Dying of Delight

Do you ever have a real good laugh at yourself?

I just did. Love it when that happens. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror in a stunning outfit of gorgeous blue pyjamas (one of Grandma B’s shirts and a pair of plaid flannels from the secondhand store) and looked so damn adorable it made me giggle. Ha! Still chuckling.

You had to be there. And be me.

Ho Hum, Onward and Upward

I’m looking through my pictures, deciding what to post today. There’s part of my brass collection on Grandma J’s silver tray, which you’ve seen before. There’s the travelling journal I’m doing my pages for, finally (thanks again Sandy for the reminder and the blank book). There’s the front cover of the memoir Halfbreed, by Maria Campbell; a shocking read. (Quite the eye-opener about prejudice here in Saskatchewan before the 1970s. It was about more than that though; it was about alcohol abuse too and the effect it had on people and their family life: it brought violence.) There’s my musical instrument collection; you’ve seen it. Not these pictures, but the stuff itself.  Some old handwritten journal pages. Pics taken through Karen’s window. The beautiful socks Katherine of Moab knit. You’ve already seen them. The kitchen shelves with my two sets of old dishes. You’ve seen them, but not on these shelves, the new ones (brought over from the old house). Sunset on a super cold day a month ago. The End.

Then there are the pictures that haven’t been downloaded from the camera yet. Three tea blends that Joan sent with Dad for my most recent birthday (tried one last night and almost died of delight). And whatever else is on the camera, that I’ve forgotten about. There are always a few.

Then there’s today’s tarot card to track down an image of (quicker than scanning a card from the deck) and write down the message from and post both for the daily draw. Seven of Cups.

There’s breakfast to have. Dishes to wash, dry, put away. Barn cats to feed. A dog to walk with. Research to do (work-producing project if it flies). Floor needs swept and washed. I have one of those Swiffer mops; hope it does the trick on laminate and cork.

The muffins had been in the oven for 10 minutes yesterday when I saw the brown sugar container on the counter and realized that ingredient had been missed. I had also messed up while adding molasses and ended up not sure exactly how much I’d put in, but it was more than called-for so they turned out okay sweetness-wise. Gotta lower the oven temp. from now on though; the bottoms are always burnt a little at 400F.  (Joan, that’s your bran muffin recipe I linked to yesterday. I never have overripe bananas to mix in because when they’re fresh we eat them all. By the way, Dad said he needs to learn to make banana loaf. He’ll be looking for a recipe.)

While writing this entry I’ve managed to wash and dress, eat a crust of toast with honey, and run some dishwater. Time to go. But first: photos.

brass-rcollage-1rhalfbreedkarens-kitchen-window-r

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6 thoughts on “Dying of Delight

  1. What is a travel journal, and how is is separate from a journal journal? Truly mystified because I never keep journals or write any kind of happenings or thoughts beyond appointments. I keep wondering if I should but can’t hold that thought long enough to actually Do it, even with subjects that interest me like my nature rambles.

    Yes, post adorable pictures.

    Until recently I too bought thrift store clothing and linens, but a recent brush with “something” crawly makes me reconsider. Not sure what I’ll do. All my clothing, all four changes of, and one ‘home’ oufit came from Goodwill. Although everything was well washed before wearing, something seems to have survived. As you can imagine there was a massive clearing out and triple washing hot drier loads time here. I also suspect my shared laundry facility.

    There is nothing like having one’s own home. Rented all my life, not ever earning enough to qualify for a mortgage. Come to think on it, I don’t know any women who own their own home bought with only their own money, not money from a male. Another topic… .

  2. As close to adorable as I get, coming up shortly. (pic in next entry)
    A travelling journal (maybe there’s another name for it) is a blank book sent from one person to the next to add their own pages with whatever they like, whether that be art or writing or photos or whatever. It’s intended to come back to its original sender. Apparently not a one ever has. They are so collectible that someone along the line always keeps it, breaking the agreement and never admitting who it was!
    Ooh I never thought about things that could travel in used clothing! I’ll use super-hot washwater and dryer from now on, for the first run through the laundry before wearing something. Thanks for the headsup.
    A good number of my girlfriends bought their homes with no input from male partners. You’re a generation ahead of me on the age scale; do you think that’s why? My friends are all working women and some make damn good money.

  3. Generation for sure. At least one. I’m 75 this year.

    Seriously don’t know any. Scratch the surface a bit and you usually find money from mom and or dad, either as help or loan for down payment, or estate when parents pass. Which is fine, great, but I think it’s still rare a woman makes it on her own, as most men do (because they have the jobs that pay for the mortgage). It may be harder in the city too. Just ridiculous to see two bedroom bungalows in working/middle class neighbourhoods for $465,000. And that’s the NORM.

    I do now know women whose husbands have died and they own the family home, or have downsized to a condo after a spouses death or divorce and are working at checkout at Safeway. Most of them do that too, because they can’t stand the quiet.

    I think you have a wonderful life, out there in such a beautiful land. It looks too like you have everything you need. I know I’d feel an obligation to the steak dinner, so owner/neighbour wouldn’t go bankrupt. ;)

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