Night Moves ♥


The adorable Miss Pettitoes says GOOD MORNING Girls (and Jake)! 

It’s hot isn’t it, hot hot hot.  Going to be 97 degrees in Boston today.  The daytime is useless to me now. Or, actually, I’m useless to it.  I can’t seem to move until the sun goes down.

After dinner last night we walked out our screen door into the dark,  and, because I have become voyeur/photographer extraordinaire, (no neighborhood is safe from me ever again), I get to bring you along!

Under the old trees that arch over our narrow little streets is a bit like being under water, splotchy moonlight comes through, all soupy and green in the soft air and humidity.  I thought, with the “heat dome” as the weatherman is calling whatever this heat thing is, you might enjoy a cooling walk in the dark.  Grab a little sweater and let’s go!

Because I wanted to give you the true feeling of the night, I didn’t use a flash on my camera . . . and in order to do that, one must be very steady, and apparently, obviously, one is not. Just wanted you to know all the out-of-focus isn’t YOU.   (Want music while you look at this?  Click here, leave it on, while you come back to this page. . . http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rM2Xa4RUBCk and tell me if you ever get sick of this song because I just will never get sick of it! I’ll probably sing it all day now!)

Off we go . . . Joe’s asking if I have my camera!  Yes, honey; click, I do, darling.

Ahhhh, a breath of fresh air, a breeze came from the harbor, only a block away. Now we realize we’re whispering . . .  it’s so dark and quiet, we think we might be invisible. No one can see us, only hear the muffled crunching sound of feet on pavement as we head down the street. Could be a squirrel, couldn’t it?

As soon as I was old enough, the heart magnet of New England, started drawing me toward the island….My inner self knew I just couldn’t live life without being near houses that looked like this . . . 

Our neighborhood offers probably the same thing any neighborhood does on hot summer nights, exactly the same kind of thing I got when I was a girl walking ’round and ’round our block in the Valley, under the stars, trying to figure out life with my best friend. And up in the sky, the same old moon looks down on us . . .

Nothing’s really changed, it’s still the best kind of quiet; the sounds of domesticity that make the world seem right; the clinking of the dishes being cleared up, bits of music drifting from windows, people in rocking chairs outside with yellow porch lights and a halo of moths.  You can’t see it, but we could look up into windows and see old wallpaper; into screen doors, and down halls lined with family photos. All of this works especially well when you’re invisible.  Saw a kitty on a window sill catching the harbor breeze.

There were lightening bugs along this fence I was hoping to capture for you, but they’d blink and I’d snap, missing them by a mile . . . all the way down the street they seemed to follow us, under the hydrangeas, in the ivy,  in the darkest places, little blinks of fairy light flitted along with us. 

Our walks always take us down to the harbor, where the boat comes in….to hear the water lap on shore (pretend you hear it, it’s instant cooling!).  See all those little boats tied up there?  They belong to sailboat people who’ve come into town off their boats that are tied in the harbor to have dinner.  They could trail a hand in the water as the boat motors to shore.  I think they do.  I would.  Doesn’t that sound like the perfect life?  At least for one night?

And a half block up is the most wonderful ice cream store, Mad Martha’s, famous on the island; we each got a cone (I’m having a pistachio yen this summer, Joe goes for coffee chocolate chip; we are both sugar-cone aficionados :-)) and we brought a whole different kind home, because my next post is going to be a recipe for the most amazing, almost criminal, ICE CREAM SANDWICHES. And that’s it, we’re almost home now, but not quite . . .  first we were serenaded . . .

We pass the church across the street from our house, just in time for choir practice…out the doors, the music comes, just for us . . .  And He walks with me and He talks with me and he tells me I am His own . . . up to the sky it went, musical notes that looked just like stars.

And then, up the back driveway . . . and home to the Heart Magnet . . .my own personal ground zero. And that’s it, a night in the ‘hood.  Come back for some ice cream later girls…until then, stay coooool . . .   xoxo me

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The Peter Rabbit Room ♥

OK, I know I promised to tell more about this room, and ta-daa, today’s the day!  This is it, we call it the Peter Rabbit room; here it is as you come to it, at the top of the stairs.

I hope I didn’t get everyone’s expectations too high by taking so long to take these photos!  It’s just a little room, it’s not like Architectural Digest by any stretch of the imagination; everything in it is old. 

