~ Claude Monet
Certain words or phrases collect and layer. Inspirational bits of wisdom for those less than confident moments when I forget to fly and instead, trip and fall. Which is literally what happened. Rushing up the stairs, I caught my foot on the edge of a safety gate and flew. For a brief second in time. Walls shook. The crash was not gentle.
To distract my brain from an aching body, advil and creative pursuits were necessary. That’s how it works for me- find comfort in a project.
For this project I used only what I had “at hand.” The wooden board is from Michael’s.
I painted the board with trusted Annie Sloan– Pure White chalk paint.
“Print” a quote and slip it (right side up) over a sheet of graphite paper. Pencil the letters of the quote through the graphite. Once transferred to the painted board, you’re ready to outline the quote’s letters with paint. Use a fine tipped brush and a graphite or black shade of craft paint. When dry, lightly sand.
And yes, I fall. This sign is a gentle reminder to get back up and try again.
“Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic door and a lost kingdom of peace.”~ Eugene O’Neil
Salvaged from a shed, the door is a simple piece of architecture. That’s probably the reason it caught my fancy, once upon a time. Years later, I’m still bewitched by the simple lines and the Art Deco glass. Even the cracked ceramic “push” plates lend charm and whimsy to the vintage door.
Neglected, it weathered. Watermarks left discolouration on the grain that sanding couldn’t remove. I painted it. Lightly. Forgive me.
Two thin slips of Annie Sloan chalk paint in Pure White took the door from dull to bright. A light touch from the sanding block, distressed and smoothed the surface. After a coat of Annie Sloan clear wax, the polishing cloth skated over the grain.
The broken panes of glass were removed using needle nose pliers (Safety Tip- wear gloves). One cracked pane remains. This glass is known as “leadlight” and is associated with architecture that is geometric in detail. Small sections of glass are supported in lead cames. Unfortunately, leadlight glass is expensive to replace and today, there are few people trained in the art of repair.
I stand before the door and close both eyes. My hand pushes upon the ceramic plate. The door leaning against the wall opens to show a wooded path. In the distance is a cottage. Rays of sunlight sparkle between the evergreen boughs. I remember.
Water tumbles beyond the cottage grounds. Hummingbirds whir. Closer still, I see wild roses in bloom and ivy inching up the crumbling brick chimney. And there you are. Seated beside the window, warmed by the stove, you lift a cup of tea to your lips. Our eyes meet. Do you remember?
I stand upon the threshold and wait for what seems an eternity. You smile and beckon me to enter. “I’ve been waiting,” you say. “Sit down and talk awhile.”
“The man who comes back through the Door in the Wall will never be quite the same as the man who went out. He will be wiser but less sure, happier but less self-satisfied, humbler in acknowledging his ignorance yet better equipped to understand the relationship of words to things, of systematic reasoning to the unfathomable mystery which it tries, forever vainly, to comprehend.”
― Aldous Huxley, The Doors of Perception
Channeling the Dahlia
A quiet early morning drive
Fresh picked from a local farm
Sipping black coffee
Pause to focus on the simple, the peaceful, the beauty, and the bliss.
Enjoy the weekend!
I’ve spent the better part of a hell hot summer, wander lusting from vintage re dos to pennant banners. These creative pursuits steal time away from serious wordsmithing. Perhaps this is a wise decision; a necessary rest from deep thought and aching introspection. The “story” writings remain tucked away until autumn returns. Her first kiss, a delightful, wakening chill, will be just enough to spur me forward and back to the keyboard.
In the meantime, I revisit and refurbish my living and personal spaces into what can aptly be described as an elegant mess. This is fine by me.
Hope you wander out this evening, sit beneath the stars, and wonder at the Blue Moon.
I’ll let wikipedia explain the phenom named, Blue Moon,
You saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart”
Posh Paper Pennants
Ever wondered what to do with leftover card stock pieces from an unfinished scrapbook project? If you whirl like me, you have the best intentions, gather the supplies, only to start and leave the project for another date. And another. And another.
A talented lady invited me for coffee one morning and showed off some of her recent pennant styles. You may recall this same talented woman is the mind behind the vintage cloth pennants I posted on an earlier post. It is the found and repurposed fabrics, the details, and her design flair that make these pennants so bespoke.
