Five on Friday: Autumn Thoughts and Treats

"Celebrating Fall . . . with bouquets of

sharpened pencils, pumpkins, and cozy autumn

vibes straight out of Shopgirl and Joe Fox's world."

STORYLINEBOOKSHOP, as seen on Instagram

In the words of my dear blogging friend Janet Martin, "I love September mornings, where shadows sprawl, tall across the waking land".  Oh yes. It felt very autumnal today on our early morning walk. Cool and crisp with those long shadows sprawling. And with Fall Equinox arriving this weekend, we officially bid Summer farewell as we open our arms to Autumn.

The dahlia photo above was one I took at the St Albert Botanic Garden last week. It tugs at my heart. I love the shades and hues of its autumn colours. I love the starburst pointed petals. I want a painting of it.

Yesterday we went for coffee with dear friends. I opted for my usual small decaf latte, not even noticing their larger-than-life sign that they were now serving pumpkin spice lattes (along with a mini slice of pumpkin pie). TO think I missed out on that treat. We've had such really warm summery days these past few weeks, and even though the neighbourhood was afloat with falling leaves, my brain never did quite wrap around that we were already well into September.

Although I have not watched it now for several years, it was my ritual to pull out the lovely 1998 movie You've Got Mail with Kathleen Kelly (Meg Ryan) and Joe Fox (Tom Hanks). It never failed to put me in the mood for Autumn and getting cozy. Time to rewatch it. 

It's been a busy week. I'm getting it a little late out in the day. I thank you for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy.

One. Downton Abbey

We went to the theatre on Sunday afternoon to see The Grand Finale of the Downton Abbey series. What a treat! Loved the movie. It was great to see the Crawley family again, albeit all a little older. Even Rick, who wasn't keen on going, said he enjoyed it. There were funny spots, poignant spots, and in my books, they gave us a satisfying wrap up to the whole series. Everyone, including Lady Mary, can now get on with their lives.

After the movie, we went out for dinner. The hostess who seated us asked if we were doing anything special for the evening. I mentioned that we'd just come from the Downton Abbey film. She looked blankly at me. And I realized ten years had passed since that last series on PBS, she probably would have only been nine or ten at the time and no doubt she wouldn't be watching such a story. Then our waitress came by asking for drinks order, and she also asked the similar question what we were up to. Although she'd never watched the series, she at least knew what we were talking about having studied the series in high school, mentioning it being 'historical fiction' which she thought interesting. Who would have thought what I still consider a current series would suddenly put us in our place, the series itself was also back there in the historical fiction section. Haha.

—Photo taken in 2016 on our trip to Great Britain, which included a visit to Highclere Castle. There was something quite special about walking up that laneway that grabbed my heart.

Two. Reading

This year I didn't get around to making an autumn reading list. Summer seemed to linger (for which I was happy), and even though autumn leaves were falling, I didn't quite have those usual cozy autumn vibes. For you'd often see us sitting on the front patio drinking cold drinks and watching the bees humming in the Rudbeckia and Joe Pye Weed blossoms as clouds floated past clear blue sky. A deep summer activity, in my books.

But I did read one seasonal book: The Fortnight in September by R.C. Sheriff (1931). Recently republished, it's the gentle and charming tale about a family of five who set out on their cherished annual holiday to the seaside. It's the two weeks in their lives when they are mainly free from the cares of every life and work. And they are squeezing out every minute they can with those small pleasures of holiday life. This was a book that author Kazuo Ishiguro had proposed people should read during the pandemic - he described the book as 'life-affirming', 'delicate', and 'magical'. I agree with his assessment.

If you haven't read it, I recommend it. But maybe save it for next September early in the month. 

Three. A Beautiful Life

I came across Robin Sharma's Facebook page the other day. I was drawn in for he had a list of what makes life beautiful for him. It resonated, it would basically be my list, too. 

(If you're wondering why his name is familiar—I did wonder—Robin Sharma is a Canadian writer, best known for his book series The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari.)

