It’s early in the morning as I
speed type write this. The dog – otherwise referred to as best-dog-in-the-world dog, (because she is), is curled up at my feet. I made her an egg and spinach omelette for breakfast so she’s quite content.*
The air is stormy this morning, and filled with the perfume of Summer flowers. It’s my favourite kind of day. A day when anything seems possible, and I attempt to spin straw into gold.
Of late, the early mornings seem to be the only feasible time for my scribblings. There’s just so much on chez Rapunzel’s. We’re approaching the end of the school year here, and so Moon has All Of The Things on. And I have meetings and appointments hither and thither, the entire week. By eventide I’m usually spent and crumpled in a tired heap of bed and book.
And I’m such a homebody these days, that even with the goodly and interesting kinds of meetings coming up, I just want to curl up inside my wee hoosie and let the world be mad and busy without me.
As far as Chrimbly preparations are concerned, I haven’t managed a single thing. Not a thing, (pass the gin, luvs). In my eternal optimism, I was going to make a whole lot of stuff. Because I do love me a handmade affair. But there have been a swag of other priorities, and I’m in a pretty good place with all that, if truth be told. It will get done.
I’m aiming for simplicity and beauty – it seems to be my mantra this month.
Also, there are different sorts of gifts, aren’t there? There are actual gifts, made or purchased, but there are also the gifts of one’s energy – one’s time. In this world of not-enough-time, such gifts can be precious. To give someone your time and energy can be a beautiful gift.
It can be a peaceful thing to hold that close when there’s so much hyped-up consumerism going on around us.
And now that the Moon-girl is a bit older, we’re none of us too fussed about the Chrimbly thing. We’re a heathen household, after all. We most enjoy this time together with our books and music and scribbling. None of us have wish-lists. Someone pressed me for ideas, but all I could come up with was a punnet of impatiens, (that probably sounds horribly Dickensian but it’s true, luvs). We just have no desire for a glut of anything, (except blueberries. We like blueberries. A lot).
What can I say? I’m a cheap and easy witch.
I watch from afar all the lovely preparations in the northern hem, with frosts, (even snow), and hot chocolate, and twinkly lights and it all looks utterly enchanting. And if I were there now, there’s no doubt I’d be in boots and all. Because that’s where the whole festival originated and the seasonal context is hugely significant.
But it’s Summer here. I just want to park my broom, spread a blanket beneath the apple tree, and lie back with a bowl of strawberries and a fat book. Then I’ll watch the clouds overhead, and soak up all the blessings of the year. For there have been a few.
Oh, and I’ve opened the door to my other quiet little space. I left a trail of breadcrumbs on the Instagrin about it, but I’m keeping it pretty quiet. It’s my little secret garden. If you care to pop in for some peace and quiet and a taste of my Summer, then you are moste welcome.
Toodle-oo for now. I have to go and have one of those meetings today, so I had best Get On.
Love and warm December wishes to you, m’dears. xx
*Yes. I’m afraid I’m one of those dog people.