A wonderland of natural, unnatural, recycled, brand new, found, vintage, or otherwise artsy and cute play things, most of whom are up for adoption to loving homes. Please check back often for new dolls and critters, contests, give aways, free tutorials, ideas, and notions. The mouse has spoken.
Monday, May 3, 2010
stream of springness
On the whole, I hate using quotations by people I have never heard of because it makes me feel stupid, and it makes me feel as if other people must think that I'm stupid. Someone once said that quotations are for people who can't think for themselves. But I'm torn. I think that if a good line with a bit of punch brings a smile to the face, why not blame it on someone else, just in case it has an error? ;) Without further ado:
"Science has never drummed up quite as effective a tranquillizing agent as a sunny spring day." ~W. Earl Hall
Spring is my drug. When I wake up to sunshine on a spring morning, I feel as if I have been dead all winter and my life has suddenly come back to me. I have sometimes mistaken this high for being in love, or for being close to or happy with God. I'm not sure when it finally sank in that it was all to do with extra daylight and fantastic, earthy smells. But when it did, I embraced this new drug wholeheartedly.
As much as I love snowy Christmases in Maine, where I grew up, I think that now I would be quite content to live in a place where it is always warm. Not unbearably hot, but pleasantly cozy.
The weather in England is surprisingly similar to that of Maine. people always ask me here, very annoyingly I might add, if I am used to their weather yet. Am I used to to cold and the rain and the long winters? I want to grab them by the throat and say, "Let me tell you about long winters!" Let's talk about eight or nine months of snow. Let's talk about 20 below zero. And let's talk about the all-out joy that comes in the spring, known to Mainers (natives of Maine--not "maniacs" as some people like to think) as Mud Season and Black Fly Season. But usually I hold my tongue and nod in supposed agreement.
It's hard to believe that this spring, after more than thirty years of living in Maine, my parents are going to move to Kentucky. Gone are the hopes of their grandchildren loving the Maine homestead as much as I loved my grandeparents' old stone house in Belgrade. Losing a house you love is very like losing a friend. Especially when you are powerless to stop it from happening.
This is the house that my dad built in the late 1970's:
This is the house my grandparents lived in. It was built in the 1850's, and was in the family for 52 years.