Cottage: Views

Cottage: Fire

Cottage: After the Rain

Eight days of heavenly sunshine, but one day it rained. This was welcome. We needed a break from the impetus to be outside. So, we made chicken soup, I played with wire and made a gold dragonfly. We read, listened to music, worked on the crazy tandem tale. And after it stopped, late afternoon, we walked back to the Oak Lake Trail. It was fresh and lovely.

Hey!

When I was eight, my father did two things. He went down on his knees and begged me never to smoke. He really did. He made me promise as he knelt in front of me. It had the required impact. I was amazed at my father's zeal, and I made that promise, and I never smoked even when tempted. I just remembered. It was a clever parental move. He never smoked much and then it was a pipe, and he quit decades ago.

That same year he also taught me how to tie a tie, in case I ever had to for my husband when I grew up and got married. Pfff.

Today, I tied a bowtie.

Now, I really feel all growed up.

I might even be ready to get married. Pfff.

Cottage: Food

Well, you know when four good cooks get together, the food is going to rock. Dear M did most of the cooking this time, including a killer coq au vin. Gor blimey, we did well, and much of the food was eaten outside, on a higher part of the property, overlooking the bay. I made the necessary pecan cookies and, one morning, fluffy lemon pancakes. The big scone and the toast for the yummy eggs were from this blog's favourite bakery, Apsley Country Bakery.

Cottage: Oak Lake Trail

It's my favourite place. I reiterated to that when I die, I want my ashes scattered here. I hope you don't find that morbid. I don't. I will die, and this is where I want my ashes to go. To feed those trees. Those are the instructions... for now, at least.

We brought a picnic. M built stone sculptures. I hugged trees.

Cottage: Grateful for the Week that Was

~ Stargazing at last. In the summer there are too many mosquitoes at night. But not in September. So we lay on the dock, cushions below, a blanket of stars above (some shooting)... the Milky Way... the call of the loon. I didn't find Corona Borealis this time

~ Deer on the lawn, darting away, their lovely white bottoms bouncing

~ Campfires; poking at the fire; cooking food on the fire, sometimes... in the fire

~ Warm, sometimes hot days, hot enough to swim... just. Cool, sometimes cold nights under duvets... heaven.

~ Heart-stopping sunsets, with Vs of geese flying across them, honking... straight out of central casting

~ Writing the tandem tale: four nutjobs trying to manouveur one story, like four hands on a pen, all pulling it in different directions across the page. Vampires, opera directors, fjords and sex. A potent combination. An excerpt:

"Licking her pale lips, she relished the thought of feeding once more. The sun had set over Cadiz. She pushed the lid of the coffin open, and raised herself up, as beautiful as she had been that first night on the water in the frigid fjord. Stepping across the carpet-lined crypt, she pushed at the lid of another magnificent coffin. It revealed the craggy profile and powerful form of… Captain Kurt Johanssen."

~ Thanks again, fellow nutjobs, for the company, the amazing food, and the many laughs!

And, of course, photographs will follow. Hope you hang in there!

Colours

Summer is still with us, but with those signs that it hasn't long to go. Still-hot days give in to cooler nights, and I have turned my mind to warm-weather food and clothes.

But just now, still, I am in love with the sun and heat and colour all around me. I wear turquoise and eat curry tofu, or salmon, and lots of tomatoes. I walk past Cirque du Soleil's big top on my way to Cherry Beach. And there are always flowers, some out, some in.

I'm lake bound again for another week, starting tomorrow morning. But I worked late tonight and I haven't started packing. My brain is already on vacation and can't make a decision. It's a good dilemma.
  

Gulp

In preparation for Season III of Walking Dead, I am watching the excellent Season I. I have already seen Season II. I do things this way, sometimes.

I'm afraid, but I can't stop watching. Please come and hold my hand. There are many... many... zombies. And it's so well made.

Look out, Rick!!!

In an Eastern Frame

Along with much of my love of Middle Eastern esthetic, I find myself drawn to lanterns and candle holders with ornate cutouts, the sort that bring to mind the jaali, the fancy wooden shutters and screens of the Mughals. Oh, I'm mixing my cultures here, but between the Mughals, the Persians, and the Armenians, I find much to delight and entrance. One night this week, I read some Hafiz, he of the ghazal form of poem:

"If the scent of her hair were to blow across my dust when I had been dead a hundred years, my mouldering bones would rise and come dancing out of the tomb."

I lit my lanterns, I filmed my lanterns, I listened to the Armenian duduk. Of course, I ate some wonderful new biblical treats: dates rolled in pistachios.