Squirrel... 'Thumb Cookies' from Tasha Tudor's Cookbook.

Today we will bake,
but what shall I wear?
Pink apron I'll take,
As the shade is so fair.



"In your apron, we'll twirl..."
say the tiny little girls...
"In your apron we'll whirl..,
with our hair up in curls."

Enough of this dreaming,
we need to get busy.
The ovens are steaming,


we mustn't be lazy.


Preparing our pans, is certainly a must,


For our cookies shall have such a pretty brown crust.

Rolling the dough into small little balls,
It smells so sweet and feels so soft.

A thumb I will need, for my imprint so thin,


I will call on my friend, Miss Andrea M'lynn.

These treats are filled with preserves of black cherry,
How yummy they'll taste, so we must not tarry.


Into the oven, Grammy's cookies will go,


And ours in the cookstove, that Xavier loves so.
(We always need help, 'til bigger we grow.)


At last they are ready, and needing to cool,
Hot coffee for me and my little red squirrel.

Remembering to share, we'll save for a friend,
A nice warm cookie for Andrea M'lynn.



Meet our characters (and props):

Patty-Patty...Grammy made 2 of these sweet little dolls in 1986, one for her and one for her very-talented, kindred-spirit friend Patty Paad. Grammy's oldest son Matthew affectionately called her Patty-Patty, as he was still a very little boy. Her cloth "skin" achieved its warm color by being gingerly dipped into a cup of tea.

Tara Squirrel...Grammy's best friend from 2nd grade was named Tara Bork. She gave the little squirrel to Grammy when she had to move away to Georgia in the 5th grade. All of Grammy's toys were packed, so she played with the little squirrel until they moved into their new home.

The Violet-painted tea cup and plates...When Grammy was 20, she painted the little tea set with violets, as these were her favorite flowers, before she even had children. Her mother, Dorothy Jean Aly Jones, fired the tiny set in a kiln at the school where she taught art.

The Little Clay Bowl...this was a gift from a very sweet neighbor woman, named Emma, when Grammy moved into her new home in Georgia. It was used and loved for a very long time, as a companion to the "first cookstove". (refer to older post titled 'Marjorie's Little Doll School')

The miniature Cookie Sheet...as a little girl, Grammy used aluminum foil to make all sorts of things necessary for imaginative play. She was reminded of this forgotten talent when she began a search for the perfect sized cookie sheet.

Pink Apron (in a shade that is fair)...Susannah Dashwood (an Etsy shop) from the Malphi rustic chic collection of apronology.

Andrea M'lynn...an Armand Marseilles doll, from the early 1900's, and Grammy felt she needed a loving home. Her legs are on backwards...not quite sure how this transpired...so she receives special care.



Hoping you have enjoyed our Baking Day...we had a lovely time!!

Marjorie's Little Doll School

On this particularly stormy, rainy afternoon, I puttered into the kitchen to put on a pot of tea...that delicious, aromatic Earl Grey Creme.  While the tea was brewing, I opened the package that had arrived earlier in the day. Two beautiful mugs, to compliment the teapot I received as a birthday gift from my 'daughter-in-love', were carefully wrapped in their beautiful 50th anniversary gift boxes. I fell in love with the mugs when I saw they displayed pink parrot tulips, and because I will be celebrating my 50th "anniversary of my birth" this year, as well.  They came at the perfect time...teatime. Wishing my sweet girl could have enjoyed it with me, but we happen to be in the midst of tornado warnings; best she stay put!
I was made aware that yesterday was the birthday of Marjorie Tudor, beloved daughter-in-law of Tasha Tudor. It brought to mind a charming little book I found in an antique store titled 'Marjorie's Little Doll School,' as Ms. Marjorie is an incredibly talented doll maker, writer, and artist. The book begins with,
"I like to play with dolls; do you?
I comb their hair and dress them too;
I make-believe they talk and say
The things real people do all day;
And they seem more than little toys
When I pretend they're girls and boys."
When I gingerly turned the century-old pages, I came upon a photo picturing the dolls making fudge by their cookstove, similar to mine.  My parents had purchased a cookstove for me, when I was a little girl, while visiting Asheville, North Carolina.  It was the centerpiece of all my childhood, homemade log cabins, sitting upon moss "carpet" gathered in the neighboring woods.  As a young mother, the stove came to its demise after tumbling from its shelf.  I grieved its loss...thankful, though, for sweet memories.
Several years ago, my mother presented me with an early Christmas gift...it was an exact replica of the stove I had cherished! The flood of emotion, I was not prepared for!
Now, there is a young grandson who enjoys preparing meals of peas, corn, and 'scrandled' eggs for his Grammy...do you see the little rocks...I mean food...in the miniature pots and pans?

