An Irish Mermaid Speaks, Belatedly

 

My mermaid and I are late with this St. Patrick's Day greeting but you know how changeable mermaids are, especially an Irish merrow who I pretend is a Middle Irish murdúchann. 

Yes, she should be green but then, merrows are shape shifters so why not red?

I thought of my mermaid who sits by a beautiful shamrock plant when I read what my favorite philosopher, Alexander McCall Smith's Isabel Dalhousie, has to say about them:

"One should always listen to mermaids," said Isabel. "They address one so infrequently that anything they have to say must be important."

 

 

Even children know that a mermaid can love a human being so I'm sure that the hearts of sea-nymphs all over the world have ached for the sadness and fear in humans this past year. 

Although we are feeling more hopeful this March and are beginning to see vaccination numbers growing for this terrible illness that has plagued us, some have experienced personal loss and nearly everyone has seen their life changed in ways they never would have thought possible.

 

 

RH and I have both had our vaccinations and most of our immediate family have had their first one, something for which I give thanks every day. And yet, there are still 2 a.m. moments when a feeling of panic envelops me and I start praying with an agitated spirit.

I try to remember this quote from one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Goudge. 

And then I say to myself that we should believe in that which we felt when we were strong and happy rather than in that which we feel when we are sick and sad. Do you not think, Judith, that one is more truly oneself in times of joy than in times of sorrow?

This is from Goudge's 1938 novel The Middle Window and I hope there is wisdom in that advice. I try not to trust these middle of the night feelings but rather remember what I know to be true. I am more myself in "times of joy than in times of sorrow." 

There have been times lately when I feel like Shirley MacLaine's character Ouiser in Steel Magnolias--"I'm not as nice as I used to be." Maybe that's true but I prefer to believe it's not. I prefer to blame it on a year of pandemic, a year of missing family, a year of not being able to go thrifting or antiquing, a year of no birthday parties, a year of no hugs...and the list could go on but does not include family members on the list of those who have died from COVID-19. So what on earth do I have to complain about? 

I think it's in those self-indulgent grumpy moments that my mermaid wants me to remember times of joy and strength and not be drug down in an undertow of fear.

She wants me to remember that Spring is nearly officially here and new growth is outside my windows.

I'm excited about that! Never before have I been so glad to see March on my Karen Adams calendar.

 

 

Don't you love that handbag? Mermaids may not need handbags but I would love one just like this. 

I'll say slán for now, dear family and friends, but remember one thing from this belated St. Patrick's Day post...

Listen to the mermaids! 

One last little known fact, Mermaids love to dance. You gotta love that!  

 

 

 

Favorite Christmas Books: A Christmas Book

 

My copy of A Christmas Book by Elizabeth Goudge is a 1967 First American Edition. It is a compilation of Christmas stories taken from seven of her novels and two complete short stories. One of my favorites in the book is from Goudge's novel Island Magic, a book I haven't yet read but want to because of the details of Rachell du Frocq's pretty rooms and the other domestic details.

Those things matter to me as much as plot does. The setting of Island Magic is on Guernsey of the Channel Islands, an added bonus as I loved Goudge's other novel set there, Green Dolphin Street.

At the time of the book's setting in 1888, the residents were mainly of French blood but were subjects of Queen Victoria.

 

 Here are a few of Goudge's descriptions along with pictures from my Island Magic-inspired Christmas Day breakfast of Canadian bacon, fried potatoes, stuffed eggs, yeast rolls, and applesauce--only mine was served at Christmas Eve dinner last year.

 

From Island Magic:

The breakfast was wonderful.

Ham and boiled eggs and steaming coffee and jam and fresh rolls and, most marvelous of all, an island speciality, the goche détremper, a milk cake always baked early on Christmas morning to appear on the breakfast table. Colette helped Sophie to open the oven door and take it out. Its exquisite milk-white freshness was faintly tinged with golden brown on top, and its lovely crisp smell filled the whole kitchen and floated out to greet the churchgoers as they drove into the courtyard, cold and famished.

I couldn't find a recipe for goche détremper online but my French dictionary says it means left to soak.

 I googled Milk Cake and chose Taste of Home's recipe [here] to try and the simple breakfast cake was delicious! [I used whole milk, not 2%.]

 Actually, it is almost exactly the same recipe as for Vasilopita (Greek New Year's Cake) except it doesn't have grated lemon rind and isn't topped with confectioner's sugar, and there's no silver coin in it. I should have asked my friend Poppy about this as her Vasilopita might be very different from either recipe.

 

Here is a description of Goudge's Rachell's parlour. I could never duplicate it in my pictures but I can see it in my imagination and I hope you can, too.