Robin's List:

Art

Books

Nature

Work that serves

Fresh food simply prepared

Deep conversations with real people

My list:

In relationship with God and people

Books

Nature and Gardens

Creative work to make a difference

Being kind

Conversations with family and friends over coffee

Four. Ribbon treats

I went back to Michaels (craft store) and found a few more rolls of autumn ribbons. As you can see I stocked up. At this moment the rolls are sitting in a prim row on the credenza in my study. Waiting for a creative adventure. I'm loving looking at them, just as they are, but I look forward to pressing them into service soon. 

 Five. A volunteer

Our garden is winding down. But there are spots still furiously in bloom. And this single thick stem of sunflowers is a bold example. A stray seed from the birdfeeder sprouted in spring and has now grown into a plant with several blossoms of sunshine. Its beauty buoys my spirits when things feel a little dark out there.

 

❦

"After all, Anne had said to Marilla once, "I believe the nicest

and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid

or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple

little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string."

LUCY MAUD MONTGOMERY, Anne of Avonlea

❦

Wishing you a beautiful day.

Be kind to yourself and your neighbour, too.

Heart hugs,

Brenda

Photo credits:

Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Book and apples) Image by Katrina_S from Pixabay

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays

It Would Be His 96th Birthday: An Essay

Me with my dad and little sister

Although I no longer remember the actual moment when we posed in this photo, the picture is a forever memory, my having first spotted it as a little girl in Mom's photo album, and now taking up residence in mine. It remains one of my favourite pictures of my dad. So young and handsome. I love that he had such a happy smile in that moment posing with his girls. This is probably the age I would have been when I played with my invisible playmate, Barry (you can visit my previous post to learn more HERE).

The following essay was written about a year after my dad passed away in the early 2000s. It became part of the healing path as I waded through the grief and sense of deep loss I felt at the time. It was such a comforting piece to write. It helped me to put things in perspective, I think. This September he would be celebrating his 96th birthday. His brother, my uncle, just celebrated his 100th and we were so happy to think of Uncle's long life. We think wistfully what if Dad could have had that same length of life. . . . however, such is life, we don't choose when we arrive on this planet and we don't choose, not usually, when we leave it. Especially if we believe God holds our lives, times, and seasons in his loving hands.

Hope you enjoy... 

❦

Beautiful Hands

"A father doesn’t tell you that he

loves you. He shows you."

Attributed to DEMITRI THE STONEHEART

WHEN WE WANT to convey our affection and esteem to someone, gifts, flowers, and Hallmark™ cards have become accepted (even expected) tokens of our love. Like many, I avail myself of these most agreeable traditions, and I admit my eyes light up with pleasure at the sight of a parcel, florist bundle, or card addressed to me. Now, I am the daughter of a man who did not express his love in these traditional ways. My dad was quiet and reserved, and for reasons only he knew, he kept his emotions and counsel close to himself all his life. It was not easy for him to initiate a hug or say words of love or commendation, even when he was proud of us. And he usually wasn’t one who stood by the card counter to pick out the special occasion greetings for the people he cared about.

Still, growing up I never doubted that Dad loved me. Maybe as a child, I just assumed my parents would love me. I took it for granted. And there wasn't anything to disprove that belief in my experiences growing up in our family. All my material needs and many of my wants were provided for in ample measure, and when I think about it in retrospect, his hands (in tandem with his heart) articulated a love that no store-bought gift or card could have done more eloquently than the countless acts of service and lovingly hand-made offerings he presented to me and my family over his lifetime.

Dad's hands were strong and brawny. With freckles on them. Sometimes dirty with good old farm dirt or machinery grease if he was fixing the tractor or combine. They were the hands of a farmer, a builder, a gardener. They were always industrious and resourceful and never harsh, although he could give a sharp whack to a stubborn sow's rump to get her moving. When I was little, I would sometimes take hold of his hand and marvel at how small my own hand felt in his. I could feel its strength. It was nothing for him to open a stubborn jar of pickles or haul a couple of five-gallon pails filled with grain or potatoes.

