Never. Ever. Again.

When you buy an old house and someone suggests that the original pine floors will be fantastically beautiful once they're refinished, don't grin and enthusiastically nod like a bobble head doll. Apparently all the nodding jiggles your brain loose or something.

Because... after a few days... you'll begin thinking "I can refinish these myself". And when you wake up and think, "I can refinish these myself!", do not stupidly run out and rent a sander, hoping to refinish them yourself. Instead, take you and your ridiculous thinking back to bed. Trust me.

But say you do, really, run out and get the sander and try to refinish those floors yourself. Whatever you do, please don't plug the machine into the one outlet in the house that throws the breaker every time you start the sander motor. And when you get mad and desperate, do not unplug the refrigerator "for a few minutes to borrow the plug" and forget while those "few minutes" turn into... say... long enough to melt ice and spoil milk. Yeah.

And when you do get the darn thing working and suddenly it starts shooting sparks out of the bottom - like a welding machine on Monster Garage - it would probably behoove you not to scream like the sky is falling and run out the front door, leaving the sander churning and spinning. Just a thought. (Turns out, it does that every time it hits a nail.)

Later, when the sander makes this violent jerking motion and suddenly spews grit and chewed-up sand paper toward you with the force of a tornado, don't do as I do and shove the machine into the wall and jerk the power cord out of the wall. It doesn't like that. And a wall isn't invincible. You learn these things.

And when the vacuum thingy on the sander quits working and you don't succeed in unclogging it, don't you dare think it's okay to continue sanding. It's not. You will inhale 100+ years worth of dirt, chemicals and sawdust. Your eyes will water, your throat will seize and choke, you'll cough puffy clouds for days and your boogers will run black for weeks.

Just saying.

I hated every second of this. Refinishing floors is a dirty, bad, dirty bad business. I, for one, want no further part in it. Never. Ever. Again.

But gosh. They do look pretty great, don't they? Not bad for a girl working all by herself. As in, without anyone around while she did all the work. Not bad at all, right?

Hmm. Wonder if that sander is available again this weekend? I'll bet I could refinish the rest of these floors myself...

Happy Fall

First day of fall. Did you know today is the first day of autumn 2008? The Red Spider Lilies must have. They're out in front of Freeman House in time to greet the occasion.

I have so many exciting things planned over the next few months. My October is booked solid. I mean, booked. Solid. But in the midst of the madness I intend to find a few quiet moments. A little time to talk to my Creator. An afternoon to piece a quilt. A few minutes to collect firewood. Make a pot of chili. Catch a Cowboy's game. Read a book. Snuggle on the couch. Play my piano. Rake leaves. Breathe deeply....

... and walk the dog. Can't forget about "the little brown dog", as Millie is affectionately known around these parts.

Wishing you a fall full of quiet and comfort and contentment. Happy autumn! -Brin

Wow.

I had to show you this video, made by my Uncle Tim (husband of my beloved "Auntie M"), whose family weathered Ike this past week in Baytown, Texas.



Uncle Tim, I cried and cried last night when I watched this. I'm so glad y'all are okay. You have my prayers... and anything else you may need.

Love you, B

House Workin'

I'm around, just underneath a jumble of plans and pictures and paint and projects. Will catch up with you on the other side of the weekend. Warmly, Brin

A Curious Sense...

She had a curious sense of her own roots

twined about the old house.

-Alice Tisdale Hobart

I sometimes have that, too - a curious sense of my own roots somehow twined about this old house.

Over the weekend, before and during the storm, I sanded floors. Myself. As in, I rented a commercial floor sander and installed the sanding pads and operated the 57,938 pound machine myself. It was a beating, especially after the stupid machine played out and the power went out. I sat down on the floor as Ike blew right outside that window and shouted, "I hate this old house! You're a terrible, ugly old pile of wood!" And immediately I was sorry. I felt as if I had screamed at myself. There is, after all, a curious sense of myself twined about the old place.

