Arrival time is fixed
on schedules
for transportation,
deliveries, or the mail
To move forward
we learn to dance,
choosing our steps, our goals
and which train to take.
“The trains always arrive at your station. The question is which one to take?”
~ Mehmet Murat ildan, author
Wanton whimsy ~
Where can I find it?
It’s not in the work place
I can’t buy it in the store
In church I have to be quiet
Libraries are hushed and silent.
Wanton whimsy ~
Will I move forward?
Swinging high and low, back and forth,
I know the feeling of movement
Walking from here to there, strolling or striding
I can hear myself think of things that could be
Wanton whimsy ~
It can be found!
In the playground no matter my age.
On a sidewalk, a path or high in the trees
In the face of a flower or song of the birds
Riding a bike, face to the wind and sun.
Wanton whimsy ~
Will it help me move forward?
A short answer is: Yes
When I see the colours outside of my mind and
listen to my real wishes and dreams
I know how to step forward in my life.
“Whimsy doesn’t care if you are the driver or the passenger;
all that matters is that you are on your way.”
~ Bob Goff, author
Racing into a new year has never been my style. As I gather years behind me, the importance of excited celebrations has waned even further. I’m not bored with life, but cherish each day as important. Now that I don’t have to race to work, or race to other’s expectations, I have the luxury of becoming active in things that please me. Even as I write this, it sounds like I no longer care about others or the state of the world. Not true. I do know that the Gremlin of Guilt can still whisper to me. Should that little voice threaten my ability and joy in any move forward, I move forward anyway.
“Guilt is a rope that wears thin.”
~ Ayn Rand
Open hearted and sad, the residents of The Beaufort Estate were gathered together for a meeting. It had become evident that it was time to say good bye to the Storyteller. Martha Haverstock-Digby and her husband James Digby had talked quietly over the Christmas holidays about their futures. On Christmas Eve, they had Samuel Forrester and Elizabeth Saunders to their cottage for supper. The four of them had been working at the Estate for well over 20 years. James and Samuel had actually been raised on the Estate. James Digby took over butler duties when his father retired. Samuel Forrester took over the groundskeeping when his father retired. Martha, the housekeeper and Elizabeth, better known as Cook, came to the Estate at the same time. They had all seen marriages, deaths, children and even a little ghost girl. So on Christmas Eve they agreed that a meeting was needed for them all on the Estate. The pandemic was long over, even if the Covid virus was still hovering about. They were all getting on with their lives, their individual stories quiet but moving forward.
Included at the meeting was the chauffeur, Giles Thornton and his family; Martha’s daughter and a teacher, Joanie Richardson and her children, Ben and Abby; Brigitte Smithson had been a maid and personal assistant to Emelina. All of this little community had been affected in some way by the pandemic. But as they always had, they rallied around each other.
After the meeting, Digby drew up a letter to the Storyteller, explaining their decision. He had to go to his office and close the door to get his thoughts in order. While he was composing the letter, Cook served tea and coffee, and fresh baking to the tearful group. Martha kept trying to find ways that they could send in their stories as they had the previous Christmas. Samuel was just quiet. Martha’s grandchildren were off in a corner with Gile’s sons not knowing why they had to be there anyway. Joanie sat by her mother and comforted her.
Digby returned to the long table in the big old kitchen. He read out the letter in a strained voice, clearing his throat several times. “We are all very sad about our decision to end our relationship with the Storyteller. However, each of us has to get on with our lives whether it is retirement, paying attention to our growing children, focusing more on our jobs here, or taking holidays away from the Estate.” He paused. “This may sound ungrateful, but over these last couple of years, making sure our stories are told has become an interruption in our lives. During the pandemic, it was important to tell our stories and how we dealt with coming back together again. We have all become closer because of it and grateful to all those people who have read our stories.” Dez stood and turned to her sister, “I would never have known any of you if that nasty virus hadn’t upended my life.” She wiped her eyes and sat again. Emelina hugged her and said “If I hadn’t been left alone that night, when the radio told us all to isolate, I wouldn’t have had to get out of bed and out of myself to go find you, Dez.” She looked around the table. “You all saved my life by leaving me to myself that night. You are so like a family to me.” Samuel, his face stern, was quiet. He never had liked all this kind of gushy talk. Elizabeth, her back to the group filling the tea pot, wiped a tear from her eye before returning to the table. “Enough going on and on. We will still come to work tomorrow and get ready for the next wedding, right Miss Dez?”
Tension dissolved as the women started talking about wedding plans. Digby, Samuel and Giles started talking about what the winter would bring. “No snow forecast, Giles? How was the highway in all the rain? Ground’s pretty mushy out here.”
Sarah, the little ghost girl, had been at the meeting, sitting atop the cupboards. She had rather liked her story being told. She often felt lonely, but now that so many of these people were kind to her, she wasn’t worried. And she loved it when Cook made cookies, even if she couldn’t eat them or smell them. She remembered them. She sighed and floated across the ceiling and up the stairs to hide in the book shelf.
~~~~~
“Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending.”
~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Fancy footwork has been needed this last ten days. Christmas preparations, dinners, New Years festivities, but that’s not the only thing that has consumed my life. For years I have talked about wanting to take a Cooking course, but have never pursued it. I actually love being home, and I need to eat. Well, I like to eat. After years of watching cooking shows and gathering cookbooks, I am moving forward with at home, self taught lessons. That would satisfy all three: being at home, cooking lessons, and eating. The danger? I’ll need to buy a new wardrobe. In the last week or so, I have cooked something different each day. Some from google, the rest from my cookbooks, including handwritten recipes I have been given or are from google. One goal is to use my books as much as possible, but online is important to answer many questions - and to get a recipe in a hurry! As life slows down, I’ll get better at using my cook books.
Today: Home made chilli from my freezer - (a google recipe from two years ago)
New Years Day: Norwegian Silver Dollar Pancakes (Scandinavian Gatherings - a Christmas gift.
New Years Eve: Pan boiled potatoes (Jacque Pépin - Facebook) - a happy accident as I was scrolling.
Before that:
Potato Scones: from Cooking with Potatoes by Jenny Stacy
Bread pudding from Better Homes and Gardens new Cookbook, from the late 1960’s
Muffins: (google)
Christmas Coleslaw - another google recipe in a hurry
Devilled Eggs - another google recipe in a hurry
My very loose schedule:
Writing projects in the morning
Cooking ‘lesson’ in the afternoon/evening
Writing in the evening
The fancy footwork?
Family, friends, living and reading in-between - ‘cause I’m not giving any of those up!!
“No one who cooks, cooks alone. Even at her most solitary,
a cook in the kitchen is surrounded by generations
of cooks past, the advice and menus of cooks present,
the wisdom of cookbook writers.”
~ Laurie Colwin
Fancy footwork…..
Open hearted…..
Racing into….
Wanton whimsy….
Arrival time…..
Relying on…..
Destiny is….
“Progress is not necessarily taking that first step;
sometimes, all it takes is just facing forward.”
~ James M Stoffel, Jr.
Waters lightly frozen,
dusted with frost
a canvas for the sun.
“December’s wintery breath is already clouding the pond,
frosting the pane, obscuring summer’s memory.”
~ John Geddes, A Familiar Rain
