Autumn in Full Throttle With Treats

“It looked like the world was covered in a cobbler crust

of brown sugar and cinnamon.”

SARAH ADDISON, First Frost

as seen on GoodReads

Well, I feel a little put out at Mr. Sun this early morning. It's a bit grey and overcast, and on the day of my dear Mom's 90th birthday too! I wanted it bright and beautiful on her special day. No matter, thankfully there's a yummy Lemon Meringue Cake to look forward to this afternoon—the celebration will carry on, sunshine or no sunshine.

And a Happy Autumn to everyone here in the Northern Hemisphere! It’s been another lovely week, although when we went for our early morning walk the other day, there was a decided sharpness to the wind - let's just say we didn’t dawdle. But it finally made me feel like hauling out my autumn-themed ribbons and dishes, not to mention the pumpkin tablecloth on the dining table with a still life posing as a table centre.

What do you think about when autumn comes? Some people say autumn is a time of change. That it's a season of decline, transition. (Yes, there is that.) Other people say it's a time for letting go and releasing things that have been a burden. (What a good idea - I'm all for that.) When I think what autumn means to me, I think of this season as a time of new beginnings, like the beginning of a new school year and getting into new projects after the summer. Mostly, having grown up on a farm, autumn for me is harvest time—the gathering in of what was started in the spring of the year - potatoes and carrots, apples and pears and plums, and combining the fields of wheat, barley, flax, and oats.

Here are a few treats that have come my way this week... I sure looked forward to sharing them with you today.

One

"Lace is one of the most beautiful fabrics, you know. All those

holes and gaps, but it's still complete somehow - still lovely."

Anonymous, Goodreads

I have been wanting a lace tablecloth for a while now for my dining room table. I wanted something so the dark wood table could still peek through. I giggled with joy at this gift that came into my life.

I found it on Facebook Marketplace this week and was astounded to see it listed for a mere $25. I know the value of something hand crafted, and this crocheted piece is exquisite. It fits a table that seats six. Pristine white, I could see that it had been beautifully cared for. The woman who was selling it said she now has a bigger table and so it was too small. I asked if someone in her family had made it - yes, a friend of her mother's had made it (I think that's how the story went - I was too busy admiring to really listen to her story, for which I now regret.)

One day I will show it to you in its full glory...I didn't want to dismantle my autumn setting right now.

Two

The Healing Power of Korean Letter Writing

"It's hard to find anyone who doesn't like letters.

We feel a thrill when we receive them. One of their

charms is that we can't see what's inside right away;

there's an anticipation in unsealing the mysteries held within."

JUHEE MUN 

This lovely book was recommended a few weeks ago by my dear friend Barbara on her Small Moments blog. She was taking a break from her blog to read it. It looked so lovely, I had to order a copy for myself. At the time, I was told to expect delivery anytime after October 23rd. You can appreciate then why I was so surprised to have it arrive this past Tuesday. It had travelled all the way from a bookshop in Galway, Ireland.

The book itself is a slender volume that fits like poetry into one's hand. The author Juhee Mun is from South Korea and she owns a letter shop called 'Geulwoll'. Which is a "native Korean word, a respectful term meaning 'letter'". The book, originally published in Korean, was translated into English by Clare Richards who lives in the UK. The author mentions how she rarely wrote letters, but in her shop she had 'encountered so many letter-devotees' that she searched out books about letter writing. She found two:

Eight or Nine Wise Words about Letter-Writing by Lewis Carroll and Simon Garfield's To the Letter. I have read neither so you can guess that I'll be searching those out.

I'd like to add a timeless book about letter writing to that list. I received it as a Christmas gift in the early 1990s titled Gift of a Letter by Alexandra Stoddard. Another slim volume but it's packed with all manner of quotes and lovely ideas about the whys and wherefores of letter writing.

Three

This book also arrived on Tuesday, and I was so excited. Anyone who follows Miranda Mills on YouTube knows this is her first book which came out this month. The Country Commonplace Book "is a seasonal touchstone packed full of quotes, book lists, artwork, recipes, and observations on the natural world to keep close at hand and to accompany you throughout the year." excerpt from Description on Amazon

As Miranda has explained, "[C]ommonplace books have been types of journals used to record favorite passages from books or poetry, anecdotes, extracts from letters, proverbs, lists, shared recipes, quotes, prayers, and lyrics, and they have been kept for centuries." Like many of us, she has collected her favourite quotes and passages for years, and it was a dream of hers to take some of her favourites and curate them into a kind of anthology, in this case using material that was about nature and the seasons in the English countryside.

It's a beautiful book. If you click on the title in the first paragraph, the link will take you to a 2-minute video trailer about it. By the time you finish watching, you'll be wanting to add that to your shopping cart (if you haven't done so already).

Four

I took this photo eleven years ago this week - it appeared on my Facebook Memories. It was a delight to see it again after all these years. I still remember that September day when I had met long time friends for lunch. It was so warm we sat out on the patio, and what a lovely time we had.

At some point presents were exchanged - 'just because' - none of us have birthdays in September. The little notepad with my name on it is long used up as is the pen. The fabric on the right side is actually a long narrow scarf in an 'old letters' motif. I've loved wearing it; it always makes me feel chic. The book Learn by Heart Poetry sits handily nearby on my poetry shelf. As I reach for it right now, it opens to page 71 where I find a few lines by Emily Dickinson. They happen to coincide with the season, as if I had planned it. Let me share:

"The Morns Are Meeker Than They Were"

The morns are meeker than they were —

The nuts are getting brown —

The berry's cheek is plumper —

The Rose is out of town.

The Maple wears a gayer scarf —

The field a scarlet gown —

Lest I should seem old fashioned

I'll put a trinket on.

Five

Happy Birthday, to my Best Beloved Mom!

We love, love, love you.

BTW, as I wrap up today's post, the sun has came out.

It must have heard me whining.

Here's to sunshine... and cake. Life is good.

 ❦

Wishing you all a beautiful week ahead,

Brenda

Photo credits:

Brenda Leyland @ It's A Beautiful Life

(Bottom) Autumn Bouquet by Kathy Hillacre

My Blogging Schedule:

I post on Fridays

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