So. Floor finishing stalled but will resume again Saturday. This time I'm renting a different machine from a local place and not a chain superstore, so when I take it back and say, "Um, this machine needs to be serviced. Two of the three sanding drums don't work and I couldn't complete my project," the cashier won't look at me and say, all exasperated like, "Well, my belly button ring's infected. We all have our problems."

*****

After putting on lipstick and a new yellow jacket this morning, I went to the bank. "I need money for a new roof," I told the loan officer. Surprisingly, she didn't double over laughing or call security to escort the crazy lady (me) outside. "I think we can help," she said. I almost hugged her.

Freeman House... old place... you may be getting a pretty new roof soon. It'll thrill us both, I know. In the meantime, I need you to be nice and not throw any other problems my way. You're killing me.

*****

A note from the State of Texas. I'm all licensed up and certified to proceed with plans for the bakery side of Freeman House. Somewhere deep down inside I'm excited, but right now, I'm so preoccupied with storm clean up and a busted lawnmower and a leaking roof and half-sanded floors that my mind can only stretch so far. Could you be a little excited for me? That would be great.

*****

Freeman House will be busy this fall. She's hosting a fundraising "Spook House" on Saturday, October 18. Those who come out okay will get a candy bag and a cartoon Christian leaflet with our perspective of Halloween. Then on November 1, the Fall Masquerade Ball is set to be a hit. I've decided to be a Forest Fairy and I already have big golden wings and a costume. I have to show you. Later I'll show you. It's spectacular.

*****

Whew. So. Better be off. I have a group of ladies coming by in a few moments to "peek in" on the house. (People think, when you tell them you're renovating an old house, that you're simply repainting and changing out cabinet hardware. Why is that?) Folks come over here and take a few looks around and say, Wow. You really are redoing this house. I mean, it barely has walls. And I smile and agree but think, "Careful what you say! You should have seen her before. She's beautiful but just needs love."

But maybe I'm too defensive and emotionally involved. After all, I think over time my own roots have twined about the old house.

Ike Schmike

I'm here. All is well.

Ike rumbled through yesterday afternoon, downing power lines and causing general chaos. I had a room full of folks late last night; since I'm on the same street as a nursing home and the police station my power's always the first to come back. We sat tight and listened to the wind and laughed our heads off and talked about the upcoming Freeman House Fall (Masquerade) Ball. (One woman is bringing an unloaded shotgun and dressing up as Sarah Palin. Her husband is coming as a caribou. Yet another couple is coming as Tony Romo and Jessica Simpson. Too much fun.)

Made it through the night and hurried to church this morning to find it cancelled. No power there either and likely won't be for several days.

The power and internet continue to blink off and on so I'm updating via my Blackberry. May be a little scarce this week as things return to normal. Thanks for the prayers and thoughts! -Brin

Storm

Building storm. Darkening sky. Gusting winds. Gustav, now Ike.

Traffic, slow and angry. Gas stations out of gas. Grocery store out of water. School buses rumbling by full of kids, their faces pressed to the glass. Hurry them home, the storm is coming.

Tonight's games? Postponed. Tomorrow's ladies lunch? Cancelled. There's another storm coming, people. The storm is coming.

My heart goes out to Galveston. I was just there, it seems, standing on the very beaches that are now flooded by storm surge.

Texas could use your prayers today. -Brin

(Saturday Update: It's 10:30 AM CST and Ike is expected to be downgraded from a Category 1 Hurricane to a Tropical Storm about the time he hits Freeman House this afternoon. We're fine here, but praying for the folks south of us. [And, okay, I'm keeping a concerned eye on the wind and praying for my roof, too.])

Silly Millie

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend.

The first to welcome, foremost to defend.

-Lord Byron

Darling Millie... my firmest friend. She's become quite the little road trip sweetie. These pictures were taken awhile ago, back when she wasn't as eager to poke her nose out the window and let her velvet ears flap in the wind. Back when she was more concerned with only facing towards me and catching a nap.

Millicent. She's growing up quickly and becoming a silly, sweet companion and steadfast protector. Silly Millie.

Is there anything better than a warm little puppy by your side? I'm not sure there is. We're looking forward to a wonderful fall together....