The sun-filled parlour, shut away from the clamor of dinner and washing up, was fragrant and peaceful as the inside of a flower. Part of the tronquet de Noel, the yule log, was burning in the grate and its blue and yellow flames, whispering sweetly, lit up with the sunlight the soft little gillyflowers and forget-me-knots on the curtains, the delicate fluted china, the Chinese dragons and the rosewood table. Rachell looked round on all her treasures and was comforted.

Those "strips of Chinese embroideries" sent home by an ancestor led me to google embroidered "golden dragons dancing on the wall," and I found this at 1stDibs:

 

Gorgeous! After googling it, 1stDibs kept sending me ads for it on FaceBook. Ha! Thousands of dollars! And the rosewood table I found from Scully& Scully was $4,500!

Rachell is exhausted by evening--what mother is not on Christmas Day evening?

She looked around her pretty room for comfort. She looked at her French carpet, its pinks and blues faded to the colour of a dove's breast, at the miniatures over the mantelpiece and the French gilt mirror, at her tea-set patterned in blue and scarlet and gold, and at the stiff-backed chairs that her grandfather had given her grandmother...she was comforted.

 

She glanced around the room. The willow pattern china and the warming-pans...

My own English Allertons blue willow was a gift from my parents, a box full of pieces bought at a Methodist church thrift store, treasures that remind me that they thought of me when they saw these dishes. And I know exactly how Rachell felt because I also look around my rooms at night when work is done and take pleasure from my own pretty things. And if that's wrong, it's too bad.

 Altogether, from these descriptions, I can close my eyes and see Rachell's parlour, and I can see her kitchen: "The sparkling kitchen shone like a glow-worm in the darkness of the world all around them."

Sigh!!

You can find Elizabeth Goudge's A Christmas Book at Amazon [here].

 

Used hardcover copies start at $249.95. I searched everywhere for less expensive copies to show you but even the few paperback 1991 editions were very expensive. Even on Abebooks the two copies start at $241.24. There were none currently on eBay. I hope my children are paying attention to the small fortune in Mom's Christmas book collection and that they don't toss them after I'm gone!

 

May your Christmas Day be filled with health and love, even if it can't be filled to the brim with loved ones this year. It's still the day we celebrate the birth of the Babe of Bethlehem. Rejoice!

 

Concerning Blogging, and Quatre Epices

 Lately the world has been too much with me and in a desperate desire to find tranquility of mind and spirit, I'm pulling back my involvement in social media to a comfortable level. As a small part of this I'm suspending comments at both my blogs and, for an as yet undetermined time, will be posting only as a personal journal of my thoughts and interests.

[Tuppy thinks to herself] Seventy-seven. What had happened to the years? Old age seemed to have taken her unaware and totally unprepared. Tuppy Armstrong was not old. Other people were old, like one's own grandmother, or characters in books. She thought of Lucilla Eliot, in The Herb of Grace. The epitome, one would have thought, of a perfect matriarch.

                            from Under Gemini by Rosamunde Pilcher

I am now the same age as Tuppy and am examining how I want to spend the energy and hours I may have left. We live in unsettled times, to put it mildly, and owe it to ourselves and our loved ones to weigh how we want to spend precious time that will not always be there. 

One thing I don't want to spend my hours on anymore is elevated stress following the political story of the day on Facebook, or, God forbid, ever again participating in what Mrs. Minerva called, "tedious and unprofitable discussion...clear from the outset that neither side was going to budge an inch." 

Good grief, how such discussions drain one! 

Tuppy refers to Lucilla Eliot as truly old and maybe I am too because I agree with Lucilla in one of my favorite books, The Herb of Grace (American title: Pilgrim's Inn):

Lucilla knew always...that it was homemaking that mattered. Every home was a brick in the great wall of decent living that men erected over and over again as a bulwark against the perpetual flooding in of evil. But women made the bricks, and the durableness of each civilization depended upon their quality, and it was no good weakening oneself for the brick-making by thinking too much about the flood.

                      Elizabeth Goudge's The Herb of Grace/Pilgrim's Inn

I've come to realize that in this stage of my life I need to be careful to redeem the time (Ephesians 5:16). I will still try to see what's happening in my dear blog friends' lives during R & R time, how could I not? But I thought it only fair to warn you that I'm closing comments at both blogs in case you don't want to bother reading.

In order to have a few pictures here I'm including a recipe for one of my favorite seasonings, Quatre épices from James Beard's Love and Kisses and a Halo of Truffles. Note my own new truffle pig in the pictures!

