I love this day.  It’s September 30 and a Saturday.  It’s been vacillating between raining and drizzling all day. I bailed on the dog park because of the rain but was pretty content to go to the grocery store to pick up a few things for tomorrow’s dinner as we are having a surprise visitor.  I stopped at the library on the way to pick up a couple of books I had put on hold.  Another Christmas novel and a sock knitting book.
Previous to leaving the house I spent the morning in my dungeon studio sewing to my heart’s content.  No pressure.  No one waiting for my project.  Just something I wanted to make for myself at my leisure. Now I am back at it.  I love my studio and it’s the perfect place to be on a raining fall Saturday afternoon.  Eating leftover pumpkin pie and browsing through my new UK Country Living magazine. I love this magazine.  The photography is amazing.  The font they use for all the titles is so beautifully British. Most of the ads look like actual articles.  And the paper is still high quality and glossy.  Not like the dull newsprint they’ve started using in all the American magazines. I digress….

My studio.  Let me describe it.  It’s a little chilly down here but I have one of Lexie’s old man cardigans she was going to toss and I saved from the bin to warm me if I need it.  Mike has built me a long wall to wall and around the corner desk for my computer and all my sewing machines and my books and lamps and pretty paraphernalia. I love to have a movie or podcast on while I am down here working.  I have all the pretty office supplies that I couldn’t buy when I worked in an actual office because they weren’t professional.  My profession is beautiful things so I can have all the beautiful things I want down here.  Thus,  I have all the pretty color post it notes and pens and tabs.  Mason jars full of rubber stamps and paint brushes and lovely mugs full of pens and scissors and rotary cutters, nail files and exacto knives.  I save all my greeting cards when I receive them so a lot of them are pinned to the walls.  They bring me joy.  I have shelves and shelves of sewing notions, card stock, books, and old journals, crepe paper for making flowers, candle making supplies. A circuit and a cuttlebug (google it).  I have wallpapered one wall with gorgeous layouts from one of my favorite magazines.  Mostly flowers and water scenes. There are shell frames and jars full of pearls and beads.  Clocks. Mirrors.  Tiny art work.  souvenirs from my travels.  Bulletin boards, boxes of puzzles. Stacks of library books. An old typewriter.  A gold standing mirror Lexie scored for free off Marketplace.  Jars of thread. Boxed cards and empty journals waiting to be filled. Lots of lamps. A dressform.  Candles.  I think I’ll go light one now.  There are close to 100 large cardstock roses pinned to the unpainted drywall (not that anyone can see it).  I guess that’s the point.  I have large black filing cabinets (that I inherited from a company 4 jobs back) full of fabric and baking packaging.  I have an industrial sewing machine and serger I bought from a clothing store my dear friend works at.  They came with their own tables.  so….I have those tables covered with sewing projects, fabric and magazines.  I have a high self to store my Christmas village on during the summer.  The shelf used to be the high rise platform or our kitchen island.  I’ve got an old glass front hutch that stores all the quilts I’ve made when they are not being used.  Lexie has a shabby chic looking armour and dressing table down here as well.  A trunk… Wedding dress storage bags full of the gowns she loves to make as a hobby. Bunches of silk flowers wherever I could fit them in.  Many of Lexie and my paintings that are seasonal adorn the walls.

Often when I survey the studio, I evaluate how it got like this.  It has evolved over time.  One could never just throw this together in one fail swoop or a plan because the beauty of it is that it’s not been planned.  It’s just evolved and taken on its own personality.  Well maybe my personality.  And that’s OK.  It’s my studio.  It could never be replicated exactly.  It’s taken me 13 years of living in this home. And it perfectly suits me.

All in all, it’s kind of a shabby chic look only with black accents.  I know black is not really shabby chic but I think I’ll make my own style name.  Because most of my home is sort of shabby chic – ish,  except for all the black.  I like the black and there’s too much of it to turn back now. Ebony French Country Chic maybe.

Anyway,  it’s back to sewing and puttering for the rest of this rainy day.  No one is calling my name or harassing me.   I’ll do what I love.  And thank the Lord for these circumstances.  They are ideal – for me.  In this moment.

Friday afternoon, leaving work.  Gorgeous sunny September afternoon. The leaves haven’t yet started to fall.  But school is back in session and I started back this year too.  Assisting in the cafe.  It’s been 15 years since my youngest graduated from these hallowed halls and 26 years since the school opened its doors that very first day.  We were one of the pioneer families. Walking through the school yard to my car evoked so many memories.  I was feeling all the feels this afternoon.  My daughter was in Grade 2 and my son was in grade 5 the year the school opened its doors.     We worked with the teachers and administrators most of August trying to get the newly purchased school ready for fall startup. I remember the first family picnic we had out on the school yard lawn. It was an exciting time.  We brought homemade apple pies – I think just to share with others and one of the school’s new administrators decided to auction them off for $125.00 a pie.  Parents were hyped and wanted to help this new school out.