A Quiet Moment of Rest

The beginnings of a collection and a found hutch, right at home in the Freeman House dining room.

The house is incredibly chaotic today... boxes, dishes, papers and piles everywhere. Friday the restoration of the original pine floors begins. This massive project has already, I've found, required quite a bit of packing, stacking, and juggling.

I guess I need to tackle this next, but sitting here looking at this sight in the rainy afternoon light gave me pause.

I think I'll have something cold to drink and sit down a minute. It will all get done later. It always does....

Hoping you find a quiet moment of rest sometime today, too. -Brin

Not All of Her Dreams...

Not all of her dreams came true,

but she was never sorry she had them.

-Jodi Hills, An Imperfect Life

Last Monday - a week ago today - was my wedding anniversary. I stayed with a friend... another dear, dear woman who survived a horrid marriage and lived to talk about it. When she invited me to stay in her little cottage, she encouraged me to come to the main house and visit before I settled in. I did. We talked until late in the night, and when I stood up to leave, she offered, Can I get you anything before you go? Maybe something to help you sleep?

Oh no. No. No, thank you, I said. I don't like taking medicine unless I have to. Besides, I'm fine.

She looked me over, up and down, and then nodded. When I was in England after my marriage ended, she began, a friend gave me a homeopathic remedy called Ignatia. Just to help me until I got back on my feet. It worked wonders. She handed me four tiny pills. Take these.

I did. I took them. Within an hour, I was completely calm. Clear headed, awake, and normal-feeling, just calmer. It was a miracle. I sunk into my borrowed fluffy bed and breathed deeply. I must have fallen asleep right away.

Since then, I've ordered and tried three different kinds of homeopathic remedies. They've all worked shockingly well and I've experienced no side effects. You guys know I'm not a product pusher. (Books I love, yes. But stuff? No. I don't sell or recommend products.) But natural, homeopathic remedies that work? Yeah. I'm making an exception.

If you're curious, as I was, visit my favorite new homeopathy site here. (And in case anyone should wonder, I ordered and have taken Ignatia, Wise's #174, and #304 . I wholeheartedly recommend them.) This said, I'm not currently on medication of any sort, but if you are, you may want to run these by your doctor before giving them a go.

I have a handful of friends who rely on their anti-depressants. After my marriage ended and I went to counseling, my doctor/hero/counselor/man refused to prescribe me the medicine my friends were on. You're not depressed, he insisted. Some days you're just sad. Then he looked at me gently and added, You dreamed of a loving husband and a happy home and starting a family. And those dreams didn't materialize. You have every right to be sad.

Some days I still remember that conversation and smile. I'm thankful, as he suggested, that I've taken these past two years to face and fight through those broken dreams. I'm proud of myself for not burying the hurt in another unhealthy relationship or suffocating the ache with medicine. And I want to say - to any girl out there who's facing a broken relationship or abuse in her marriage or... divorce - that you can survive. That you will get better. I did, and I know you will too.

Not all of her dreams came true, but she was never sorry she had them....

Just a few things that were on my heart... and my nightstand... today. Maybe this will help someone. Love, Brin

Strawberry Sugar September Saturday

A pile of fresh strawberries given to me by the lady I've been housesitting for this week. I brought them home and decided in all of two seconds that they were going into a loaf of Strawberry Sugar Bread.


This bread is my favorite... for breakfast, for snack, for anytime. It's tender and warm and sweet and strawberry-ish. I love it toasted with sweet cream butter on top. But I eat it plain and at room temperature, too, with a cup of tea or a glass of milk. Divine.

I've been working to develop the perfect recipe for a sweet bread that can be modified - at a moment's notice - to accommodate most any fruit or berry you have around: blackberries, blueberries, peaches, etc. So far so good. I may make it available as a .pdf download as soon as it's perfected. How does that sound? Would anyone be interested?

The weather continues to be picture perfect here at Freeman House. No heat, low humidity, and soft, glowing sunshine. In a moment, after I hang the sheets out on the clothesline, I'm going to lie on a blanket next to the Thyme and fall asleep. This week tuckered me out. Tomorrow is impossibly busy. I could use a little nap.