The room is only 11′ x 12′; tucked up under the eves in the very back of the house, over the kitchen. We think it was the maid’s quarters at one time.  See those two tiny windows above the dresser?  Note where your head would be on the bed? When you’re lying on the bed, you can see the sky, up through trees.  So here we go, on a little tour . . .

 

My old Laura Ashley hat is on one of the bedposts. She belongs in the Peter Rabbit room.  And see the heart book case?  It’s all travel books and pamphlets up there.  Years ago, I drew a design for this shelf on a piece of paper (I bet you can tell that!); a carpenter friend built it for me; it was over my bed in my old house.

The two larger windows (on each side of the bed) are only waist high, so when you’re in bed, it feels like you’re in a tree house. The wind blows the curtains out into the room; from the wisteria arbor outside the window (in the photo above), across the four-poster bed (and you), to the huge maple tree outside the window on the other side; you can hear the leaves rubbing together, go shhhhh, and you feel the 160 years of history this room has in its DNA.

Why is it called the Peter Rabbit Room?  Years ago, a girlfriend came to visit, she loved this bedroom; it was hard to make her go home, she said “I love my Peter Rabbit room” — her room? she was getting scary —  the name, of course I glommed on to, what a perfect name; if I didn’t love her so much I would have thrown her out immediately and moved in myself; she called it that because there was a Peter Rabbit on top of a stack of  Beatrix Potter books on the dresser (of course nowadays there are even more, once I figured out it was the Peter Rabbit room, I had to go over the top or my friends would think I wasn’t well!)  Now when girlfriends come, they ask if they can have the Peter Rabbit room, even though it’s the smallest bedroom.

. . . and another Peter, so miniature it was almost invisible on the sill over the window. I wallpapered the room in pink with rosebuds when we first moved into the house.

But the heart of the room is in the details … like my old quilts in Beatrix Potter colors.

. . . And these linens, I love to find old ones, but I have a trick for the really expensive new ones . . . just get the pillow cases!  Makes all the difference in the details of a room, dontcha think?  Your face gets to touch the softest part, and you can buy nice white or colored sheets to go with them, and you don’t have to take out a loan at the bank to afford them, making you, of course, brilliant!

I made this pillow out of an old piece of embroidery (can you see the French knots?  Squeal) I found in an antique store for $14.  Life is good. 

And then there is just your basic fan worship of Beatrix herself.  I have that.   What I love the most is the total simplicity, of her story, her art, her colors, and even, to a certain extent, her life.

Perfection on a page.

I started collecting  Beatrix Potter figures when I first moved away from home.   From the time I managed to scrape together thirty dollars that didn’t have to pay the electric bill, I was indulging.  There was a little shop next to the record store where I worked that sold them.  I would go there and think “which one will I get next?”  It was the first place I would take my paycheck.  My value system has always been in the right place. 🙂

My husband at the time had a different value system, didn’t really get this fetish of mine, so I would hide Mrs. Tiggy Winkle in my purse until I could make her blend into our household. Since my first kitchen, I’ve always had these guys watching over me. Aren’t they wonderful? Do they not remind you of watercolor?

Sitting here, right now, next to my computer, is Fancy Whiskered Gentleman, Aunt Pettitoes, and Mrs. Rabbit.

Sometimes in the natural course of living at our house, a bunny ear will get chipped —  poor Jemima Puddleduck has tiny chips, all hard-earned, nicks out of her bill — so I just watercolor the chip, and make them whole again.

I think Beatrix Potter, forever content in heaven’s edition of her beloved Lake District, looks down and likes it when I’m doing that. 

 

 

 

 

Speaking of Beatrix Potter, the other day I got a message from one of our (yours and mine, here in blogland) English friends, Bernie Gardiner, giving us the link to one of the most charming websites I’ve ever seen.  Thank you Bernie! 

Here you go girls, have fun, come back someday!  http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/2pBRdY/www.peterrabbit.com

Anyway, that’s the Peter Rabbit room in all its glory.  I hope it didn’t disappoint, it’s just a room.  But if you would want it to be more than a room, all you need is one tiny little thing . . . the perfect prop, the detail that beats all others . . .

This comes from a higher level of decorator intuition, at least that’s what I think . . . A decorative kitty is good in any room. 

 

 

Have a wonderful day girlfriends.  So long from me and my friends! xoxo

 


 

 

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