The structure of the school has changed so much since our family was a part of this school.  I say ‘ our family’ because it was very much a family affair back then.  The trees are so much taller- They actually have trees. The whole area, so much more developed.  But as I was walking past the metal railings at the elementary door, the very same ones that were the backdrop of many first day of school pictures, all the sweet memories of my kids’ school years flooded over me and left me breathless.  Where did those years go?   So full of hopes and dreams.  So full of precious moments and memories.

As I serve up hot lunch to the kids these days, it just takes me back.  I usually made lunches for my kids.  I was one of those weirdos that enjoyed making lunches for my kids.  But I gave them money to buy lunch on Fridays or whichever day they were serving their favorite foods.  I was always available to drop them off at school in the morning and pick them up in the afternoon.  Don’t tell anyone, but I usually had a snack in the van because I knew they’d be hungry and being fed made them chatty and they’d tell me about their day.   I made cookies and brought cheese sticks and juice boxes.  Any day that was early dismissal or the last day before a break,  we always went out for lunch and/ or to a movie.  I never had these moments when I was growing up.  We had 7 kids in our family and we walked to school and back everyday and we made our own boring lunches.  Back in my day Spam was lunch meat not unwanted email.

I think back to all the times I decorated that gym for graduations and fundraisers.  All the times we attended concerts in that gym. I remember Journey to Bethlehem, where the kids and teachers turned the gym into Bethlehem for a walking tour with all the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of that first Christmas. Such a worthwhile learning experience.  I remember decorating the teachers lounge that first year, painting trees and all kinds of fun things on the walls.  I loved helping out in the kids’ classrooms and was very excited when the teachers let me decorate their bulletin boards.  I signed up for every field trip. Went as a chaperone to fall sleepover camp. I taught Lexie’s grade 3 class how to make a quilt.  I sewed costumes for plays – Little Women to be specific. My son had a role in the Dr. Suess musical.  He was amazing, even if I do say so myself.  Both kids ventured out on Missions trips.  Lexie to South Africa and Andrew to Trinidad.  Many sleepless nights til they arrived safely home.  And the science projects.  I loved to help the kids with their homework – I loved school.  Except Math.  I was always excited to see what mark I…. I mean, they…… got when their assignments came back.

In our days, the teachers gave out benchmarks.  The slogan was to be a lifelong learner.  I already was one. Oh right, I was not a student.  However, I did graduate from Grade 9 three times.  I had to drop out after Andrew and Lexie’s Grade 9 because I didn’t understand the math.  They were on their own then .  Another belief  that was drilled into these kids was that the student would eventually become the teacher.  I can honestly say, both of my kids flew right past me academically.  And now they are teaching me things I don’t know.  I hate that.  Like how to use my computer and phone.  Lexie, teaching me how to decorate cookies. Andrew,  full of all the trivial information we need at a moment’s notice and he always has it.

I remember both graduations from Grade 12 vividly.  Such momentous and bittersweet moments.  So proud they were graduating and so sad that part of their life was over.  I had so much fun.  I don’t know if I was supposed to, but I did.  I loved those school years. When the kids needed me and depended on me.  They came to me with all their problems and I was actually able to solve most of them. Life was so much easier back then.  Safer.  More predictable. Cohesive.  All for one and one for all.  We may not have had it all together but together we had it all.  And this school was the center of SO many of our family memories, how can I not look back wistfully and wish I was ‘there’ again?  Well I am there again, but you know what I mean.  Those really were the ‘good old days’.

The road to you know where is paved with good intentions. As I go back and read some of my former posts, it grieves me to realize I never accomplished many of my boastings. I guess that’s why it’s better not to boast. I thot sharing dreams and goals would make me accountable. I read somewhere that for some people just the writing down of their plans makes them feel like they already did them when in fact they have not. Surely I have not fallen for that ruse???

However, the fact that I have documented these things stirs up a reminder that I still have unfinished business to attend to. Still have weight to lose. Still have shape to get into. Still have a book to write. Still have a home business to define and refine. Food to cook. Recipes to try. Clothes to be remodeled and designed. Painting skills to be honed. Book club to start. Dinner club to start.

Ah, but life gets in the way and distracts us and drags us off the intended path and we have to deal with it. The life I mean. And it’s not not important. There are urgent and important daily things we have to contend with all the time and sometimes our hopes and dreams get derailed.

