Although Faith Baldwin, born October 1, 1893, was a prolific writer, I have never owned any of her novels. I guess they were considered chic lit of the 1930s.
But I do read her four autobiographies year round and she inspires me--otherwise I wouldn't have kept the picture of her at her desk that serves as my blog header above all these years.
This past year I've been picking up her novels as I found them in thrift or antique stores, and on particularly stressful days I often choose one for relaxing bedtime reading, remembering each time that she was bosom friends with dear Gladys Taber.
The red covers are pretty and give me a chance to show you a treasure RH found at Goodwill this summer, a 1950s type of sunburst clock, only with petals on the rays, that shines on our old dark v-groove plank walls.
To honor Faith Baldwin on her 128th birthday, if my math is right, here is a blessing/poem she wrote that I have always loved, never more so than now.
I have come back to quiet ways; to
Things of silent wonder, instinct
with delight;
To dusk, that closes in like darling wings--
To primrose dawns and lamplit,
hearth-warm night;
To mending bag, to laughter, and old books,
To loud-voiced clock and table laid for tea
And that brown urchin of a dog who looks
From sandwich plate to mistress,
wistfully--
Thus, Lord, my spirit keep--in humbleness,
In still simplicity of gentle days,
This house, the love within, lean to bless
And hold our feet upon the homely ways.