Sweet Tasha was blessed to have such a devoted daughter-in-law, who shared her love of dolls and afternoon tea, and I am reminded how blessed I am as well.

Miss Tasha's Bowl




One of my new dearest treasures, is a yellow ware bowl having belonged to Tasha Tudor 
and used in her Marlboro, Vermont home for the past thirty years.  
This lovely piece evokes a feeling of her sweet presence in our home...imagining her hands preparing batter for a cake,  dough for gingerbread cookies, 
or fresh vegetables or fruit from her garden. 

For now, it holds a display of Austrian handpainted eggs alongside the books 
Happy England and a ribbon-bound Great Expectations. 

One of my favorite lustreware teacups is included in this Spring Still Life.
I love the rabbits, baby chicks and pink roses carefully painted on these blown eggs.

Checking in at the tea table, I have opened Tasha Tudor's Springs of Joy to another of my favorite quotes...."Be like the bird
                That, pausing in her flight
                Awhile on boughs too slight,
                Feels them give way
                Beneath her and yet sings,
                Knowing that she hath wings."
                                Victor Hugo

The other day, my husband and I had ventured out along a creek. 
Tall, sleek Sycamore trees stood at it's bank. 
Sheets of their bark lay on the surrounding, violet covered grass.  
I tucked away a few of these "sheets," along with some rather large leafed clover, and picked a few of the wild violets to press in the pages of some old books.

After reading an article in Mary Jane's Farm, 
which featured a photo of bark being used to relay a sweet message,
 I decided the favored quote would be the perfect sentiment to grace these fragile pieces of wood.



I am so grateful for the kindred, creative spirit  of a tiny little woman who lived in New England, paving the way for women who would one day need the affirmation which generously flows from her legacy.

The Hutch

An oak, corner hutch came to my home when I was expecting my second son. It was oak, and heavy, and painted a shade of green that had been a favorite in the past decade. I, being in the midst of the eighties' "country blue" phase, lovingly painted my new hutch with blue milk paint and covered the green with a creamy white. Over the years to follow, the hutch followed me from one home to another, a new color for each new setting. This winter, after the children's tea set arrived, I realized this much-loved piece was the perfect size to accommodate the child-sized tea cups, plates, covered dishes, various and sundry books and figurines loved by little hands and curious eyes..
Not only has this seemed the best place to display new dishes for my grandchildren, but also, treasures from my childhood, as well as things that belonged to and were loved by my children. The two-handled cup was a gift after the birth of my oldest son, Matthew. The little handleless cups were gifts brought back from England by a dear friend, after the birth of second son, Cale. I can recall my youngest child, Olivia, sitting at the bottom of the stairs...holding the little Beatrix Potter book, as she was learning quite early, how to read with much emphasis.  Jemima Puddle Duck remains our most favorite of the menagerie of animals Miss Potter brought to life in her stories. The lovely Nottingham lace handkerchief was another gift from England. My mother has entrusted the teapot to my care, with instructions to use often.
As a nine-year-old little girl, I spied, for the first time, the prettiest tea set I had ever seen. It was displayed at the very top of a bow front china cabinet belonging to the wife of our minister of music. She caught me in my trance, and my love for the hand painted porcelain was discovered.
Upon my graduation from high school, a package was laid on the dining room table waiting to be opened. It was the beloved tea set, wrapped in paper inside a shoe box. How amazing for her to remember after all those years.  I soon graduated from college, married, and became expectant with a new baby, when word came of her passing...our dear, precious friend....the friend who had dressed me in fancy "ball gowns" from her closet, perfect for twirling..and had sung in the church choir with the strongest voice I had ever heard...and had taught alongside my mother, passing on a sweet little paperback 'The Velveteen Rabbit'...
 What a sweet remembrance, to have the tea set that once sat atop her "Hutch."

