Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Mockingbird Hill Cottage

Day Three Hundred Fifty-Nine

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Ever since we were vaccinated on Tuesday, I’ve had a few thoughts running through my head. After we got the shot, I found myself wanting to get back home where it feels safe. I’ve had that thought throughout the pandemic. As you know, I’m a homebody, a nester, and my home – whether it was a one-room apartment, my childhood bedroom, or our house – has always grounded me and given me peace.

Don and I talked about this during our second cup of coffee. Just what do we want to hang on to after restrictions are lifted? After 5 years of stress with the previous administration? What have we realized we absolutely must have going forward?

I feel very protective about our ‘world’ here at the cottage. About what we have held close to our hearts over the past year. Though the cottage has always been our haven, it has become more so – a safe place where we can find peace, where we make the choice about how we want to live, how we react to the world, how much of the world we want to shut out, and about the atmosphere we want to maintain and nurture. I’m 68 years old. Don will be 70 in June. How do we want to live our lives going forward?

I read these four words this morning: “an oasis of calm.”

That’s it. That’s exactly what I want. That’s what we want. I no longer want the extreme ups and downs that I regularly lived with when I was younger. I can control what I let into my head and heart. I can keep the news at arms length. I can decide how to react. I need and want peace.

This cottage often overflows with creativity. Songs, music, recording, dollhouses, books, puzzles…and often, QUIET. I need all of that. And I’m going to fiercely protect that. As is Don. The world will enter in, of course. But how much of the world enters in is entirely up to us.

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I did do some work on the dollhouse yesterday.

I hung the light over the island.

I started laying the floor in the bathroom, finally covering up the remnants of the dreadful carpet that was in this room when I found the house at the dump.

I finished the floor and stuck this gorgeous chair in the room for a pretty picture.

I don’t like doing bathrooms in a small house. It’s a waste of space – at least, to my eyes – especially in a house with four rooms, or three, now that I’ve made the first floor an open space. Boring: a toilet, a bathtub, and a sink. Inserting the chair in this scene made me wonder: do I really have to have a bathroom? Wouldn’t I much rather have this room be a den or retreat with an easel set up near the window? I’m just riffing at the moment, but what do you think? I already defied norms by eliminating the stairs. Maybe we could just agree that the bathroom is just off the kitchen? Out of sight, but there?

Thoughts?

Stay safe.

Happy Sunday.

Day Three Hundred Fifty-Eight

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It’s cold here! Two more days of this stuff and then the warming begins. At least two days of near 60 degrees are predicted and I’m very happy about that.

I straightened up the studio; though if you walked in the door, you might think I hadn’t done anything of the sort. But I assure you, I have. While I was up there, I added the putz sheep from Helga to the herd already living on the mantel/shelf. It’s hard to get a good photo (I’m going to try again later today with my big girl camera) but this is better than nothing.

I have 20 putz sheep now. The two at the far right are adorable, but they’re not putz sheep. I took photos of exactly where Helga’s sheep are in this mix, so I don’t forget. I’m tempted to find some way to mark them – hidden, of course – because unlike so many things I collect, I can’t remember where and when I found most of these sheep. I remember the details of a few, especially The Lamb with the Party Hat, the symbol of this blog. I found her in Orange, California, when I was back in San Diego to coach the Summer Shakespeare Festival about 11 years ago. And the large sheep with the hat and the pack was a gift from Lori, the owner of Vignettes in Ocean Beach.

I’d love to have scads more. Fingers crossed. The one time during this pandemic that I actually went into a store other than the grocery store was in December when my friend Sydney dropped off two sheep (she has been the source of many members of my herd) and left it at the front desk of one of my favorite antique shops. I was in and out of there in a flash! I suppose I’d only do that sort of thing for sheep and dollhouses – at least, for the time being.

Finished puzzle dismantled. New one started:

It will eventually look like this:

I’ve started A Chelsea Concerto, a nonfiction book about living in Chelsea, London during the Blitz. It was recommended by one of my favorite book bloggers, Miranda Mills. I’m really enjoying it. The series we’re watching, A French Village, is all about life in a French village that is occupied by the Nazis. I seem to be immersed in WWII these days.

Stay safe.

Happy Saturday.

Day Three Hundred Fifty-Seven

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I didn’t get to do any work on the dollhouse yesterday because I came to the conclusion that I wanted a different width for the floorboards. That wood should be arriving sometime today and I suppose I’ll start in on that over the weekend. But I did conclude that I need to sort through all the crap on my desk and clean things up a bit, so that’s on the docket for today.

I did finish this:

It’s called A Night at the Opera  and it was difficult and fun.

Don loves this one.

Sometimes I encounter a piece that clearly belongs to another puzzle, even though this puzzle was new and never opened. This is the one that was in this particular box:

And I wonder, what new puzzle owner will find he’s missing this exact piece?

I finished The Moving Toyshop, which I enjoyed. I’m not a big reader of classic British mysteries, as a rule. I’m not sure I’d read another Edmund Crispin, but who knows? He certainly knew how to weave an almost unsolvable plot. I had no idea “whodunit” until the end. The writing is smart and witty. Somehow, though, this particular section of the mystery genre is slow going and somewhat tedious for me.

Now to choose what’s next: Mrs Tim Gets a Job  or A Chelsea Concerto?  A Chelsea Concerto  is nonfiction and written by an artist who lived in the Chelsea section of London during WWII. I’ll see what my mood indicates later today.

Things I’ve been thinking about lately:

The Young People’s Concerts  television series of the fifties/sixties, conducted and narrated by the brilliant Leonard Bernstein. As a child, I loved them and never missed a performance. I’ve watched some clips lately and heavens, they were wonderful! Bernstein was, in addition to his genius as a composer, conductor and writer, a born teacher.

Being able to dial a number on our rotary dial phone and find out what the weather forecast for the day was or what the time (at the tone) was. I sort of miss those days. I think our local weather number (in the Detroit area) was WE-21212.

Calling information (411?) to ask a human being on the other end of the line what the phone number was for so-and-so. I’d often have short chats with the operator. Miss that, too.

Stay safe.

Happy Friday.

 

Lambs Like to Party

Lambs Like to Party

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