Wishing you a sweet and simple Saturday. -Brin

Miscellaneous: Fall, Scarf, Bean Stains, and My Rebuttal

The scarf from the other day, finished. I thought of it this morning because it actually, truly feels like fall today. I just turned off the ceiling fans and am considering putting on a sweater. Imagine that... cool weather in Texas in September. Unbelievable.

See the shirt behind the scarfed mannequin? I have to tell you this story. Last week, I had the pleasure of joining a friend and Leigh McLeroy for dinner. As in, I rode with them to this white-cloth Mexican restaurant, we ate, and while our friend ran an errand, Leigh and I went to the bookstore and did that, "Have you read this? What did you think of ...?" thing that girls do in a bookstore. I had to blink a few times just to be sure: was I really there talking books with the author of A Beautiful Ache and The Sacred Ordinary? Yep. Unbelievable.

But back to the restaurant. I ordered chicken something with rice and beans. It came and I ate carefully, trying to avoid the water spills or roll flingings I am famous for. (Scott - remember the time my buttered roll flew from my plate and hit Senator Sam Nunn in the back of the head?) Oh yes. I was carefully eating and thankful they don't serve rolls at Mexican restaurants when suddenly a forkful of refried beans dropped, in slow motion, on my beautiful new shirt. There was no getting around it gracefully: in front of my favorite writer I had dropped a glob of beans on my bust.

But it gets worse. I was in a bad way, also, that day, and so when the car stopped at Target so our friend could run in to look at bicycles, I knew the following: that I really needed some Kotex and that our little grocery store would be closed by the time I got home. I had to get it then. Had to. So I slipped the neon green package in my little carry-around basket and plopped a big book on top and was relieved to have it done. Of course, at the checkout I had to explain that yes, I had beans on my pretty shirt and yes, I was having to buy some bathroom things. Sorry, Leigh. I had to laugh and welcome her to my messy, thrilling life. What else could I do?

But I digress. Fall. Aren't you glad it's almost here? (I'm ready for the cooler weather and the sweaters it mandates, if for no other reason than they're great for covering up bean stains.) Yes, autumn. Soon I'll be planting garlic and lettuces. Harvesting pumpkins and green tomatoes. (Excuse the gardening talk. This is, I'm told, an "art and gardening" blog.)

Speaking of. Here's a quick word about the weekend blogging that took place on my site: I am deeply touched by those rushed to my defense... or at least the defense of folks who enjoy the right to say whatever they wish on their respective blog(s). (Isn't that freedom what makes blogs so pleasing? That we all have different ideas, opinions, projects, and causes?) To those who disapproved of my mention of politics and "religion" on this site, I can only assert that I make no apologies for my political position, faith, or my decision to frankly discuss the issues and beliefs I hold dear. I am appalled by the readers who tried to put me or this blog in a box of their own expectations. I am disappointed by the insinuations that women who create and garden can't also be women who advocate and campaign. What an infuriating, one-dimensional view of a woman's capabilities and rights!

(Also, it was interesting to note that some of those who chose to comment did so anonymously without signing their name. How awful to have opinions but not be bold enough to put your name to them! Therefore, for the purpose of fair and open discussions, I have disabled anonymous commenting on this forum. It saddens me because some of my favorite commenters: my Aunt Mindy "Auntie M" and friends Sara, Amber, and Grace, all commented anonymously.)

Whew. Okay. So now you're up to date: the weather's cool, the scarf is done, the bean stain's off my shirt, I've responded to both my clan and my critics, and I explained the changes to my comment forum. Anything else?

Oh yeah. Sarah Palin. I cried and clapped during her speech last night. Wasn't she... and her message... wonderful?

*We now return to our regularly scheduled art and gardening blog.* Grin.

A Quiet Life

Anything for a quiet life.

-Thomas Middleton

This has been the cry of my ever-running and over-exerted feet and heart lately: anything for a quiet life.

Gustav brought wind and rain, but not nearly what we anticipated, thank God. He's been gentle on us. Unrelenting but calm. Compared to Katrina, I think Gustav rather spared us and I'm grateful.

