None too shabby.

I have recently begun following the blog of Rachel Ashwell, founder of the by now familiar Shabby Chic line of home furnishings and author of several marvelous books.

I hadn't realized that Shabby Chic as an enterprise has suffered a serious decline. It is sad to learn. Her obvious love and dedication of her craft, her work, have inspired so, so many people. Including me. From the first time I encountered her books to the time I actually bought some genuine Simply Shabby Chic linens at Target, I have felt her to be a kind of kindred soul, and something of a validation of my lifelong fascination with the weathered, the used, the unapologetically old fashioned. A creative, kind, actively beauty-loving soul. A woman of healthy ambitions, willing and able to create a good life for her children. Perhaps most of all, someone able to stand in the moment and see, truly SEE what is happening around her (would that I had more of that ability!)

'I suppose it comes down to this: admire her, and I like what I know of her. Which is why I am thrilled to see that from her new home base in London, she has started a blog. It is gentle and not showy and honest. I like that very much

There is a good future ahead for her. I'd like to think that. I've no doubt that she will pour forth more beautiful things to share with the rest of us, in years to come.

The bells of Spring.

"In many parts of North America, the call of the peepers is one of the first signs of spring. Because their voices sound similar to sleigh bells, the frogs have earned a nickname—the bells of springtime." (http://tinyurl.com/cycxwu)

Peeper. Do you know what a peeper is? It's a teeny, tiny frog. No bigger than the length from the top of your fingernail to the knuckle. You won't see them, but oh boy, can you hear them when a young peeper's fancy turns to thoughts of love. That haven't-heard-it-in-nearly-a-year, jaunty, breezy chorus of happy bleats which signals the arrival ... at last! ... of Spring.

Ohhhh, life is sweet in the first early days of Spring isn't it? I went for an ice cream cone with my best friend last night, mostly to get out of the house and into the open air after months of stifling in the stale atmosphere of cooped up rooms. It is an unofficial tradition here in New England to eat ice cream at any time of the year, often in generous portions, so although we didn't need an occasion to get in line with every other person, it sweetened the pot. Took us away from the TV, the phone, the "shoulda, oughtta, gotta" list of obligations.

Sailing down open roads, seeing everywhere the newly alive trees filter the light, rippling in bands across hopeful new lawns. Green enchants, punctuated by splashes of new pink, fuschia, yellow. The world exhaling the cares of the day, caressing all of us lucky enough to be alive today. Light enough for the day and part of the night. The cruel days of darkness by 5:00 are by this time just a memory.

Life. Is. Good.

Mermaid Music

The song (Aime Minogue) and photographs (G. Schilhab) are wonderfully soothing and inspiring! Not to be missed.

(click image to to view)

Teakettles, spring cleaning, and pretty things.

Once again, it's been far too long since I dropped in and posted anything here ... but I've received a couple of very nice comments recently and that inspires me! Motivates me! And in the end there is *always* something more to say, see, show, share ...

I love my cup of tea. The simple ritual of it, filling the kettle, the brief wait for the boil, the unwrapping of the teabag (unless you are a real stickler and use actual tea leaves!), the water turning a shade of delicious amber ... coffee is great and has its place, but for comfort nothing approaches the cuppa.

Doesn't much matter if the kettle is modest, or even dented. In my dreams, however, the Windsor Kettle from Stonewall Kitchen reigns supreme. Shown here in chrome, it also comes in the classic copper, which looks like something straight out of Tasha Tudor's kitchen.

I have undertaken an early Spring cleaning/purge (very sloooowly, best not to upset the routine). Said routine is haphazard at best, but I try. In a completely tidy and organized room I find myself flailing in a sea of correctness. Where are the stacks of books! The paper from three Sundays ago? The little pools of spare change I might just need one of these days? Too perfect is not for me.

I used to own a couple of scented books of poetry and prose published by Penhaligon's (maybe they are probably still up in the attic somewhere). Yes, scented books! Full of lovely words and paintings. Not surprising, given how unbelievably beautiful the Penhaligon perfume bottles are. Here is an example:

This is rapturously pretty! I love it. Even if it is terribly old fashioned. Oh let's be honest, because it's old fashioned!

Kim Naumann Artwork

I am loving these ... Kim Naumann's artwork as seen on her blog. Magical stuff!

Inspired and inspiring.

I've long been inspired by Cath Kidston's designs, but there is a woman in Germany who goes by the name of Shabby-Roses-Cottage who blogs and has a very fine flickr photostream showcasing her Cath-inspired handmade items.

So sweet and CREATIVE! I'd be jealous if I weren't so impressed.

Now for something a little more serious.

Though it strays from the general categories of this blog, I do feel compelled to tuck something serious in here every now and again. My head is actually not full of this fun stuff all day (that would be boring in the end, wouldn't it?)

I was visiting a local library yesterday and displayed staff picks for good reads led me to pick this one up. I'm 54 pages into it and so far so good. For some reason I have a weird, completely out of place (for me, anyway) mild fascination with military history. Can't say why, though I suspect it's part of my nascent fascination with history in general.

History, a subject I cared very little for until about a year ago. Until the History Channel forced me to confront the fact that the world is very large, very complicated, and has been around a very long time.

So much still to learn. I guess you could read nothing but history for the rest of your life and still have books left untouched as you breathe your last. This is intriguing to me.

The last book I read about history was Norman Cantor's Inventing The Middle Ages, published to acclaim in 1993. A dense book, it demanded far more background knowledge about Europe than I knew then (or will probably ever know), but it was cool all the same.

I don't feel dumb when I read books that are above me. I feel spunky for trying. You know, that old "reach for the stars" thing?