Dad’s hands seemed to enjoy making surprises for us: wooden tops, whistles carved from tree branches, little knitting devices created from Mom’s leftover cotton thread spools. In the days before mega-toy stores, it was nothing for my dad to fashion scraps of metal and lumber into some great play things. I don’t remember asking for a swing, sandbox, or seesaw, but there they were one day. And, oh, the countless hours of fun we had playing on them. There was also the time we came home from school to find a newly-built desk, just our size, sitting in our bedroom. Too small for adult legs to fit comfortably under now, it still has a place in our family, that little red-hued mahogany desk Dad lovingly built for us.

Yes, Papa’s hands could rummage through junk piles and find the neatest treasures at an auction or garage sale. They were hands clever enough to recycle bits and pieces into a ‘brand new’ bicycle, strong enough to dig fence post holes with a hand auger, and, in later years, they were coordinated enough to use a small needle to hand stitch the many family quilts Mom sewed. Whether he designed a go-cart with his young son or birdhouses with his grandsons; woodworked oak shelves for Mom and doll cradles for his granddaughters; whether he refurbished and fortified work-worn wheelbarrows for kids who now had gardens of their own (often painting them in his favourite jolly red or John Deere green)—these deeds all represented Dad’s own brand of 'I love you'.

Dad’s hard-working hands also knew how to be kind, and they never struck us in anger. They were safe hands. As a young father, he cheerfully changed wet diapers and crawled on his hands and knees, so my little sister and I could play hairdresser with his reddish blonde hair. Later, as a grandpa, his hands would joyfully reach out for toddling grandbabies, settling them on his knee and planting big fat kisses on their chubby cheeks. Dad never felt nervous or shy around the little ones. Perhaps small children posed no threat; they made no demands for conversation, happy just to play with his reading glasses and sit on his quiet lap. He never grabbed out to them when they weren’t quite ready for his bear-hugs, but often you’d find a youngster tucked in the crook of Grandpa’s arm as they both snoozed in the big La-Z-Boy recliner.

As a girl, I accepted my dad’s quiet and unassuming manner and was comfortable with it. However, as I matured into adulthood, my own secret desire for more affirming words and physical expressions made me long for something less restrained, maybe even more ‘traditional’ from him. And then I came across a book by author Gary Chapman entitled, The Five Love Languages. Based on his own research, Chapman explained that people tend to express their love in five basic ways: words of affirmation, physical touch, quality time, gifts, and acts of service. It suddenly dawned on me—Dad had always been telling me he loved me, every time he filled my pantry with sacks of potatoes and vegetables he had grown in his garden; every time he responded so willingly, almost eagerly, to my requests for something from his workshop or help with building a new fence.

His gifts and acts of service took on a whole new meaning for me. This was how he said, “I love you”. I now understood the love language he used. And I translated that into what was my own key love language: words of affirmation. I let his actions speak the words I had wanted to hear. Finally understanding, I settled into that knowing. Gifts of love don’t come only in the shape of flower bouquets, greeting cards, or beribboned packages from department stores; they come to us in as many creative ways as there are people in this world. Although I always appreciated what he did for me, I came to truly cherish the kind gestures, generous deeds, and quiet ways my dad chose, maybe even dared, to show his affection. I quit looking for something Dad could not give and received with joy what he could.

The character Jacob in a movie I saw years ago (the Hallmark film Sarah Plain and Tall), responded to Sarah when she observed that he wasn’t good with words. His reply: “Sometimes words aren’t good enough”.  Perhaps Dad would agree.

At the writing of this, it's almost a year since those busy and loving hands were stilled. Despite the dreadfulness of my dad’s illness, something quite wonderful happened during the last couple of years of his life, and especially the last few months of his time here on earth. Some of the barriers and reservations with which Dad had guarded his inner life began to fall away, and we began to catch glimpses of the man behind all that reserve. Oh, he still didn’t say much when we visited, but there was less restraint, a new easiness between us. He liked it when I read a favourite Bible passage aloud as I sat by his bed. His hand was content to rest in mine when I’d reach out to hold it. Hugs were eagerly received and given. It was good.