   

Mix together 1 1/8 cups ground white pepper, 3 1/2 tablespoons ground nutmeg, 3 1/2 tablespoons ground ginger, and 1 1/2 tablespoons ground cloves. 

 Keep tightly sealed.

 Use with roasted and braised meats, stews, soups, sweet potatoes, gingersnaps or whatever your heart desires, because James would.

 

 

Sending love and kisses to you! God bless and keep you!

Dewena

Do not be afraid, stand firm and you will see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today...The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.

                       Exodus 14:13-14

 

 

 

 

Part 4, Home Hill

What is it that makes one place more than another home to one?...I think it is compatibility.

Elizabeth Goudge,

from The Scent of Water

Have you ever fought for something really hard, trying to force open a door that stayed closed in your life, and then finally surrendered to it, accepting it only to find that the door soon opened with the slightest touch?

 [Home Hill]

That is what happened to me in my desire to come home to Tennessee.

[Our front porch, neglected so far but lots of potential,

gets the afternoon sun full force in summer.]

On September 7, 2016 while living in Florida I wrote in my journal, "Four of the loneliest months of my life...RH will pick me up this afternoon for a 3 o'clock appointment with our new dermatologist to see if this growth on my nose, near where the other cancer was, is malignant or not."

["Our" pond, actually our neighbor's but

he told us we were welcome to share it.]

That night I wrote that the doctor cut out from my nose what she said was a subcutaneous horn, most likely, from what she'd seen before, a malignant squamous cell one. 

[The view of the pond from our kitchen sink

entertains us daily. We've seen Canada geese

goslings born, mallard duck families,

a Great Blue Herron, large turtles.]

In three weeks I was to go back and discuss treatment after they received the pathologist report. 

[View from our kitchen window last spring.

The only thing there was a tree and a few things

previous homeowners had planted.

RH put a bird feeder by a pipe that stuck up from the

old well and some sunflowers sprouted.

We sat out in the grass last year and dreamed of having

a patio that I could sit on and watch our dogs play, a patio that

could be done inexpensively.]

I googled treatment and found that radiation or chemo usually followed this kind of cancer. I wrote: "Life on hold. Is this why we moved? For me to die in the sunshine state?"

[View from my kitchen sink now,

after all of RH's hard work.]

One week later I received a surprise call from the doctor's office. The pathologist report was back and showed that the growth was benign.

[Phase I: Now we have a beautiful patio in the shade,

done very inexpensively.

RH painted a garden table we've had for 40 years

and 4 chairs we've had for about 20 years

3 different shades of pretty green--

an idea I got from blog friend Tara Dillard.

Coffee in the morning and wine in the

evening taste better here than inside.]

I hugged Otis and Milo, crying and laughing, and called RH and then called or texted or emailed family and friends to tell them that prayers had been answered. 

[Free concrete tiles for the patio!

A customer at our family roofing and siding company

wanted these tiles removed from his roof that another company had

recently installed, to be replaced with the steel metal

shingles that we specialize in.

And he wanted us to get rid of them.

Recycling at its best and we love all the colors and striations in them.]

I thanked God for this answered prayer and vowed to accept where I was and be grateful for my life there in Florida.

[Phase II: An old cupola came to our garden for

a focal point instead of to the dump.

It covers the ugly pipe to the well.

RH and a son--our dear landlord--built a firm base for it

and laid out a small bed on each side for

perennials and herbs.]

Two weeks went by and I refused to let a single negative thought about Florida into my mind.

But on an October day that felt like July, RH came home from work and was very quiet. We sat outside on the back porch after supper and he told me that he missed living in Nashville.

He missed working with our sons there in the family business of 30 years. 

He asked me if I would still want to move back?

Would I? Is the pope Catholic?

[Phase III: The sand bed is ready to be tiled the same as the

small patio. RH is waiting for cooler weather for this 

large one, most of it in the sun.

Meanwhile the birds take sand baths in it,

something that is very cute to see.

BreeBree and James Mason are pursuing the pesky chipmunks.]

It took a village to move us back to Tennessee, just as it had moving us to Florida, and that village was family.

[The listing photo for the galley kitchen.]

It was a physical and financial drain on so many and I will always be grateful for the sacrifices our family made to help us come home. 

[It was obvious that the previous owners didn't do much cooking.

We do a lot of cooking, rarely eat out, and so we replaced the

refrigerator and range, and turned a coat closet into a pantry,

freeing up valuable kitchen cabinet space.]

You'll be glad to know that I won't write here any of the three months of my journal entries documenting each day that passed as we waited while our youngest son and daughter-in-law drove several times to Nashville looking for a house to buy for us and then went through the hours of paperwork required and inspection and finally the closing.

