In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes*; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?



From the Indoors, Creativity Pours

Yesterday, there was a blustery wind from the west, over thirty miles an hour--gusting to sixty-- whistling around the house and bending the tree-stems. The barometric pressure was the lowest ever recorded, and the chill gave thoughts of wool coats and new scarves. Definitely time for hot tea and Sir Walter Scott, for homemade toast bread and picture books.

"If you're not from the prairie. . .
" . . . you don't know the wind, you can't know the wind."

And these are from "Garden in the City" by Gerda Muller, whose illustrations are delightful.
I was inspired to do my own illustrating actually. A bit of a marvel, since I very rarely draw, and am not very good at it. Loving Narnia and C. S. Lewis as I do, I had to try Tumnus' cave, and it turned out rather well. I wonder what I'll draw next. . .

I also experimented with pumpkin biscuits, which turned out splendidly. The texture of the dough was absolutely scrumptious, as tender as Marmaduke's 'sea-foam'. It thrilled me!
2 1/2 cups flour
3 Tablespoons packed brown sugar
1 Tablespoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ginger
1/2 cup cold butter
2 cups pumpkin
cut the butter into the dry ingredients. . .
stir in the pumpkin. . .
until it forms a ball.
cut out on a floured surface
and cook for 16 or so minutes at 400 degrees.
This morning I woke up to the Heidelberg catechism song by "Voice". It was better than Jeeves's tonic: waking up to good rhythm, gospel truth, and hearty laughter.

. . . And then I realized it was snowing. Joy! The first of the season, with a wind that sounds like a blizzard. By tradition, we always listen to the Charlie Brown Christmas CD on the first snow, so that accompanied our delectable oatmeal and toast.

"When the girl returned, some hours later, she carried a tray, with a cup of fragrant tea steaming on it; and a plate piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in it in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb. The smell of that buttered toast simply talked to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfast on bright frosty mornings, of cosy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one's ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries." ~Kenneth Grahame
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We learned about Vladimir of Kiev, Rus from Church History today, and quoted our favorite Wodehouse similes to illustrate our language lessons "[She had] a laugh like a squadron of cavalry charging over a tin bridge." Lunch was linguine with garlic and Parmesan and hot red pepper (olive oil, pasta water, and a dash of cream). Now we are enjoying "Christmas Break", another CD we allow ourselves after the first snow; possibly the cosiest thing in the world.

1 comment:

Natalie said...

That is one of my favorite Wind in the Willows quotes. Buttered toast is a wondrous thing. :)