Having emptied a gallon jar of leaking roof water in the back hall this morning, I now have a tin pail under the drip. Every thirty seconds or so I hear the plunk of another drop. It's so quiet, save that dripping. The stillness is comforting.

I'm working on a new quilt... a postage stamp quilt. I really, really love these. I have squares of fabric from Alicia. I have bits of material from old night gowns and shirts, bags and blankets. I even have a dress in there from one of my childhood dolls. At night, just before I go to sleep, I quietly line up the squares and piece them together. I've been delighted to watch this beauty take shape. (Yesterday I decided to put a twin bed in a corner of the study. This quilt will blanket that bed and I'm sure it will be my favorite.)

For those who've asked, I'm also preparing five more House Helper bundles to hit the Freeman House Shop on Etsy by the weekend. The one I'm doing today will be a baby set. Precious.

So there's your update: rain, dripping, quiet, quilting, knitting. There's also a pan of homemade brownies in the oven.

Anything for a quiet life.

Gustav Comes Knocking

Uh-0h. After ravaging Louisiana, Gustav is headed our way. I've been out of town since Saturday and planned to be gone for a week but rushed home this morning to ... prepare. And wait. To prepare and wait and help.

But the weather is calm and beautiful now. (Above, a picture of Freeman House's original barn.) Freeman House is about 1 hour west of Shreveport, Louisiana, a community already packed with folks who fled Katrina and decided to stay. Our little town also absorbed some of Katrina's displaced, so we are familiar with what we're already seeing this morning: long gas lines, a busy grocery store, heavier traffic. News reports say 1.9 million have been evacuated from the Gulf as of this morning. Some are headed here, just ahead of the rain, apparently. The weather forecast calls for 10 straight days of rain.

So we get ready. I have buckets and gallon glass jars out, ready to catch the water that always pours into Freeman House when we get these leftover hurricane rains. (A new roof estimate is $10,000. Can't afford that just now.) I also have baggies of personal hygiene items: toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, deodorant, shampoo, etc., ready to distribute if need be. I have meals ready to cook and a cleared-out library floor so someone can sleep here if they need to. We'll see.

I may be in and out this week, depending on what comes our way. In the meantime, the people affected by Gustav are in my most fervent prayers.

Happy September, all. -Brin

The Adventurer Begins Another...

She's been a pilot. A hunter. A TV announcer. A small business owner. An ice fisherman. She's a sportswoman, a former beauty queen, a governor and a mother. She's a brash, beautiful, ambitious woman who wants to make a difference. She's Sarah Palin, and she's the kind of "every man" woman I dreamed of being when I was a girl.

I swore to myself that I wouldn't get political on my blog, even though as a former Sumners Scholar and reporter, politics is in my blood. But today I just had to say, I am shocked and enthralled by McCain's selection of Palin as a running mate.

No matter where you fall politically, this is an astounding and interesting election. I can hardly wait for November. -Brin

Wind and Wattle

I know I mentioned Saturday... among all the blathering about pumpkins and how I adore fall... that it was storming violently. And when I said violently, I meant, there was violence. The wind and beating rain enacted a force of meanness on the trees the likes of which I'd never seen.

Here's how it happened: I was sitting in the library, trying to finish an awful book I wished I'd never bought, when suddenly I heard a boom. Then a craaaaack. Then the sound of a thousand heavy leaves falling. All was silent for a second, then came a thud. The house trembled. Millie jumped and I screamed and together we raced through the library, across the entry and into the dining room.

We stayed there, beside lit candles and pumpkins, while the wind blew. And wouldn't you know, within several moments history repeated itself: boom... craaaaack... falling... thud... tremble. (Note: it takes more than your average bear to frighten me. I was scared to death.)

Turns out the parts of two trees, a cottonwood and a pecan, had fallen from the sky to the house to the ground. One branch - the one by the kitchen - landed on the kitchen steps. I know it doesn't seem so alarming from the picture above, but that branch is 13 inches across and over 20 feet long.

