Dad, see how I run

When dad had enough of my endless chatter, he would hand me the salt shaker so he could read the newspaper and have his coffee in peace. He explained to my five year old self that if I snuck up on a little bird and sprinkled some salt on his tail, the poor creature wouldn't be able to fly, and I could catch it and keep it as a pet. Ever hopeful, I spent hours chasing after little sparrows. I never got what I wanted. But dad did.

Forty-five years or more have passed and I've never met anyone who had heard that tale before. In fact, I'd almost forgotten about it myself. Until one morning this year while visiting my daughter in New Zealand, when I shuffled bleary-eyed into her kitchen. Reaching for the coffee, what did I spy but a container of salt whose label featured a little boy chasing a bird and trying to shake salt on its tail.



I travelled 8744 miles to find out that the story my dad told me was not one he had made up. Even better, Someone travelled from eternity and sprinkled me with salt and blood. My heart was captured, and my soul set free, as free as a bird. Some stories you hear are true.

As promised

Okay, so the pictures aren’t that great. It’s a large and unwieldy thing to photograph, not to mention the fact that I was too lazy to try hard after attending a 4-hour work meeting this morning. Yes, it's that time again - back to the farm. But never mind that. I promised to talk about this “cool, old thingy.” It’s an antique school room chalk board that my husband and I found last winter. It was shoved behind some junk in a dark corner of an antique store. We were Christmas shopping. The price was so unbelievably good, we agreed to split the cost and give it to each other for Christmas.

It needed work; the chalk board was faded and splintery, but the oak casing was irresistible. Also, the scroll was printed with beautiful illustrations. Every turn of the knob was a new surprise, chock full of useful and interesting to me information. Last but not least was the little hinge bit that revealed a secret compartment and a fold-down desktop. I’d like to know how old this thing really is, and where it lived before. I like to imagine it graced the wall of a nursery in a Jane Eyre-ish type mansion.



Love the detail

the handles that roll the scroll





found this notation in pencil - is it the year or an address?

some of these flags (and countries) no longer exist





blueprints for building a house







the secret compartment!

its new home above the fireplace

Roots

Yes, I admit it, I love Downton Abbey, and my interest most lies with the goings on "downstairs". I feel an odd sort of kinship. It's in the roots.

One hundred and two years ago today, a photo was taken of my great grandmother. I don't know whole lot about my family history on her side...


(Image: Downton Abbey)

...except that she worked as a domestic, a lady's maid, for a wealthy French family. From what I've heard, she was very loyal and devoted to her employer.


(Image: Downton Abbey)

It's interesting, isn't it, to think back on where you came from. And all the fascinating characters that have woven their thread into your DNA.


My great grandmother Mary Margaret N.

This was meant to be a repost, so if you'd like to read more, click here.

Still jet lagging

Slow, quiet activities - just what the doctor ordered. They're helping me ease back into Eastern Standard Time. Our Aotearoa visit was wonderful, but man oh man, my body clock has taken forever to get back in sync, and I have felt all over the place. Anyway, this is what I've been up to:


Restoring this old cool thing, which I'll be talking about more at a later date.


Watching bread rise


Baking bread is very therapeutic. This particular loaf took 18 hours to rise. Let me tell you it is SO worth it. You can find the recipe here.


Best of all, lots of this...good for what ails ya :)