Revamp

Robert and I are a dash strange about the way we renovate our house.  Most would move in, immediately paint every room a new color and then live happily ever after.  This wasn’t really an option for us as most rooms in our 104 year old farm house needed some custom carpentry done or in the case of the bathroom, needed to be totally overhauled up to the shingles and down to the dirt of the foundation.

Ever so slowly, our house has been changing colors over the three years we’ve called it our own!  When we first moved in, the previous owners (who were artists, but not artists of color by my judgement) had made it into an ancient and cosy sort of dark, brothel-esque home.  The colors were rich, wild and all wrong for the soul of this house.   We loved the layout and the spirit of the place and could see potential in it which is why we bought it.  It was on the market for one full year and we were the first to look at it in person and make an offer!

At any rate, we’ve been pushing every room into tranquility, slowly, with light, space expanding colors and the slow unification of custom moldings and flooring that match the original moldings and flooring that are in the living room and bedroom. 

Up until now, RW has been responsible for doing all of our renovations and painting in his off-season, he likes to have wintertime projects.  Before this fire season began, I had asked him to paint the front room of our house which is enclosed original veranda that is now a huge entryway…with very little purpose.  He didn’t get to the task before his work season began and yesterday, when I walked through the dim, dank, mocha hue of that room  I knew something had to change.

So I went out, bought some paint and slapped it up on the walls.
 Now I have what is a beautiful little parlor in the front of my home.  I’m even going to call it as such, like so:

Me:  Oh hello!  Come in! Come in!  I just made tea,
it’s on the table in the parlor.
She:  Don’t mind if I do!  I brought some rhubarb crisp
and beets from the garden.
Me:  Thank you!  I’m so glad you came, I’ve been meaning to ring you up…

[The beaded moccasins in the bottom right hand corner of this photo were my Baba’s.  They were made by a native woman in Fort Chipewyan, Northern Alberta, Canada.  This actual moccasin style is called “old timers”.  She acquired them when my family was stationed at Wood Buffalo National Park…now they’re mine.  When I wear them I feel like a half-Chipewyan, half-Ukrainian beauty.]

 It’s a perfect sitting space for tea and reading.
The light is quiet.
The scents of the gardens flow in through the window and front door and the lightweight curtains look beautiful as they’re batted about by the breeze.
 I’m so glad I took a couple of days to revamp this space
and really (finally) claim it as my own.
By the way, this is also our guest room, so if you come to stay, it’s all yours: light, magic, birdsong and the blue spruce blowing its perfume through the screen door!

Sources of decor:
hen mirror (antiqued)
blue coffee table (antiqued)
horse painting (antiqued)
gilded frame (thrifted)
family wedding portrait (antiqued)
metal egg basket (antiqued)
futon (gift from my parents)
church pew — not shown here (antiqued)
all bits of natural detritus including bones and fur pelts (found by me or gifted to me by friends)

Come for tea!
We’ll lounge about in 
cool, summer spirits…
barefoot and beautiful in this lightweight space.
x

Now, I am that girl.

The pointers, the weenie and I are just back from a morning cavort.  I took this picture before Farley ran off, all the way down the river and beyond.  Eventually, he came back to me with a deceased marmot in his mouth.  

Um.  
Good boy?  
But baby man-dog, we can’t eat this for dinner…
In the future, can you just stick to birds?

He’s guilty of mammalian homicide.  
It’s so hard to keep these dogs exercised.  They go out of their minds with hunting drive and 
cosmically-humming-giant-dwarf-exploding-star-energy 
like you’ve never seen in a dog before.  When people see me running with them, they stop moving and let me pass.  We deconstruct the pillars of the earth and then raise them up again, before we tear them down once more.  I have to behave bigger than I am to keep all these dogs in line.
I’m alpha around these parts. 
Woof.

I’m feeling so light and fluffy today.

On Sunday, while at church, I realized I’m the girl I always dreamed of being.  I sat down and my hair got caught between my back and the pew in an uncomfortable yonking fashion.  I had to reach behind my neck with both hands and flip it in a blond cascade over the back of my seat.  I always envied the girls who had hair long enough to drape over a church pew.

Now, I am that girl.


It’s so beautiful here!
I always say that.
But summer is strumming my heart strings
and there’s a thrum I leave behind on everything I touch.
My life print is glowing in a wash of amber and teal.
There’s a bit of unfurling clematis in everything I see.
I think I’m just a wild vine
shooting for cloud studded blue.

Someone, come braid my soul before
it tangles itself into knots in this breeze.
Yes.

I fly that free.


:::EDIT:::
THEY
ARE
BACK

Brief Service Announcement

To all the bloggers out there:

Recently, I’ve had a couple of encounters with fledging bloggers that made me feel a bit weird and rather uncomfortable, as a result, I have chosen to make my entire blog roll private.  If you’re a blogger and I followed your blog publicly, I’m still following it, only I’m doing so privately these days.

I just thought I’d let you know.  I’ve had a handful of emails arrive this morning from people asking me why I’m not reading or following their blog any more!  Oh no! 

I’m still reading, when I have the time, 
you just cannot see me anymore — I wear an interwebular
invisibility cloak…just call me Hermoine!!!  

Thanks,
J

To lean like you’re made of air…

…lean into me like that.
Some days, when RW is away for his fire season, life sucks.  It’s so easy to let myself fall into the darkness of a bad day.  One unexpected detail can turn my day on its head. I don’t fight it, I just slide right into the stormy waters, drink up half the angry tide and allow myself to sink into the quiet of the depths — seaweed in my hair, barnacles on my toes.  My spirit exhales.  My soul sags.  I capitulate.  I hate that.  But what I really hate is telling Robert, over the phone, (if I get to talk to him) that I had a bad day…for reasons I can’t even explain besides sulky surrender! 

I’m stronger than that. 
I talked to a best girlfriend about all of this, late last night, and we both agreed on a zesty life mantra:
Fight for good.

Sometimes you have to.  There is a mirror here that reflects only the dark, only the bad, and some days, you’ve just got to reach out and punch it, turn the glass into a spiderweb, turn away from the rapacious storm and see the real world for what it is 
and the potential there for
good.


I’m going to fight for good days as best as I can.
The concept isn’t new for me, I’m generally quite the optimist, but sometimes I have to reclaim the truth of my soul vigor 
with regards to how my life flows,
day to day,
especially when the bright of Robert isn’t here to make me laugh and fill me to overflowing with love and kindness
every hour, on the hour.
I’m fragile.
I truly am.
But that light in my chest is robust,
all conquering.
These wings turn gale force winds into allies.

 Today is good.
I’m making it so with the help of a morning without rain, a good hard sleep, a trip to the farmer’s market, the story of Esther, a smooth latte, grapevines gone berserkers up and down the fence lines,
two bowls of berries and my loyal dog pack pooled around my feet, deep in a morning nap.

 There are letters that arrived in the week that I have finally found a moment to read.

The jasmine, capricious as always, is about to gracefully thunder into scent.


I failed to tell you yesterday,
but I hope you have a weekend that is replete with comfort,
the heart swell that comes with the bold green timpani of summer,
a small flock of hummingbirds
and plenty of lime flavored drinks.


Over and out,
JSL

https://www.thenoisyplume.com/blog/2011/06/11/1021/