So, when the wind gives you branches what do you make? Wattle. You make wattle. A sort of wattle fence, that is. A non-willow, Texified version. Ever since Saturday I have determined to become an expert Texas wattler, making wattle the likes of which no one has ever seen. Wattle that will impress my friends and astonish my neighbors.

You're laughing? I hear you laughing. It's okay. I'm cracking up, too. I'm laughing all the way to my new wattle fencing. For where there's a windy will, there's a windy way. Where there's wind, there's wattle.

At least that's what I always say. (laugh)

The Morning Glories

The morning and evening

should be alike calm and cheerful.

-Thomas Arnold

Do you have a favorite time of day? I do. Two, actually: morning and late evening. I'm sure those of you with kids or hectic days are frowning and rolling your eyes... no doubt your mornings and evenings nearly kill you coming and going. I'm sorry. Here it isn't that way. Here the mornings and evenings are beautiful and peaceful, complete with tea or coffee, flowers, and church bells in the distance.

But the flowers. You should see them. There are roses. Pink, yellow, red, lavender and white roses. There's a group of hydrangeas and hostas... of daffodils and tulips. But someone before me (was it Ms. Freeman?) adored blue Morning Glories. I mean, loved them. I did, too, until I bought this old place. A rambling, clinging vine with trumpet-shaped blue flowers that opened, like clockwork, only to greet the sun? Magical, I thought. Something only God... in His clever, gorgeous way... could pull off.

And then the rambling, yawning-blue-to-the-sun vines began to creep, climb, and conquer.

They twisted up tomato cages, over sunflowers, alongside runner beans and down pumpkin stems. They united in a brazen plot to cover and choke my garden, one heart-shaped leaf and spring-loaded bloom at a time. And while I was away... while I lived in the mountains... the Morning Glories claimed the place, one petal, leaf, and stem at a time.

There are certain parts of the garden I'm avoiding, for now, until the weather turns cool enough to deal with the Morning Glories. Until then, I'm enjoying my early days and early nights elsewhere.

But I do love those times, troublesome flowers notwithstanding. I love the anticipation and reflection of dawn and dusk. My goal is to take time, at least once a day, to breathe those moments in... to not lose them forever. And at Freeman House you can. Time here seems different than everywhere else. I wonder how that is?

Wishing you a wonderful day, regardless of your favorite part and despite your own Morning Glories. -Brin

Summer Fair, A House Helper Collection

I adore these pretties. House Helpers is what I call them. They're handknit cloths... the softest, most durable, most absorbent ones to ever grace a sink, cleaning bucket, bag or car. Stop by Freeman House and I guarantee you'll find them peeking out of all sorts of corners: kitchen corners, bathroom corners, laundry corners, cleaning corners, Millie corners. I keep... and use... them everywhere.

And now you can, too. I have seven sets up for grabs at the Freeman House Shop on etsy, just in time for wrapping up our summers and getting cozy for fall. They make great hostess gifts, friend gifts, or "I'm having a bad day and I need this" gifts. And all the proceeds go to save this historic house, so you can feel even better about snatching a few up. (wink)

Happy shopping! -Brin

**Update: Wow! Those went quickly! I'll have five additional sets up for grabs next week, so if you missed out yesterday, stay tuned. And thanks, lucky House Helper grabbers, for the support!**

Monday Moment: Sunset

When I admire the wonders of a sunset...

my soul expands in the worship of the creator.

-Mohandas Gandhi

Sunset, viewed from behind a pot of scorched rosemary. Pink sky. Long blue shadows. Sunset.

Sometimes I cry as I watch dusk fall. Makes me think of someone I love very much. Someone who isn't here... who won't ever be. I miss him. I never wanted to see all these days slip into darkness without him.

A trusted friend slipped me a book... oh, months ago. The Language of Letting Go. I read it often and pray my prayers and hope on a new day... on the thought that joy comes with the morning. And with each sunset I find peace and promise. Some more than others, but always a little peace and always a bit of promise.