Yes, that's right, we have the sweetest

landlords ever!

[RH and his brother built the open shelving I wanted,

making all the corbels themselves, and the pretty rod and hooks

hold all our All-Clad and iron skillets,

freeing up even more kitchen cabinet space.]

Another son flew down to help load trucks and drive us back, and our daughter and son-in-law in Florida took time away from their jobs to drive vehicles also, then flying back home. 

[RH and I have learned to work very efficiently together in a

galley kitchen, even with two dachshunds under our feet.]

Meantime, work was being done on the house before we returned, a new dishwasher installed, a safer path for me to walk on outside and the bathtub being converted to a low step in, all for my safety.

[If you want to know what accessories I love,

then this sweet old picture and frame from Goodwill

should give you a clue.]

And the third son, our firstborn, brought his wife and sister-in-law here the day before we moved and spent a whole day cleaning the house from top to bottom.

Best family ever, right?

[My bedroom; the biggest project in here was tearing down a bad ceiling

and installing bead board. New ceiling moulding and a paint job.]

When we drove up the driveway to Home Hill in January, 2017 on one of the coldest days of the year, the yard and roof dusted with snow, I knew this 1935 farmhouse was home.

[My bedroom is not large but it is room enough

for me and two dachshunds and my reading chair.]

I was home. Otis and Milo were home. 

I was in love with a house again.

RH, not so much, not at first.

[RH's bedroom. The knotty pine walls and ceiling in here 

made all his western things look better than ever before.]

He was exhausted and he was cold and he wondered how we'd ever get by with one bathroom.

[My writing room. BreeBree is in there guarding it and

heaven help anyone who tries to come in except for her mommy

and James Mason. 11 pounds of dachshund can be ferocious.]

We sat down the night that all the family left, in the large room that was paneled in the beautiful wood boards that pre-dated the 1950s pine paneling in the Pickwick pattern that was in his bedroom and my writing room.

[The listing photo for the large room that much of our living is done in.

It was slightly underwhelming with its furniture lined up around the walls.

But I studied it for two months and knew exactly how it would work.]

No lamps were unpacked, no pictures, no mirrors, no books.

We were surrounded by cardboard boxes.

[Remember when I asked your help in naming this room?

Well, it became the dinning room, the breakfast room,

and the sitting room, depending on which part we were in.

The harvest table, with both leaves in, seats 10 comfortably,

12 in a pinch. All we have to do is pull it out from the sofa back.

The breakfast table is over by the red curtains.]

I told him, "Give me a month. I promise you that in a month you'll think it's pretty and cozy...

[This red leather Ethan Allen sofa that we ordered 14 years ago

will last us our lifetime. We love it as much now as we did when

it was brand new. 

The black and white ticking Ralph Lauren pillows are 14 years old too.

I simply turned them inside out to hide the ruffles when we moved here

because this is not a froufrou house.

The blue and green 100% wool hooked rug was $19.99 at Goodwill and I stood guard

over it until RH arrived to put it in our basket. It suits the house

better than the braided rugs I first thought the house would need.]

Let me get our things unpacked and lamps around and curtains and mirrors hung, I told him, and you will love it...

[Mirrors helped tremendously, 2 large ones, 1 medium one and 2 small ones.

All in one large room.

A storm door installed both here and in the kitchen let in even more light.]

I promise you," I said.

Guess what? Now we both love this house!

And we hope you like it too.

Most of you know that we lost our dear dachshunds Milo and Otis to leptospirosis last fall. We thought we'd never recover from losing them. And we didn't. But we went on to adopt BreeBree and James Mason and discovered once again that we are dachshund people. 

A house is just not a home to us without a dachshund or two in it. 

I know that many of you understand that. And I think that those of you who have visited here since our days at Valley View and saw the old 1920 farmhouse we lived in there can easily understand why I felt like I was coming home when we moved into this old cottage on a hill that at one time was the only house around for miles.

It was a little unappreciated by the previous owners, I thought, but had so much potential. Now when I walk around and see all that we have done in the house and RH outside in the 2 1/2 acres, I wish they could see it, see what a little loving and care did for their old house. 

And I know that the very first owners, the farmer and his wife that built this sweet cottage back in 1935, would be pleased to see that it was still being loved today.

She had loved it at first sight; and now, as it companioned her day by day, she made her impress on it as it made its mark on her. She fitted into it as a body slips into a new and shapely garment made to measure, and went on her way warmed and protected and subtly changed. For it altered her, as a garment can alter personality, giving fresh confidence.

Elizabeth Goudge in 1939's story of a woman
and her house,

The Middle Window