Now where did I put my muse?

I know what I should be doing... I should be upstairs unpacking my craft room. Other rooms in the house are falling into place; the living and dining rooms are in good shape, just waiting for picture hooks so I can hang various things on the walls. The kitchen is operating at full speed, turning out hot breakfasts each morning, and even cookies now and then! Note: Home-baked cookies are a sure indication that you've officially 'moved in' to your home. They're also a good source of comfort when the 'unmoved in' rooms loom large.

But that craft room! Oh my. It's ready to be unpacked-- the walls are the loveliest shade of rose! I've found bookcases and shelves from local yard sales, and even an arm chair from the 1930's in chocolate mohair! This room is going to be my haven and my muse. It doesn't have to double as a guest room; we have one of those! Everything I love can go into it and be showcased. Walls of yarn, photos, paintings, fabric, quilts, and dolls... it's going to be marvelous!

But right now it's just a room full of boxes-- so many boxes! Why is it so hard to take that first step?

Alright. I'll go take a 'before' photo... and then I'll get to work.

Wish me luck!

It only takes two generations...

I read somewhere once that all of us are fogotten after two generations. I guess that is case, if you think about it. My kids knew my grandparents for about seven years before they passed. They still have some faint memories of time spent with them, but they didn't know them. Their own children will someday see pictures and hear stories, but it will be 'ancient history' to them.

So, in essence, I'm the fire tender for my grandparent's memories. I hold them dearly in my heart, for that is where they now live. I don't want to go by that house at 1822 Colby; no one I know is there. The real 1822 Colby is in my memory and it is still bustling with the sounds and smells of family...

There are 14 loaves of the heaviest white bread you can imagine raising on the kitchen counter, while a pot of soup bubbles on the stove. The coffee pot is on--a bottomless plate of cookies next to it-- and the record player is working it's way through a stack of LP's that just make you want to tap your feet.

You can hear the sound of a saw blade screaming through a two by four from the shop out back. The backyard garden fills the tiny space and offers up beautiful gifts, including the vase of sweet peas on the table that fragrance the whole house.

The dice cup has just cooled down from the morning's match, and a score pad reveals a tight game. Everyone who stops by contributes to the hefty coin jar Grampa keeps on the shelf, and I think he makes his wine strong on purpose to hone his advantage.

Gramma's in the laundry room, her hair up in curlers and bound with a green scarf. She is humming to the music, a smile forever on her lips. In the bedroom her typewriter holds a letter she is writing to someone far from home. She'll put in some newspaper clippings of the local stories, and maybe a recipe to share.

People will stop in throughout the day and have a bowl of soup or a glass of homemade wine. They'll be met with smiles and a warm hospitality that will make the day better somehow. They might be a few dollars poorer, but the time spent at the game table will be priceless. Before they leave Grampa will put a loaf of fresh bread in a bag, and add a bottle of Blackberry wine for good measure. Gramma will send some of those cookies along with them, and they'll both stand on the porch waving until the car disappears from sight.

"Stop by now!" That's what they always said as you were leaving.

And I do. As often as I can now.  

A little place to call our own...

I know it must feel as if I've been kicking this same dead subject for a long time now, but if you've known me for a while you know how dear having a place to call home is to me.

Perhaps it is because I've moved over 25 times in my life, first as an Army Brat, then as an Army Wife & Mom, and now as a Middle-Aged Woman starting again. My own wonderful mother always made each place a home, and as an adult, when our own career took us hither and yon, I took great care in making 'silk purses' out of the 'sow's ear' military housing we were given.

My home has always been an outpouring of not only my creative self, but of my desire to nurture and delight those who live under its roof. Anything outside its doors might be uncertain, unfriendly, or even unsavory, but inside there is always comfort and sweetness and the security of a safe haven. And laughter. Always laughter!

My choices over the past four years have led me through a wilderness of sorts. I refer to the tribulations of that time as "Things I lost in the fire". For while I left everything behind to save my sanity, the cost was dear. Now I am rebuilding, and I am finding more joy than I ever believed I deserved. 

The past few years have found me in many unlikely places: Estranged for a period of time from my family, homeless, then in an abusive relationship, then graciously back at my parent's home, and now--finally-- in a veritable paradise of love and joy. My wonderful man welcomed me into his heart and his home, and now we are moving to a new place where I can put my own things out again and we can create a wonderful nest together.

When I found the rental listing, drove over to peek in the windows, and realized how perfect it was, I actually burst into tears. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!" was all I could say. I had been asking God for that Perfect Plan He has for me to hurry up and happen! Even I didn't realize how great my need was to have a real home again. I have been so grateful for everyone who has given me a place to stay during these past years, but in this place I will be able to plant things in the ground! And paint walls! And settle in! And have a place for the gran'babies to come and stay!

I've been given a Real Life again. I know, I know, I had it all along, red ruby slippers, no place like home, yadda yadda... but this is Big. Real Big. Like, tears of joy and relief every single day Big.

Think I'll drive over there today, in fact, and start planning those rooms...

   

Let them eat cake!

I always get excited when I find a recipe and discover I have everything I need in the pantry to make it!

This Beauty is a Lemon Glazed Layer cake from this month's Sunset magazine. Mine had to be tweaked by supplementing some fresh squeezed orange and lime juices since I didn't have enough fresh lemons, but I think it turned it out pretty darn cute!

It's got buttercream frosting with fresh citrus juices and zest... I can hardly wait to cut into it when Bob gets home!

The empty house next door offered up this sweet bouquet this morning...

Happy Spring!