Jesus once said that people will know we are His disciples by our love. Surely Dad’s crown must shine brightly for all the ways, seen and unseen, he expressed love and kindness to me and my family and also to the many others who crossed his path. Those strong, beautiful hands . . . they spoke of a love I shall always cherish and of a man I shall never forget.

❦

Happy Birthday, dearest Dad!

Sending heart hugs to everyone reading this,

and thank you for stopping by.

Brenda

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays

September: Five on Friday and Guest Blogging on InScribe

"Ah, September! You are the doorway to

the season that awakens my soul..."

PEGGY TONEY HORTON

It's been a busy week. And the weather has held up. Except we had a few heavy smoke days so we stayed indoors for a couple of them. Which gave me a chance to read Ann Cleeves's first Vera mystery The Crow Trap which was published in 1999. It was one of my library book sale finds. I enjoyed reading the book after having watched most of the Vera episodes on television. The actors play out in my head as I follow the story on paper. Brenda Blethyn looms large as life as she drinks tea and calls people "Pet" while going about her business of finding a killer. I learned a lot more about Vera from reading the novel. There is so much that film doesn't or can't catch. I'm glad I read it.

Along with the turn of the calendar page, the season turned as well. We had lovely summer days the last week of August, but this week there has been a definite bite in the air. I wasn't venturing around in shorts and sleeveless tee-shirts, but I spotted one young woman waiting for the school bus the other morning who looked like she might have wished for a wee jacket. What we will do at 16 to look cool.

I hope you enjoy today's Five on Friday edition. Thank you for stopping by! xo   

One. The season is changing

While it's officially still summer, around here autumn leaves are falling (I've had fun crunching in a few tiny piles along the roadside). The nights are getting cooler, and the daytime temperatures have a crispness in the air even though you can still feel the real warmth of the sun on your back. To mark the coming changes, I pulled out my copy of Autumn, An anthology for the changing seasons, edited by Melissa Harrison and copied out a few lines that say what I feel too: 

"Autumn is an adventure, a season of transformation, and a time to prepare for the long winter ahead. It is a thousand leaves falling to the ground and nourishing the soil beneath; it is . . . refreshing winds that sweep the haze of summer away; it is the calm before the storm. More than that, though, autumn is a celebration of senses, of new experiences for your eyes, ears, tongue, skin and nose; it rouses your consciousness after the calming effects of summer. Autumn isn't the season of decay or death, but one of wealth and renewal. It is the changing landscape; the subtle anticipation of winter. Autumn is to be enjoyed. Autumn is bold bursts of colour that leap from every corner of the landscape; it is golden yellow, fiery red, bright orange, and rich chocolate brown, and a faded green that reminds us of summer."

From the essay by Louise Baker, 2016

Two. How cute is this?

A dear friend gave me this sweet teapot box which is the perfect size for tucking in favourite samples of tea. Or, in this case, a baggie of dried ginger root strips for brewing in a teapot. The ginger was so fragrant when I opened the box.

Three. My friend Barry

Barry was my best friend when I was a little girl not yet in school. I should also tell you that Barry was invisible, and only I could see him. I have no idea how I came to have such a friend, but I know the name came from an actual boy who visited with his family at our neighbour's house. We must have met them.

To this day, I still have one vivid picture in my mind's eye of me walking outside with my arm draped around Barry's shoulder. I have no idea what we chatted about, but we were best buddies. I never told anyone about my new friend. My mom told me of the time when she went to sit down at the kitchen table and I yelled, "You can't sit there. Barry is sitting there." I think Mom realized I needed a playmate. Hmmm, maybe that's when my little sister came along.

I'm sharing this with you today because Barry came to visit the other day out of the blue (only in my memory, of course). I think he looked pretty much as he did 64 or 65 years ago. He hadn't aged in my mind's eye. But I do wonder what this now grown man must look like in real life today.

Four. Loving this

bouquet of flowers that sits on the dining room table.