The Keeper of the Bees

An intriguing book, Keeper of the Bees by Gene Stratton Porter, is one of my all time favorites. I was transported to another time, into a sea of blue delphiniums and a bee keeper's cottage.  
You can, then, imagine my delight when I received a Christmas gift from Xavier's mommy... the most fragrant, bee-shaped, bath oil beads. With each "bee" that enters the hot water of my claw foot tub, I am convinced I am releasing liquid gold. The beads are rationed and enjoyed on those most stressful of days. The  delicious fragrance of beeswax candles envelops my senses. Thank you, to a daughter who lavishes me with her love and this wonderful gift of "bees."

My Mother's Handkerchiefs



In my family, I am known as "the keeper of old things." This is because they know that I love the stories  accompanying each treasure.

A few years ago, my mother laid in my possession a precious collection of white handkerchiefs she received on her birthday in June of 1954, following her marriage in January of that same year.

As I pondered how to display these delicate reminders of a past milestone, I came across photos depicting her early childhood and decided to combine the collections, as she wasn't much more than a child when she married.

From far left is a picture of my grandparents, Fred and Effie Belle Aly, on their honeymoon.

Next, they are holding their baby girl, Dorothy Jean Aly Jones, my mother.

The following two pictures are of mother as a young girl playing and walking on the beaches of Florida, where she was raised.

Recently, Mother brought me a favored book of my Grandma Effie, entitled 'Shining Rain,' a book of poems she and mother purchased on a retreat to Ridgecrest, NC, with the young women from their church. Grandma enjoyed reading these poems to her teenaged daughter, hoping to instill the values and lady-like behavior befitting a Christian young woman.

How I miss my Grandma. She left this world too soon, which impresses upon me the appreciation for each day that passes and I am able to hear my mother's voice on the phone or hold her hand on Sundays, sitting next to her in the pew.


I read the poems in this sweet text, thinking of a young mother and her daughter. I cannot tarry long in my wonderings, of whence came my love for poetry and pretty, vintage handkerchiefs.

Pink Lustreware

I



I have discovered the most delightful little dishes...teacups and saucers and dessert plates...each one varying in shades of pink and painted strokes. Pink lustreware has been calling my name from those tiny Beatrix Potter books...even from the tin of Tasha Tudor's Welsh Breakfast Tea.


How could I resist? As individual pieces come into my home, they begin to form their own whimsical, mis-matched family, of sorts, on the chest in our keeping room.
 The lovely teapot waited patiently for the Breakfast Tea to arrive. By Friday afternoon, the ceremony commenced.  Lifting the lid of this extraordinary treasure from the mid 1800's, I discovered the darkened lower half of the "inner sanctum," stained, undoubtedly, from countless "brewings". How special I feel to deposit the carefully measured spoonfulls of tea ...the favored blend of the dearly loved Tasha Tudor.


Standing in my kitchen, enjoying the aroma, pouring the steaming liquid into one of the hand painted teacups, I am reminded of one of my favorite quotes, illustrated by Tasha Tudor in her book 
'Springs of Joy. '
   
 "There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea."

Henry James
'Portrait of a Lady'

Afternoon Tea

Friday afternoon, while knitting and being soothed by the sound of the drizzling rain and ticking clock, the postman left a small package at my back door. The latest issue of Mary Jane's Farm, Welsh Breakfast Tea, and a small jar of rosewater-fragranced moisturizing lotion. What a timely delivery. Sometimes, the most healing things for a mother/grammy's heavy heart is the aroma of afternoon tea, something inspiring to read, and the cream that eases the wrinkles in her drying, aging skin. Life always seems a little more bearable, with a hot cup of tea to wash down the worries. Onward, always, and focused on where our help comes from...a heavenly Father...sending the "rain drips" to help us feel at home with our own tear "drips."
Brighter days ahead...Yes...Amen.

Andrea M'lynn receives a new bow


Xavier was busy tending to "the girls," as he refers to the dollies at the tea table, 
arranging the tea set and filling their cups with sugar. 
He suddenly declared, in an authoritative tone, 
"Her name is Ava (pointing to our resident Southern Belle), 
and her name is Andrea." (pointing to our little French girl dressed in pink) 
I am not sure how he came upon the idea of these two names, 
but apparently it was a moment of inspiration. 
I had been at a loss as to what their names should be, 
and it seemed that he sensed my dilemma and spared me the difficult decision. 