But the secret is not to give up on these things. These dreams and plans and hopes. Very often that’s what keeps us going thru trials and hardships. The hope of what could be.

One of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies is this: ‘I lead a small life, valuable but small. Do I do it because I like it it because I haven’t been brave?’

I find I’m asking myself that a lot lately. This life I live. Do I do it this way because it makes me happy and content or am I missing out on life’s best because I’m not brave. I want to be brave. Take risks. Go for it.

A lot of what I do and how I live my life IS intentional and I enjoy it and feel a sense of accomplishment but there are those nagging little foxes that threaten and lie. So I set out with the earnestness of my intentions but then I find my fear casting its huge shadow on the wall in front of me and I back down. I’ve let the setbacks of the world and life paint me into a corner. And I don’t like what I see.

But I’ll keep marching forward and even if my progress is slow. It’s better than no progress at all. Also whose definition of slow progress am I using? Maybe my Heavenly Father wants me to slow down so I can see if I’m actually on the correct path. If I go slow it’s not so hard to redirect and correct. And so I plod on with heavy and slow steps waiting for God to shine the light on the next one.

I’m not looking for answers and solutions from others..… I’m just putting this out there in case someone is on the same path, asking the same questions. The fact is sometimes life is light and easy and we get it but often it’s like being in quicksand and we can’t escape what’s unpleasant and difficult but much needed and we don’t get it.

Keep going… that’s the best wisdom I have.

It just occurred to me that I never ever wrote about my trip to pretty little London this past spring. How could I pass up such a perfect opportunity to tell everyone that this trip made my year.  Maybe my last 4 years, to be honest.  We had been talking about me going to London long before Lexie ever left (to live in London) in April of 22.  But it just wasn’t working out.  Finally in a divine swoop, God made it possible for me to go.  All excuses and obstacles totally off the table.  I booked my ticket and began packing my carry on.  I mean who can afford the luxury of checking on a bag these days?  Plus, if I was short on clothes I could always wear Lexie’s and I did.

From the moment I landed at Heathrow, or I should say the moment Lexie found me at Heathrow, that girl kept impressing me with her joie de vivre. I mean what’s not to enjoy?  I know we are in Britain not France, but still.  This girl set her sights on London and made it happen and was living the dream. And she shared that dream with me for two weeks.  The  main intent of my going to London was to spend time with Lexie and live her life with her.  I told her I didn’t need to go to all the usual tourist traps and sights (We had been there together before), I just wanted to spend time with her in ‘her’ London.  And truly she does have a London that’s all her own.  Because it’s her unique way of living and enjoying London that is different from anyone else.

She took two weeks off work to be with me so she figured we should probably do more than just sit around her lovely flat with the claw foot tub and the quaint larder and secret garden.  As luck would have it, I arrived the week of the King’s Coronation,  so the city was awash with bunting and lunch specials and block parties and Coronation sales. The whole shebang. Let me say, right at the outset, what a classy place London is.  Britain is! Frankly, it makes Canada look brash and rude and unrefined.  But I digress….

We scoped out the Coronation parade pathway the day before the Coronation but decided not to go anywhere near the mobs the day of.  So we joyfully watched the whole thing on the telly. It was pouring rain anyway, and we just stayed in and ate breakfast and watched the coronation in our PJ’s.  When I thought of all the royal fans that had lined the mall with their tents in the days leading up to the event, I was quite happy to be warm and dry.

Some of my favorite memories are those of walking through the Hampstead Heath which is basically in her backyard.  It’s a huge park on par with Central Park in NYC.  It’s lush and green and boasts bathing ponds for both men and women (separately).  On the far end from Lexie’s location is a gorgeous park of flowers called the Pergola.  We had intended to tour Kew Gardens but the day we arrived there was cold and rainy and again, we weren’t too keen on seeing it that way, so we visited the Pergola on a sunny day.  A suitable compromise. I also loved going to the M&S Food Halls.  Such lovely food, displayed and prepared.  We walked Nottinghill one day, and Kensington. Went to Harrods and to Peggy Porschen for tea and a cupcake.  Sauntered past oodles of gorgeous colored homes with just as colorful doors and lush greenery.  Went to the Portobello Market.  The Columbia Road flower market was a feast for the eyes and nostrils on an overcast Sunday morning.  Followed by a Coronation service at St. Pauls in the afternoon. Going to a movie in London is a much different experience than here in Canada.  It was much more novel.  Everything is better in London, right?  Strolled through Liberty of London on a separate day, visiting all four floors made of solid wood recycled from two huge ships.  Fortnum and Mason was a culinary treat for sure. Everything presented in British perfection.  We saw a theatre performance of the Lion King. You can’t go to London and not go to a show.  We’d seen it before but not in London.  And I was just SO impressed with the animals the first time I saw it, I thought it had to be better in London.  I was not wrong.