Five. Guest blogging elsewhere

I am guest blogging on InScribe today "One Unfinished Project: Starting Again". I'm chatting about picking up a memoir I started writing several years ago but never finished. I'd love for you to join me over THERE.

❦

Wishing you a beautiful day,

Brenda

Photo credits:

(Top) Image by ... from Pixabay

(Autumn) Image by ... from Pixabay

(Paper Teapot) by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Little girl) Image by Hai Nguyen from Pixabay

(Bouquet) by Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Computer) Image by Jan Vašek from Pixabay

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays

Five on Friday: Wrapping Up August

"Summer should get a speeding ticket."

UNKNOWN

Well, I would like to know where the summer has gone. We're already at the September long-weekend. With kids at the start of a new school year in their new school clothes, gripping pencils and clean-paged scribblers (I suppose they're in their backpacks these days) as they climb into the bus. To this day, I still get that little surge of adrenalin as we move from summer to September. As a girl, it was always a little nerve-wracking to start a new school year: Would I be smart enough to make it through without too much embarrassment? Who would I find to be playmates in this new year?

The surge of adrenalin that comes now is more of anticipating what projects I might want to work on. As the light slants differently and evenings draw a little closer, one's thoughts turn more towards the home and being indoors. I think about what writing projects I might want to focus on, what home projects I want to tackle.

Here, with my latest Five on Friday, is a glimpse of what's been on my mind this week.

 One. A week of 'dog days of summer'

Our summer weather has been decent. Many warm days, alongside cool, rainy, and windy ones. This week it has been hot and sultry in the true summer fashion. And we've been reveling in the heat. Sipping frosted glasses of sparkling water—especially the Maison Perrier non-alcoholic Mojito (citrus and mint) beverage. Refreshing! Sitting in the mornings with our coffees and listening to the chickadees busy with their chattering and fluttering off with sunflower seeds.

This afternoon we've got plans to visit the Italian Centre for affogatos—the Italian dessert where shots of espresso are served over gelato. Someone described it as "buttery notes of vanilla ice cream and bold accents of espresso". Yes, that describes them. And they are yum!

Two. A doily detail

This little doily under my pretty green thrift store vase is now more than 50 years old now. I was in high school when I crocheted it. I'd asked my grandma if she would teach me to crochet. She told me to select a pattern, so I browsed through her collection of pattern books. My heart was smitten with one I really loved – the biggest and most complicated in the book, if you want to know. She gently suggested that I might want to start with something simpler. And smaller. No, no, I was determined. I could do this. I can see her giving a gentle shrug. I started it enthusiastically and got as far as you see in the photo. When I graduated from high school, I packed my bags for college, deciding not to take the doily project with me as I probably wouldn’t have time to work on it. (I wonder now where Grandma found it stashed and forgotten in the excitement...)

I came back at Christmas time, I don’t recall if it was my first Christmas away or the following year, but under the Christmas tree I found a little package wrapped and tagged with my name on it in Grandma’s handwriting. Inside was my little doily, at the stage where I had left it, except it had now had a simple edging to finish it off. Which meant I could use it. She must have sensed that I would never come back to finish this overly ambitious project, I think she would have been right. I was so overcome with emotion... love, I think it was, that she would do this for me. I have treasured this little doily ever since. It's still in use, even though doilies might be a little out of fashion.

Three. Musing about my old journals

Musing about my old journals, I wonder what I should do with them. One question that keeps coming up is as I think about getting rid of them, is why am I loathe to destroy them. The answer, simply said, it's because so much of my life is entwined in these words on hundreds upon hundreds of pages. To destroy them would feel like I'm destroying something of my soul. As you can see, it's a struggle, but as I get closer to my 70s there is a sense of urgency not to put it off too much longer. 