(I no longer speculate the possibility that he reads my mind...
too many occasions to count, have led me to believe that he does.)

He also removed the pink bow from Andrea's hair with as much authority as he had used in naming the two silent guests at his table. 
When I noticed the tattered bow laying next to her, I asked him why it had been removed. 
He simply stated, "She doesn't like it." 
My first thought was that he doesn't care for bows...
as was evidenced every time I tried to keep a bow atop our puppy Scout's head....
he would pull it out, directly, stating the same, "she doesn't like it."
As I looked at our dear Andrea M'lynn 
(having decided she needs a middle name befitting a French girl) 
I decided that Xavier had a very valid point. 
I wouldn't care for a shabby bow in my hair, either, and I committed to attending to the situation. 
Upon inspection of her tendrilled brown locks, 
I discovered an array of bobby pins concealed by the massive curls...
completely unacceptable.



I brought out my miniature box of "Comb and Curlers" for our hair appointment and evaluation. 

I had made the discovery of this lovely set on an antiquing adventure with my Uncle Neil 
when I was a girl. 
I can still remember spotting the pink treasure in the display case by the register 
and spending four dollars to make it my own.


As I began M'lynn's makeover, I removed her "time for tea" locket...Alice was delegated to keep watch over the tiny necklace. She didn't seem to mind...


The recently purchased silk ribbon was soft in my hands, 
as I calculated the length to cut. 
Upon tying the bow in her hair,  the sweet song "Scarlet Ribbons" flooded my thoughts. 
The memory of my mother singing this song to me, when I was a child, as she tucked me into be bed at night, remains the sweetest recollection.


I am persuaded to think that Miss Andrea M'lynn is feeling rather prissy in her new bow...
the shade being referred to as "Blossoms"...
quite suitable, wouldn't you say, as it reminds us of the cherry blossom's lovely hue, 
painting the landscape here in the South.



My handsome four year old fellow will be ready for a picnic, soon, and he has already decided this is the very basket suitable for carrying the dollys' tea time treats.
Not to worry...he has already pulled out his wellies and wheelbarrow to do "hard work" in Grammy's yard and flower beds.
It is a nice balance, I do believe.

Wrappings





Is there anything better in the wide world, than being wrapped in a snuggly blanket...
or, as a Mommy, wrapping a new baby in the softest receiving blanket...
or, as a Grammy, wrapping a toddling grandson in a freshly laundered bath towel after his play in the tub? 
I think the "wrappings" aren't as important as being "wrapped" ...loved up...snuggled... feeling tended to...
Xavier knows this feeling rather well. 

It certainly does not matter to him which blanket or towel is being used, 
although he does have his favorites. 
What is most important is that his need for snuggle time is being acknowledged 
in a loving and caring way.

When I noticed the other day, his care and attention to "baby dog," 
I had a little moment...when that grandmotherly pride makes my heart swell just a bit. 
He had gently wrapped his pup in Grammy's hanky...'the one with the blue flowers', he calls it.
"See him, Grammy," he says...holding up his baby..
and I, praising his caretaker skills, watch him walk to the rocking chair and climb cautiously into the creaking wicker. He begins to rock....not too fast...just right for a sleeping baby pup.



It is not the wrappings, it is the being wrapped.

Signatures

In an earlier post, I mentioned how wonderful to receive or purchase an antiquated book...how I love their smell...and what a treat to find a signature or note inside those wonderful treasures. Upon reading an entry of Corgyncombe Courant, containing a beautiful photo of Louisa May Alcott's book 'Under the Lilacs', I began a search. As I had loved the book 'Little Women' since I was a girl, I was hoping to add another of Louisa's books to my collection. I was delighted to find this book, along with a copy of 'Little Men' up for auction, and even more excited when I realized they would be mine. They arrived today, and after anxiously retrieving them from the packaging, I laid them on the table to throw away the box and wrapping paper. As I opened the covers and read the inscriptions...I had to sit down, straightaway. Be still my heart!! 
I was named after a family friend whose last name was Christie. It is rare to find someone with my name, much less, with the same spelling... I felt these two little books had found their way home.
Christmas of 1978, my request to "Santa" was a sweet edition of 'Little Women'. I had spied it in a bookstore, and I remember thinking, at the time, it was the most beautiful book I had ever seen.  The Madame Alexander "Meg" doll had been a gift from my uncle, years before, as he knew I was a collector. She had been left behind in an apartment complex, and I was thankful he knew I would give her a good home.  So to unwrap such a wonderful book, that Christmas of 1978, I felt incredibly special.  I imagine Ethyl Christie felt incredibly special, too, the Christmas of 1907.  

