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And so it begins . . .

We celebrated the return of autumn on Sunday, our annual Fall Extravaganza. We ate split pea soup, cornbread, and walnut-Gorgonzola-cranberry salad, drizzled in a walnut-fig dressing; we sipped hard apple cider; we nibbled freshly baked chocolate cake; we exchanged gifts the likes of candles and napkins, pumpkin salsa and honeycomb chocolate.

A usual, it was an altogether delightful way to ring in our favorite time of year.

Also delightful: tomorrow my mum and I leave for a wee holiday.  That means I’ll be frolicking for the remainder of the week. Since I’ve been something of a slacker the last few months, you’ll hardly notice a difference. There simply won’t be a post on Friday (there may be Instagram photos, however—in case you simply must know my goings on).

I do hope your week + weekend are stupendous. And I hope your autumn is off to the grandest of starts . . .

autum_collageHarney & Sons Hot Cinnamon Sunset tea | Concrete candle holders by EllipsisDsgn

Clog boot from Sandgrens | Stoneware mug from Laura Harmon Pottery

MoHeap orange canvas backpack from Modernaked | The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Shop therapy

Well, sh. . .

MyThoughts (01391273xA270B)
{Upcycled espresso cups from Venue Decor

All this time I’ve been thinking Memorial Day is May 19th. It was pretty much the only thing that got me out of bed on a Monday morning following a perfectly delightful Mother’s Day weekend . . .

Speaking of which, the weekend was full of sunshine {I’m going to pretend the wind never existed} and laughter. True to form, we had a few chuckles at ‘the home,’ during lunch, where we relived one of our favorite dining room conversations:

Wee old southern lady: I just hurt so much I can hardly stand it.

Old western fellow: Well, have you ever tried swearing? Sometimes a good cuss word helps.

Wee old southern lady: Well, sometimes I say ‘sh*t.’ I don’t mean to, but it just comes out. My son says, ‘Mom, if you don’t stop saying ‘sh*t’ I’m going to stop coming to visit you.’ But he says, ‘damn’ and that’s just as bad . . .

Now that’s some good material. 

So yes, Memorial Day is not, indeed, the 19th, but the 26th. I hope I’m not bursting any bubbles—but if I am, you might consider uttering your word of choice and getting it over with. Then maybe find something to laugh about and continue on your way. No use spending a lot of time pining. After all, an extra day in which to frolic is bound to roll around one of these days . . .

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May day booties

Did I tell you? I’m going to be an auntie, again. Come the end of July, I shall be an auntie to a nephew and a niece.  It will be perfection — except for the fact that they live across the ocean.

I’m trying my darnedest not to dwell on that fact.

It doesn’t always work out so well for me. As a matter of fact, there are times when it just plain pisses me off. It’s not pretty, it’s not right, but there it is.

And then I’ll see something like these . . .

{May Day booties by Katherine Cooke}

Can you even?

It’s a little hard to stay disgruntled when there is cuteness afoot. Also, May Day booties. That’s a whole lot of goodness for something so wee . . .


So it begins


OK, so the flask has absolutely nothing to do with anything. Except it’s completely awesome. And tomorrow’s the first day of winter, and one might need a little nip of something to warm the innards.

Also, I should have at least one photo of the amazing frost that decorated the town. This past week, you see, God swept through and flocked all the trees; the brilliant white against a sky of grey, was a sight to behold. And yet, I’ve got nothin’. Work, work, work . . . that’s all I’ve accomplished as of late.

But once today comes to a close, I’m going to get serious. With five glorious days off, I duly intend to catch up on frivolity and all manner of festivity.

I hope the same might be true of you.

Merriest of weekend wishes to you, my friends!

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Bookish bits

I’ve said it before, no doubt I’ll say it again, but I love reading the Paris Review Interviews. P. D. James, The Art of Fiction No. 141 is amongst my favorites. One, she did not start writing until she was in her forties; two, so much of what she says, rings true; and three, she offers a few gems–like this one:  When I am writing a novel I never go anywhere without carrying a notebook in which I can jot down descriptions of places, impressions of the people I may meet, snatches of dialogue or a new sophistication of plot.

Now, I know to have a notebook handy for random bits of inspiration–but I’ve never thought to have one dedicated to a specific story. I’m thinking these might be perfect . . .

{Scout Mini composition notebooks from Schoolhouse Electric & Supply Co.}

Speaking of authors, and stories, and books, today is National Paperback book day. To celebrate, I’m giving away a paperback book on the book blog. Since I never do giveaways here, you mustn’t miss out . . .