One of our early days we made a trip to Brighton – on the ocean.  It was the first stop on our way to Lansing, which is where Lexie lived with her dear friend, Heather, for her first four months in the UK.  A pretty little beach town with all those colorful beach houses lining the shores.  I’ve always wanted one of those but what would I do with it living inland in Calgary where it snows 6 months out of the year?

Probably my favorite memory will forever be of the thoughtful and quaint trip Lexie booked us to the Cotswold’s and Oxford.  She rented a car and booked an AirB&B and off we went.  It was as if she was the mother and I was the daughter (I know that will happen one day but I didn’t think it would be this soon).  She expertly drove on the wrong side of the road and took me to two lovely little villages the first day.  We picked up dinner at a M&S Food Hall on the way and retreated into our cozy little cottage for the night.  Next morning we drove off and made an unplanned stop at another village in the Cotswold’s.  It was too cute to pass by.  On the way back to London we stopped at Oxford.  Oh Oxford.  The feeling of being somewhere important and historical I will never forget.  It was beautiful and I felt my IQ go up just walking on those hallowed cobblestone  streets. The pomp and circumstance of it all.

Just being with Lexie made everything amazing, even if it was pouring and cold, which it was half the time. Watching movies in bed with her laptop propped up on her window sill.  Did I mention the church bells that chimed on a regular basis?  We could hear them through her window.  So peaceful to wake up to. I loved the double decker bus rides from her place to downtown.  Normally, she would have taken the underground and minded the gap, but she let me ride the buses so I could get a wonderful view of ….everything.  The architecture, the vegetation, watching the people and the outdoor markets everywhere.  Gasping at the way people weaved their bikes in and out of traffic lanes with buses weaving every which way as well.  She lives in an absolutely gorgeous upscale area (thank you Lord), with a wonderful roommate and a great flat with all the amenities (minus a microwave and a dryer).  They dry their jeans on the heated towel rack in the loo. We walked over to their little neighborhood bakery for breakfast a few mornings and picked up food at the local grocers on our way home.  AND Lexie made me some amazing meals while I was there.  I’d been waiting all my life to be at one of my kids’ places for dinner and here I was. On my last evening we dined on the roof of Lexie’s building.

I wanted to stay forever.  But I knew I would just be cramping Lexie’s style.  She has a life to live and I had better let her get to it.  But I was so blessed and am so grateful to get to share those two weeks with her.  Two weeks that I will never forget.  I’m not crying.  You’re crying.

At the outset, summer was full of hope and promise. The promise of longer days and warmer temperatures and greener growth. The hope of a slower pace, of coveted heat, of luscious flowers and  relaxing vacations.
The summer months lay stretched before us like a never ending beach towel on the sand.  With a fanciful novel calling our name. As lots of flowers and watermelons took front space at the local food mart, we were ready to savour every summer moment.
Now it’s late august and many of these moments and memories are in the rear view mirror. The whole point of memories is we can live off them for months and years.  Remembering the wonderful warm weather and the bare feet in the grass or sand. The BBQs, the paddleboard voyages, the hikes in the mountains, the flying over the water in a speedboat. Listening to the neighbours lawn mower. Chasing a brilliant sunset. Listening to waves crash against the shore. Laying on a dock or trampoline in the middle of the night watching for shooting stars.  Camping. Listening to the lyrical rhythm of rain on your tent.  Campfires. Berry picking. Road trips.
As summer washes out to sea, We’re starting to sense autumn knocking on our door. People  are buying school supplies.  Sweaters fill the shop window displays. I’m thinking of putting up a few more twinkle lights in and out,  to soften the blow of cooler temps and shorter days. We’re reluctantly loosening our grip on summer.
But autumn…..it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s quite wonderful. A friend just notified me that her apple tree is ready for picking.  My head is dizzy with thoughts of pie making and salsa making and bread making. Walks at the dog park with my cozy quilted vest.  I’m starting to consider breaking out my fall decor. I’ve got a new job at a school so I’m getting caught up in the back to school mentality again. Haven’t done that since my kids graduated over 15 years ago.   I’ve been meaning to take up knitting and I think I will…. Knit myself a cozy sweater. Long and baggy and cuddly…. The kind you can never find to buy.
This season is also filled with hope and promise.  I’m looking forward to cozy nights by the fire and a pantry filled with canned harvest. Sweaters, flannels, vests and boots. Bring it on. Did I mention pumpkin spice lattes?