Isn't it encouraging to know that God is eternal? I see a sunset and think of the millions that have come before and the ones that I am allowed to glimpse and my heart feels heavy with awe. He is lovely. He is good. And my hopeless hopes, no matter how scorched... no matter how over... pale in comparison to the beauty He has waiting for me. To the glory I'll one day behold in Him.

When I admire the colors, the shadows, the streaks, and the fading of a sunset, my own soul expands in thanks and worship of the Creator.

Weeping may tarry for the night,
But joy comes with the morning.
-Psalms 30:5

Stormy Saturday (With Pumpkins)

I planted pumpkins this morning. It was time. There's only three months until Thanksgiving, and the pumpkins I adore take 60-90 days to mature. Millie dug while I pulled weeds and together we managed to clear out enough of the decaying summer garden to make room for a fall harvest.

The recipe for a cozy Saturday? Come in after planting seeds the shape of rain drops, take a hot shower, towel off and sit in the library until it's time to make a grilled cheese sandwich, tomato soup and tea. Then pick out a new book, settle in, and watch as it begins to drip outside the library window.

When it begins to storm - violently - leave the library for the warm glow of a mantle-side chair in the dining room. Get as comfortable as you can, what with a brown puppy in your lap, and read until it stops thundering.

So cozy. I'm so pleased with the dining room at Freeman House. It's painted a Martha Stewart color called Malted, and it glows and radiates this other-worldly warmth in natural, candle, or lamp light. Even during a very dark Saturday afternoon when the wind and rain blows just beyond that wall.

(The pumpkins, by the way, are from my [spring] test run patch, grown from my own saved organic seed. They're of the Long Island Cheese variety, and they're the ones you want when making pumpkin pies, pumpkin lattes, pumpkin butter, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin soup... you get the idea. If you're local, be sure to buy a few from the Freeman House patch this year. If you're not from around these parts, shop around until you find some of these beauties. You'll be glad.)

More on pumpkins and gardening this week. Stay tuned...

Quiet Friday Night

It's turning fall here. Or it feels as though it is. It's been rainy and dark and I've only had to turn on the air conditioner once. Amazing for Texas in August.

If you've read this blog awhile, you know autumn is my favorite time of year. I love the ciders and the hot chocolates. The sight of burnt-colored leaves hurrying by billowing, quilted throws on the line. I adore football and Autumn in New York. I like the chilly evenings and the warm fires. There's something magical about pumpkins and Indian corn and hay rides. And I appreciate the excuse to turn on the oven and cook things long and slowly. You can have summer; fall is my time.

In the bottom of a knitting basket I found two skeins of orange yarn. It was reason enough: I'm taking tonight off, staying home, cooking dinner, watching the Cowboys and knitting a scarf for fall.

And playing with the puppy. Hasn't she grown? My ever-by-my-side, rosemary-thieving Millie. She's glad to be home, I think, running about and kicking up leaves that are already falling outside the kitchen door. This dog has the sweetest temperament. She's parked beside me now as I type, chewing her bone and looking up at me every so often. Soon she'll be ready to go out again. Perhaps it will stop raining long enough for a walk.

We'll hope so.

If you need us tonight, we'll be here, camped out by the windows in the library, watching the rain and eating Dark Chocolate Bread Pudding and knitting.

Happy weekend. -Brin

P.S. If you love fall as I do, treat yourself to this book. You'll treasure it more every year. Simply titled, Autumn is a heart-warming collection of quotes, recipes, and ideas to settle yourself in for a beautiful fall.

Sneaking Home... And A Kitchen Question

I'm back.

Really back. As in, the telephone company is coming Thursday to turn on the phone service at Freeman House. I hope to be home for good. I'm praying I'm home for good.

What does this mean? It means very exciting things. This means I can actually be here to tend a garden. It means work will begin (again) on the old place. It means lunches will soon be served out of the house. It means I can be home to share autumn with you.

It's wonderful. Isn't it? It's a proud day.

I celebrated this afternoon by climbing atop a ladder and taking a stab at removing the cheesecloth wallpaper still clinging to the wooden walls in the kitchen. The walls are over 120 years old. They're solid, tongue-and-groove wood. Cedar, I think. The floors are pine. (Back in 2005, a builder from New Orleans offered me good money to let him tear the house down so he could sell the wood. I think I told him to take a hike.)