I started keeping a journal nearly forty years ago (January 1987) the year I would turn 30. Up to that point, I'd written bits and pieces in scraps of notebooks. I came to realize I wanted something more stable, and more formal, I guess (L.M. Montgomery certainly was influential in this area of my writing). Since then I have filled nearly 200 'blank' notebooks in varying shapes, sizes, and styles. The books were always chosen for their appealing covers—they had to be pretty to look at, cute, or whimsical. They are mostly all tidily stacked in storage boxes in the closet of my study. The boxes are already worded (in the event of my untimely demise) with "To be destroyed on my death", with the sincere hope that I won't kick the bucket before I have a chance to create something from them for 'posterity', and not leave the mess of all those boxes for my family to deal with.

I think about what other people have done with their old journals. Susan Branch used her old diaries as research references for her now published memoirs (The Fairy Tale Girl, Martha's Vineyard: Isle of Dreams, and A Fine Romance). More recently, I read a biography about Louisa May Alcott. Did you know that she annotated her old journals? When re-reading them, she added little notes to explain things, to say how she later saw those events or experiences as she looked back. L.M. Montgomery knew her journals would be of literary interest down the road, since she was an author. Her editors published those volumes years later. From her notes penned in the first published journal, LMM had kept diaries since she was nine; she later burned them—she said they were "so silly" and "very dull". She began her "new kind of diary" in 1889 when she was 14. Eventually she re-wrote the earliest journals (written between 1889 and 1918 in various shapes and sizes) into ledger books, with the goal to rewrite them "careful[ly] to copy it exactly as it is written", and that she would "illustrate it" as she went along, with photos to describe scenes and people she had mentioned. Her journals are now published, and I am glad to own the five volumes of  "Selected Journals" from 1889-1942.

Dealing with my old journals feels right to begin in the autumn season. It matches my own autumn season of life, where, although it can still be filled with colour, brightness, and fruitfulness, there is also a sense of waning... and winding up of many things.

I will try to keep you posted as I ponder more and begin the process. And I wouldn't mind hearing what plans you might have for your old journals, if you are a journaling person. Have you figured it out? 

Four. Waiting for Miranda's book

For anyone who follows Miranda Mills on YouTube, you will know that she has her first book coming out this September. Like many of us, she loves collecting quotations, and The Country Commonplace Book is filled with her own favourite seasonal-themed passages. I've pre-ordered my copy and can't wait for its arrival later this autumn.

Five. Favourite quotes

Here are a few quotes I found in my 5-year quotes diary this morning which I enjoyed reading all over again. (I am surprised that I'm in the last quarter of year four already. At the end of 2026, I'll have five years' worth of quotes in one tiny diary. It's been a fun project.)

"You might not be a morning person or a night owl,

but with the right amount of coffee and snacks, you can

be an enjoyable afternoon person."

UNKNOWN, seen on Instagram

"If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your

face like sunbeams, and you will always look lovely."

ROALD DAHL, The Twits

"Just a heads up, I've decided to live my life like

everything is working out in my favor."

JACOB NORDBY, seen on Instagram

"What is it you want to write [do]

with the time remaining?"

SHAWNA LEMAY, The Flower Can Always Be Changing

"Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air,

drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign

yourself to the influence of the earth."

HENRY DAVID THOREAU

❦

On that note, I'm wishing you a beautiful week ahead,

Brenda

Photo credits:

(Top) Sunflowers by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

(Drinking glasses) Image by Biella Biella from Pixabay

(Vase) Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Journals) Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Miranda's book cover) Amazon

(Hansa Rose) Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays

Five on Friday: Treats of the Week

"Take each day as it comes and make the best of

it—not in resignation as in 'that's all there is'—but

embroider it with beauty and kindness as well as

you can with what you have in your hand."

BL

Our pink hydrangea bush has outdone itself in amazingness this summer. She was a gift par excellence for our soul; it bloomed all summer long. Recently I read a woman online who referred to the time she spends outdoors in nature as her way of taking a daily dose of Vitamin 'N'. After I chuckled I thought, yes, I've had generous doses of that vitamin myself this summer... right here in my own garden.

What do I have to share with you this Friday as we edge toward the end of August? I look around and find a few things I think you'll like. Hope you enjoy and thanks for stopping by. 

