Simplicity

I have been rediscovering an old friend, the straight stitch.  This renewal of interest springs from a real desire to simplify everything in my life.  Despite my love of creating stitch samplers with variations on every sort of stitch, including some I have to dig out of Grace Christie's book of almost-forgotten embroidery stitches, the simplicity of the straight stitch is both appealing and useful (Morris comes to mind here:  "beautiful and useful").

And this most recent urge to simplify was re-kindled by the subliminal at work:  a dream.  Occasionally I have a dream of an old cottage somewhere amongst trees and shadows and filtered sunlight.  The inside is pared down to the bone, and I move through the minimalist rooms and enjoy the beauty of old paint, floorboards that are patched and wonderfully imperfect, deep moldings at floors and ceiling.  The walls, singularly unadorned, are interesting in their own right, as they are painted imperfectly.

In the pale bedroom of this cottage is a bed, a low pine bookcase beside it, and a lamp.  One narrow dresser (it is a sort of blue-green and the paint is chipped) stands against a wall.  No rug covers the floor, and only a sheer white curtain hangs at the window.  There is an old quilt on the bed, faded to muted tones of blue and pink and green with a touch of yellow in flowers (I have lain against the quilt and studied it in my dreams!).  This is the room I remember in most detail, as if I go to sleep looking for a quiet place to sleep . . . ?

The dream is recurring, and each time I see a little more of the cottage.  It is so absolutely simple—it may be perfectly simple.  I wish I could live like that but I seem to have a penchant for gathering things (interesting or not) as I move along.  Everywhere I sit or lie to rest, there is a stack of books or magazines nearby.  Mug mats protect the covers of books and table tops.  Towels never hang straight in any bathroom I pass through.  Kitchens overflow with stacks of china (so that I am always prepared to feed hoards of guests) and even though there are only two of us here, my dishwasher is full every evening, sometimes even before lunch!  Messy, by definition, is me.

After this cottage comes to me in a dream, the straight stitch begins tugging at me.  I lie half-awake and think about the plainness and beauty of this stitch.  With it I can build lines, shapes, fill the shapes, create the illusion of movement and direction, layer them to create texture . . . All this with the simple in-and-out of the needle and thread through the fabric.  Choosing a color really defines the line.  Choosing the weight and type of thread defines the importance of the line.  Choosing a direction begins the unfolding of the idea.  Another form of simplicity.

I know I will never have such a beautiful, bare-bones cottage as the one I have dreamt about for years, and I also know I will continue to dream of it because it is such a clean and desirable space for my cluttered heart to grab a moment of respite.  Cultivating the straight stitch might be a way to cultivate the culture of minimalism.  And that could be a step toward simplifying myself.

Curling Bethy's Hair

What a morning!  Bethy wanted curls today, and as I had nothing else planned, we opened the Friendly Corner Beauty Parlour.  First I washed her hair, which started out in the bathtub but moved to the shower before it was over.  Then dried it and began rolling it up with my heat curlers (very old set, but they work!).  About 2/3 of the way through the rolling process, she began to sniffle.  The sniffles are the beginning of a meltdown.  It seems that she wanted the curls to appear without any work, and I had to explain to her that beauty is not a freebie.  She was so sure the Princesses in the story books got their curls without any effort at all, and I had to disabuse her of that notion.  What a terrible job for a grandmother!

By the time I had finished with the rollers, she was only on half-sniffle, so we passed the time waiting for her hair to dry completely and the curlers to do their magic by taking pictures.  There was much giggling, and I suddenly was not 63 years old anymore, and my best friend and I were in our tiny bathroom craning for space in the medicine-cabinet mirror as we tried out new hair styles-- that would have been in the 1960s!

Then, the comb-out.  I think the curlers worked rather well, wouldn't you agree?

She primped and preened in front of the mirror, then turned suddenly to me and I grabbed the camera.  Where did she learn these moves?

The child was five in April.  Honestly!  I don't think I learned to poke my arm out that way until I was about thirty!  But, of course, I still can't use an i-phone, though she says she'll help me when I get my own.

Friends

We travelled to Knoxville yesterday for the monthly Freestyle Meeting, this one at Margi's house.  Jill and I were  in charge of the food, and we planned a tea for our friends.  I made sandwiches (egg salad, carrot-ginger, and pickled okra pinwheels), and Jill brought smoked salmon with cucumber.  I made the scones, and Jill made the teacake (chocolate!) and shortbread and little pastry cups of lemon curd (homemade) with raspberries and cream.  Jill also brought her mother's teacups, a dozen of variously patterned cups and saucers that looked as if they had come straight from an elaborately carved Victorian cupboard.

Margi's house is such a neat place— a log cabin by the lake.  She has furnished it with pieces she has collected, lovely old oak for the most part, and as she is a weaver, some of her work is there.

But the nicest part of the day was not the food or china or setting, but the ten of us gathered under the beams of the living room.  We all have a common interest in some form of fiber, and during Show 'N Tell we share our latest creations to the admiring oohs and aahs of the group.  How talented each of us is, but in our own way.  The inspiration flies back and forth as ideas are laid out and expanded.  I always come home and immediately set to work on some project or another.  This time I think I will take up the crocheted scarves that I had set aside when the weather got so unbearably hot and sticky— Christmas will be here before I even realize it!  I will post photos when I get them a little farther along the way.

I think that special nurturing ability to inspire one another to try new things is one of the most admirable qualities of the friends I have.

Look at how things have grown!

I am always amazed when things that I have planted actually grow to be mature plants.  My green thumb can sometimes have some darker overtones to it.  This is the May-June photo of part of the upper right terrace:

And this is yesterday's photo:

The red plant in the center is a new color of Rudbeckia, much nicer (to me) than the orange-yellow. And the chartreuse dangling plant is Creeping Jenny.  It is not called "creeping" for no reason— it has the growth habit of a small, simpering kudzu vine.

But taken together, it's a sort of magic, isn't it?

And in the fountain, there is a little visitor:

He looks quite happy here, doesn't he?

First Fruits

The blueberries, tomatoes, and strawberries have been ripening, and Charles harvested them for us.

Snacks a-plenty!

The asparagus have passed their season, and we now see only the occasional fern coming up.  Next spring they should begin to show themselves just before the perennials make an entrance.  This should make an interesting texture.  And good food, too!

Charles' Swing

Charles wanted a swing, has wanted a swing for a long time.  We found a builder at a market in Woodstock, one who offered a six-foot wide seat-- big enough for two grandparents and two Adorables!  Last week we were able to pick up the pieces to be assembled.  Jordan was called into duty for the assembly job.

And eventually a somewhat level place was made for it.  We may have to pour footings for it, one end is a bit high off the ground and while I don't plan to look at the sky through my toes while swinging, I always fear the worst with the children, who test everything!

So, now we can sit quietly in this very over-sized swing and enjoy the garden from the upper level.  Hmmm . . . . still looks nice!