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A dusting of sugar

I woke up to H putting a cup of coffee for me on the dresser by the bed. I was grateful as I shimmied my body along the sheet and tried to prop up a few pillows to support my slumbered state. He is a great man to bring coffee in the morning. I remember how, when we went on our travels to California and in the early hours of jet-lagged confusion he would ramble off from our dubious motel to search out the most wonderful cup-o'-joe and bring it back to me and sometimes there would be a brown paper bag with a delicious danish or two and a local newspaper bought from the most wonderful American invention, those little glass newspaper dispensers on sidewalks that I adore so much. From there on in we would peruse the news, sip our coffee, plan our day.

My day was all planned out before I left the bed. I ironed upon rising. I like to iron first thing in the morning. It is almost a meditative task that of ironing out all the wrinkles of what might deter me from moving on. I heard a grand-dad on the radio some days ago  and he said he loves to iron his grand-kids clothes because it brings him closer to them. How over the years he has seen the shirts grow, the children changing. I loved hearing that. It stuck with me. Once I ironed I got ready to go out. I went to the catering store and bought a million rolls of baking parchment. I also bought basil, fresh. It wasn't on the list but I figured I could make the most amazing pesto with it. I got home and tidied everything away. Then I set about baking. In a little over two hours I made my mixed seed, oat and cranberry and nut slices, a chocolate cake and a huge batch of carrot and apple muffins. I plan on frosting the cake tomorrow and frosting the muffins with a keen cream cheese frosting. It felt good to have a plan.

The proofs for my business card came through and it was strange because the proof looked exactly how I imagined it to look even though I never conveyed it to the guy in the printing store. I thought he might consult with me first but no, he went ahead and voilá it works.

The days are beautiful here. In more ways than one. The garden heaves with growth. I wander down into it as if in a dream. Flowers seem to wave at me and bow as I walk by. I cannot imagine winter now, those long dark days cooped up without any light in sight . I take each of these days like a precious gift, like someone who never knew before what it was like to love each day. Even the Small dog seems so appreciative. Her small body dancing around the garden like someone who just discovered freedom. Maybe I have too. The world is certainly something amazing. All the dark days suddenly forgotten and here I am barefoot in the grass with nothing only blossoms of blue flowers to distract me and a million dreams in my head, whirling around like a dusting of soft white sugar.

Comments
17 Comment count
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Paradise Regained

My heart bursts with happiness when I read your writing. I especially like the delightful and evocative imagery you conjure up when you talk about the grandfather availing of the mundane task of ironing to retain a loving link with his grandchildren as they grow up and also your rejoicing in your summer-laden garden and surroundings.  

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You are so generous with your

You are so generous with your sentiments, Nicholas. I thank you. Our garden has the beauty of abundance now - we dance into its glory. Best to you, m

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I loved the ironing comment,

I loved the ironing comment, Mary.

I have a lovely image of my Mom and I ironing- she on the big board ironing my Dad's uniforms, and I on my small board with a real working play iron, making sure all of Daddy's handkerchiefs were pressed.

Lovely post, as always,

Annette

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Cotton handkerchiefs, now

Cotton handkerchiefs, now that's an image out of the past! I recall pulling sheets with my mother, before she ironed them. We always ended up in fits of giggles. Thanks for your comment, Annette. Write on...mx

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Winter

I cannot imagine winter now either.  Your writing always takes me away.  I could almost smell the muffins and the scent of freshly ironed cottons.

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Oh what a lovely sentiment,

Oh what a lovely sentiment, Anne! You are good to visit me. mx

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A testimony to the domestic arts...

...and the writerly ones. Beautiful as always. Here's to these beautiful acts - and the power they have to obscure the dark days, yours and mine.  ~ H

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...hear, hear! Great to see

...hear, hear! Great to see you Harrison. Thanks for stopping by. I hope you are well. mx

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Hi Mary ~

Thanks & it's great to see you too. Well-ish. Looking forward to resuming normalcy, whatever that turns out to be. :)

Hx

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What a beautiful post,

What a beautiful post, Mary--your baking is absolutely devine and I've always loved the smell of freshly ironed cottons.  The ironing board is totally alien to my grandkids as their clothes comes straight from the dryer--no ironing involved!  Congratulations on your bakery--how exciting!   :) J

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Thanks, Judee! If I put my

Thanks, Judee! If I put my clothes in the dryer they would more than likely shrink! mx

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Gorgeous again, Mary.

Gorgeous again, Mary. I always feel like I'm there with you when I read your writing. It's very calming and balancing. A lovely way to start my day. M

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Delighted to hear that, Moni!

Delighted to hear that, Moni! Best, mx

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Thanks, Mary

Thanks for giving us all a sprinkling of sugar.

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Sweet Sue, thank you. mx

Sweet Sue, thank you. mx

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Blissful

Thanks.

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Jane, your comments are

Jane, your comments are unique and appreciated. mx