Pennants and templates are trending on Pinterest. Here is a link to several boards,
Paper Pennants are a clever way to reuse and repurpose some of your leftover paper supplies. I purchased the cardstock for both pennants from a local Dollar Store and selected trending shades and colours that I am fond of: pinks, turquoise, and shades of grey. Of course you could make these pennants from fabric scraps, worn jeans, beautiful cards, black and white photocopied photographs… Let your imagination loose.
If you choose to create pennants from fabric, consider placing Wonder Under between the diamond pennants to stiffen and seal the fabric. Here is a link to Walmart,
The purchased fabric was from, Hobby Lobby and Fabricana.
At home I put the generations to work tracing diamond pennant templates onto cardstock. We chose seven small pennants per string. Sharp scissors keep the diamonds “perfect.” Fold your diamonds in half and make a sharp crease. Using a small hole punch from Michaels’ Crafts, I punched two openings into the top ends of the folded diamond.
Gather your twine. Lay your pennants onto a table. Pattern, number, and space as you wish. Cut a length of twine, five times the length of your pennant. I do this purposely; I would rather have a string too long than too short. Tie off one of the ends of twine. I make a knotted loop to attach to a small nail or push pin.
Thread your pennants onto the twine and space them as desired. A voice niggled in my mind, “Posh it up.” A bag of fabric provided the style oomph. I tore some bits of coordinating fabric and knotted the scrapped ties in between the spaced pennants, adding two fabric ties to complete each end of the pattern. Decide on the desired length. Tie off the opposite end of twine and hang your pennant.
These card stock pennants are the perfect addition to a baby gift, celebration, or event. Pure whimsy and shabby vintage enhance and warm any space. Pennants created by loving hands add homemade glamour, a sense of nostalgia to any space, and silently whisper their stories forth.
A Pretty Little Thing.
It’s in my blood, an old soul courses through my veins: a deep yearning to keep the past. The mission- to salvage and redo all that is shabby and worn. Repurpose and restore the tattered, the scrapped, and elevate the flawed. This pull to find imperfect beauty is an inescapable ache to preserve and cherish.
It is a process that begins with a discerning eye, a glance once cast, smitten. A wish to envision the possibilities of recovery, the wish to polish and show prettiness, grips hold of me. With love, the chosen object of desire gains stature and presence, beholden to my unwavering vision and gentle touch.
It is part curiosity that draws me back in time, allowing my imagination to grab hold of another reality, the past. Closing my eyes, I envision the row house on Adelaide Terrace. The blackened front door holds an iron knocker fashioned in the likeness of a lion. I stand on the brick stairs mustering up the courage to knock. From an adjoining window, a broken heart plays the sad notes of a piano. His fingers linger on keys, softness builds to crescendo. Will she answer?
The woman hears the soft knock upon the wooden door. She wonders who comes to call? Carefully, she sets the gilded china tea cup onto the table. The roses give her reason to pause and remember.
I recall the woman who lives in the Adelaide Terrace home. Prim comes to mind as I envision her presence. Pin curled hair, bobbed and chin length, fashioned off-center by the snag of a single bobbie pin. Her tucked in blouse is the creamiest of silk. Always she centers a pearl studded pin under the collar, an heirloom treasure from her deceased mother. A blue wool skirt graces her petite frame, hemmed below the knees. Her cheeks are lightly rouged and her lips rarely smile; she is never amused.
Yet, once upon a time the woman ran carefree through the blooming gardens, hid among the greenest hedgerows; her long auburn hair flying with the wind, green eyes twinkling from the laughter that spilled from a precious place deep within her Irish soul. The woman learned at an early age, objects of beauty never last long. The bloom fades, the fragile china surface gathers cracks that graze and shatter.
This woman was my grandmother; she learned that real fades, becomes tarnished over time. She forgot, we endure because we remember. The stories told come back to mind, moments coveted to memory, snugged tight within our hearts. They won’t let go, never want to leave. We knew love in all its glory and all of its tattered pieces.
I open the box that houses her mismatched china. Carefully I set the cups and saucers upon the floor. One piece enchants. It is the cup with the faded tea roses, the gilded edges faded from time’s kiss. This is the one I keep.