"Handkersniffs"


I have loved them as long as I can remember... those softer-than-soft, vintage handkerchiefs. 
I would scour antiqueshops and yard sales searching for just the right ones...pretty, dainty flowers...not too scratchy...perfect for wiping a tear or slight sniffle.  
Through the years, I might relinquish one to a special little girl, one like me, with an appreciation for delicate, old things...but that was a rare occasion.  
I always keep a freshly laundered hanky in my purse, and at a family get-together not too long ago, the topic of these little kerchiefs came into the conversation. 
My sweet sister-in-law, Bonnie, reminded me that they are referred to as "handkersniffs" in the Beatrix Potter book 'The Tale of Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle'.
 Oh, how I love Miss Potter's tales...

Well, Mr. Xavier loves his Grammy's handkersniffs! 
He has found that nothing soothes a little boy's runny nose like the soft little kerchief tucked away in her purse. 
He holds it up to his nose, inhaling deeply, and expressing with great satisfaction, "It smells so good, Grammy!"




Last night, as he was investigating 'Grammy's Cupboard' ...top to bottom...he came across the book 'In the Nursery' (from the blue My Book House set) and asked me to read a story. 
The page fell to "The Little Rooster and the Little Hen." 
As I began to read, he was still completely consumed with his play until I came upon a term that peaked his curiosity...
The hen asked the peasant woman if she could make a "handkersniff" 
(I replaced the term kerchief for a more familiar word). 
He crawled carefully up into the chair as I read...entranced by the story of the handkersniff.  
He had used my threadbare hanky throughout the afternoon...reaching for it at each hint of a sniffle. 
He was taken with this tale. 
Consequently,  the story had to be read again, looking and commenting at every illustration.


The poor handkerchief was carried faithfully to bed, providing comfort to his reddened button nose. Another was needed this morning upon his awakening. 
In the laundry room, after our breakfast, he assisted in the sorting of the laundry, 
and as the bed clothes were being placed in the washer, 
I tossed  the weary little "sniffs" into the fragranced water. 
Upon their removal from the warm dryer, they were folded and have now been tucked away in my purse.
I must begin searching anew for more perfectly soft "handkersniffs."

Kisses

This display of English Springer Spaniels keeps residence on the end table in a nook of our "keeping room." The black and white figurine was purchased by my daughter and me, for my husband, to honor a former pet named Oreo. The brown and white pup was my Christmas gift to him to honor Oreo's best buddy, Tyson (named after Mike Tyson, for constantly chewing on Oreo's ear). My husband's children had loved these two dogs, years ago. I later added the porcelain puppy to the collection.  Ever since that addition, Xavier has been fascinated with this trio, holding the little one carefully up to his face to feel the coolness of it's body. He has now begun to refer to them as Mommy, Daddy, and The Little Baby.
Yesterday afternoon, our grandson came home from school to our house, as he would be staying here the night.  Later that evening, as my husband was walking out the back door to attend a meeting, I leaned to kiss him goodbye and made my way back to join Xavier in my big chair. (A large, feather down chaise, perfectly perfect for snuggling, knitting, and story-telling) Once we were established in our seating arrangement ...I, knitting...he, winding and "looping" the big ball of yarn, he interrupted our conversation with a question, "Why did you kiss Big Daddy?" Not having to think very long, I replied, "Because I love him, and I'll miss him while he's gone." Throughout the evening of endless questions, and on-the-spot answers, that first question stuck in my head. I know that he loves for all the affection and attention to be directed towards him, wanting me to hold his hand...not his Big Daddy's, wanting me to sit next to him... speak to him... Not quite understanding his grandfather's place in his grammy's world. He is supposed to be the "driver", the "one who goes to work", the  "one that leads him to his Sunday School Class "...what in the world is his grammy doing kissing him?
The evening ended, he had hopped into bed, and I shuffled through the living room turning off the lights. I reached to turn off the lamp on the end table and found that the "dog family" had been rearranged.
Is this a sign that he is beginning to understand? What a sweet little boy we have been so blessed to have in our lives.