So, question: suppose Freeman House was yours. Would you cover the wooden walls in the kitchen with sheet rock or plaster? Or would you clean them, polish them, and leave the 120+ year old plank walls for all the world to see?

Think on it, would you? I'd be grateful. In the meantime, I'm going to unpack and make a pot of stew and some Chocolate Bread Pudding for dinner....

Hello again. Glad to see you. It's good to be home.

Dreaming, Living and Stomping

Dream as if you'll live forever.

Live as if you'll die today.

-James Dean

One of my dreams: to go grape stomping before I turned thirty. Grape stomping was the thing, Delaney Vineyards was the place, and today was the day.

It was a perfect day. I loved the colors best. The sky sat a heavy, muted shade of gray. The vines unfurled an emerald green. And the grapes? They blushed a blueberry blue. Piles and piles of blueberry blue.

I wanted to take them all home and spill them from baskets and just look at them.

You couldn't, of course. It was harvest day at the vineyards and buckets and bins of grapes sat around waiting for their turn in the tumbler, a machine that separated the grapes from their stems. Men with large plastic shovels stood on top of the machine and scooped grapes into the hopper. I thought of those two scoops of raisins commercials and laughed.

I'm not sure what kind of grapes they use for raisins, but these weren't them. The grapes my friend and I saw today were headed for Delaney's wooden barrels, to ferment and age and become Merlot and Chardonnay wines.

After they were stomped, of course.

Stepping into a vat of mushed grapes is unlike any other feeling I've ever felt. Slushy and gritty, the mixture also ran fluid and slippery. Feeling that purple soup churn around my ankles reminded me of something one would experience in a spa. It was comforting, somehow. Almost therapeutic. I could have squished and stirred those grapes all day.

But I didn't. I lifted one foot out, then the other, and breathed a happy sigh. I did it. Under a stormy gray sky alongside twisting, emerald vines, I stomped grapes. Before I turned thirty. And it was as wonderful as I'd envisioned.

I'll drink (a wine sample) to that.

So here's to us. Here's to dreaming a little and living even more. -Brin

Bundles, Bags and Grape Stomping

In order to understand the world,

one has to turn away from it on occasion.

-Albert Camus

It's so good to turn away from the world on occasion. Especially us. Especially now, in this day and time when we're all so busy we have to stop to remember which way we were facing to begin with. Whew.

To say that I've enjoyed my time away is an understatement of the highest order. I'm really only popping in now to say that, yes, I'm fine. (No need to send any more frantic, worried emails and such demanding to know my condition or whereabouts. I assure you: I didn't fall off a plane or die of whooping cough or anything.) Nope, I've just been around - here and there - doing the things I must and a few of the things I enjoy. Like today.

Today is a day for pouring deep, icy glasses of tea, putting a pan of brownies in the oven, plopping onto the couch, watching movies, and sewing up prototypes of the handbag I'm hoping to make as Christmas gifts for girly friends and family. I got one of Alicia's Precious Bundles for inspiration and decided to piece these by hand. (I'm going for something like this, only a little more vintage/country summer afternoon feeling.) I love sewing by hand. It forces me to slow down; I always try to breathe very deeply and sit calmly when I sew. Very therapeutic, especially when you're doing something as simple as sewing two squares together.

I sit calmly today because the rest of the week I fly about like the batted ball in a pinball machine. Among the many things on the agenda this week? Grape stomping. Yep, grape stomping. As in, go to a vineyard and squish vats of grapes with your bare feet. Weird, I know. But on my list of "Thirty Things To Do Before I'm Thirty"... the list I made four years ago... number 17 reads: "Go grape stomping". Don't know why except that it just always seemed silly and messy and romantic. Not a bit like me, you understand. (Ha.)

So there's your update. I'm good. I'm keeping busy with bundles, bags, brownies and grape stomping. If you were wondering what I'm up to, now you (sort of) know.

Hope this finds you awfully well and enjoying the fading summer. -Brin