It’s been a fun and fantastical two weeks for me poring over print and online photos of beautiful (and not-so-beautiful) clothes. I loved every minute of it but while I’m already looking ahead to fashion for spring I’m just as content to stop and write about some less exciting things. Real life.
There are few chores I dislike more than mopping the kitchen floor. Everyone talks about hardwood and how great it is but it requires not only mopping but drying because you don’t want to ruin the seal with too much moisture. High maintenance- not something I like! However, my feet were sticking in certain places due to the fact that my husband, like any great cook, makes a massive mess in the kitchen. Time to accept my fate, do the job and instead of hating every minute of it do my best and enjoy the reward. All that Buddhism was fine for my mind but didn’t work so well for my knees which popped and creaked until the last microfiber towel dried the last corner.
With the sun shining, making them gleam, it was worth the work. Also told J he was not allowed to cook anything messy for a week.
The reward for 8 months of rain in
is that once it stops the world of nature goes crazy. Honestly, it’s almost impossible to kill a plant here (unless it’s an insanely expensive Hinoki cypress that the landscape guy insisted was a must but that croaked within 6 months of being planted despite getting better and more constant care than a small child). Our one slender aster plant has exploded in such a riot of sweet purple blooms that I had to cut an armload and bring them inside. No, it’s not a perfect photo opp arrangement, it’s rustic. Portland
I’ve always grown lavender as I love it’s fragrance and do find it to be a wonderful sleep aid (rub a tiny bit of Acacia lavender oil in between your eyebrows (your third eye) before bed and you’ll drop right off) so we had to have some when we got to this house. Like almost everything else one plant has expanded exponentially and so desperately needed trimming (it gets weedy if you don’t cut it back and it blooms less). Here’s the lovely result, hanging in my laundry room scenting the clean laundry and waiting to be made into a sachet.
Such simple, even boring, things but they do serve to remind me that I am here and this is my life. What brings you back to you?