One. Peek-a-boo

We sighted these pink petunias on our early morning walk. Squeezing through the crack from the north facing side of the fence belonging to one house, this sprig of wonderment captured my imagination. Was it reaching from the dark side to the south facing side to reach the sun, perhaps? It made me grin to see such enthusiasm for life and light.

Two. Beguiling ribbon

I was with my mom the other day and we popped into Michaels. She was on the lookout for pretty colours of yarn for the baby blankets she's crocheting. As I trailed after her, my eye caught a new display of autumn ribbons (they were on sale two-fer-one). My colour-loving eyes gravitated towards these two rolls and my heart had to have them.

Three. Thrift store find

In a drift of run-of-the-mill vases all shapes, sizes and colours, there it sat like a little gem, this green glass vase that felt so weighty I almost wondered if it were made from something like alabaster. I picked it up, put it down thinking I don't need another vase, walked to the end of the aisle, turned around and popped it into my basket. Ever since, I love spotting it, with its simple posy, on the living room coffee table. I love touching its cool and smooth texture. And I love that it's a soft green.

Four. Fluffy Cottage Cheese Pancakes

Serves 2

1 cup cottage cheese

3 eggs

1 tsp vanilla extract

1-2 Tbsp honey

1/2 cup flour

1/4 cup oat flour

2 tsp baking powder

In food processor, whizz cottage cheese and eggs about 30 seconds.

Add the rest of the ingredients, and pulse until combined.

Preheat griddle or nonstick pan on medium/low heat.

Add a bit of butter or oil to pan if you like crispy edges.

Scoop 1/3 of a cup batter per pancake onto the pan and spread a bit.

Cook about 4 minutes on each side. They will be a deep

golden brown when done.

 

*Note: Pancakes need to be cooked on a lower heat and

a little longer than regular pancakes.

 

Serve with berries and your favourite syrup.

Or eat just as is, which I was tempted to do,

they were so tasty. And fluffy.

These are awesome yummy!

I've been hanging onto this recipe for years, and I'm sorry to say that I have never made it until this week. The site where I originally found it no longer exists.

Five. Greeting cards

I love collecting and using pretty greeting cards. Especially art cards. Sometimes I want them worded with specific messages for birthday or get well or thinking of you, but quite often I choose cards that are blank so I can write my own notes in them.

I bought the bookstore out of this 'Greenhouse and Hollyhocks' card. I bought them two at a time until there were no more to buy on the shelf. The artist is Lucy Grossmith whose cards are a 'celebration of the beautiful coast and countryside of the British Isles.' You can find her on Etsy and HERE.

Then I spotted that sweet little box of notecards (at the same bookstore) with the pink flowers; they are from Punch Studio.com. They are just the size for a wee thank you note (3.5 x 5"). The little message bordered around the edge says, "Let the beauty of what you love be what you do."

Bonus. On the nightstand

Apples on a Windowsill

by Shawna Lemay

Reading it for the first time, I am loving this local author's

book of meditations on still life, photography, beauty, and

marriage. Published in 2024, she also speaks of how she and her

 painter husband made their way through the pandemic which

I find most interesting to revisit at this stage.

Giant's Bread

by Agatha Christie writing as Mary Westmacott

This novel "tells the story of Vernon Deyre, a young composer

who reinvents his identity after being declared dead in WWI. . . .

His sheltered childhood in the home he loves has not prepared

Vernon for the harsh reality of his adult years."

I'm just starting this novel. Chapter One opens with the narrator

telling the tale from young Vernon's viewpoint of what the world looks

like to a little boy growing up in an English nursery. Already I begin

to love this sweet, thoughtful youngster. 

The novel was critically acclaimed upon publication.

The magazine: In Her Garden

Summer 2025

by Stampington & Company

This charming magazine requires a quiet afternoon

for browsing with a cup of tea and a bit of sweet treat.

You can learn more about the magazine HERE. 

❦

On that note, I'm wishing you

glimpses of heaven in unexpected places,

Brenda

Photo credits:

Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

excluding the Pancake photo which is by Rita E from Pixabay

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays