A Charmed Life

The Porch is Now Officially Open

We've finally had some perfect weather here: sunshine, 70s, low humidity. So I decided to "open" the porch for the season. Friday afternoon I e-vited a few friends to stop by anytime between 1:30 and 3 for lemonade and cookies.

Olivia helped me sweep and clean. We put fresh cushions on the chairs and decorated with some vintage linens. I made shortbread hearts from my favorite Silver Palate recipe. Do you recognize the plate from this post?

I also put out a basket filled with magazines and beach reads, for browsing or borrowing, and a welcoming satchel of flowers.

I did NOT fuss over cleaning the house (other than the powder room) or press linen napkins or make several different kinds of treats, or even make the lemonade from scratch. (I made the cookies from scratch, isn't that enough?) I let the vintage linens and my grandmother's etched glassware bring the "special." The idea was to be spontaneous and have a pleasant, relaxing time.

At 1:30, Janet, Carol, and Sandy arrived. Janet brought a box of goodies from the local bakery, which was quite unnecessary, but appreciated. We sat and chatted about our kids, town politics, books, schools, vacations, and what a pleasure it is to sit on the porch and enjoy the day. They stayed until 5! Not one of us felt guilty about not using the afternoon to do housework, rake the lawn, or otherwise do something we "should." Everyone had at least two cookies and no one talked about diets. It was suggested we do this every week, possibly with cocktails.

That's fine by me. Saturdays at 1:30 you'll find me on the porch with a beverage and a magazine. Stop by and join me.

Breathe with me

Whew, sorry about that last post. This is supposed to be a fictionalized account of gracious living (i.e. bad stuff edited out of my life), but sometimes, you just have to lay it on the line. Anyway, it's all better now. So, all together now: Ohmmmmmmmmmmm.

Those are my daughters' initials, actually, propped up on the mantel until I figure out where to put them. Mine and hubby's are up there, too. For some reason--the weight distribution or the lack of a flat bottom (hmmmm, sounds like my body), the C would not stand on it's own. So my husband said, "Lean on me," fully aware of its double meaning. I DO lean on him to get me through.

Here's what handy hubby did while we were away in Vermont:

There used to be a solid door here in the kitchen until my husband made a clear improvement with this salvaged French door. The crystal doorknobs and carved brass thingies that hold the doorknobs on are original to the door. Considering there are six doors in the kitchen (to the mudroom, pantry, dining/tea room/parlour, cellar, hall, and back stairs), this adds variety, light, and spaciousness. And it's just cool. Thanks, HH!

This gate's a keeper

I love this gate. I drive by the house it belongs to almost every day--a yellow Victorian Italianate that I've coveted for, well, for as long as I've driven by it. Now that we've got our own ooh-ah house, I don't pine for the yellow Italianate so much as appreciate it. It's like when you marry the perfect guy: you're happy with what you have, but you don't stop admiring the other "merchandise," so to speak.

The gate is another matter. For two years, I was unaware of the gate, and then one day this summer it "appeared" in the gap of the old stone wall. Hmmm, I thought, where has that been all my life? Was I not paying attention, or did it just show up one day? How could I have missed it? It's surely as old as the house. I love curlicue gingerbread on the top, and those finials! Victorian architecture meets Musovite parapets.

My husband has been considering starting a business as a custom fence builder/repairer, specializing in historical accuracy. Also, we need a new back gate. So, one day early this fall I brought my camera with me to work, and on the way home I pulled over and snapped some pictures, thinking maybe he could make a replica for me. I mean us. That's still under debate (for one thing, I'm lobbying to add a stone wall where pickets now stand). But last week I drove past and the gate had disappeared. I panicked: my beautiful gate--was it stolen? Or had I just imagined it, like a mirage? Parched for a beautiful gate, I conjured one up? But later I reasoned: the air had finally turned cold; maybe the owners had only put the gate out for the summer and took it down to keep it from weathering further in the harsh winter to come.

It's a mystery. But I took one of my photos and made it my computer background, so I can look at it every day, any time I want. And now, so can you.