Boy, am I happy that it’s Friday. We’re swinging into the weekend and I can’t wait!
Category: Life (page 35 of 84)
We have extremely varied musical taste in our household. We seem to go through phases. Right now, there is a lot of Jazz being played.
It was on our last trip to Copenhagen that we visited the Museum of Copenhagen, and it wasn’t until I walked into one of their exhibits that I discovered that Dexter Gordon was a long time Copenhagen resident. His song Tivoli, just gets to me.
Tivoli Gardens is one of our treasured places to visit. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s my current book of choice, but I have “itchy feet” as my Nana would say. I’m ready to travel, get a little dust in my shoes and move about another place.
It’s brisk here today and I know it’s cold in Denmark too. So maybe, if I was in Copenhagen, I would bundle up and walk along the river, over one of my beloved bridges, down into the City. Stopping somewhere for a drink, wrapping myself in the thick fleece blankets that are stacked up by the door to ward off the chill.
Maybe I would watch night slowly begin to fall as the glow of candles fill the streets. Maybe I would stop for pizza at the restaurant we like tucked down the alley and grab a bottle of wine from Irma’s and return to our apartment. Maybe we’d sit and eat and laugh and watch the water buses go by and the rainbow of reflections shimmer in their wake.
And maybe we would listen to Dextor Gordon and we would simply be.
I finished reading The Miniaturist, Friday night on the train home. I’m still mulling it over and felt it might help to right my thoughts down…
The Art Historian in me loves that a web was spun around a real miniature house that lives in the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. It belonged to the story’s heroine, Petronella Oortman, who did indeed marry Johannes Brandt. From this one thread of reality the tale spins it’s own cloth.
There were sections of it, that were so richly written:
The Old Church, Amsterdam: Tuesday, 14th January 1687
The funeral is supposed to be a quiet affair, for the deceased had no friends. But words are water in Amsterdam, they flood your ears and set the rot, and the church’s east corner is crowded. She watches the scene unfold from the safety of the choir stall, as guildsmen and their wives approach the gaping grave like ants toward the honey. Soon, they are joined by VOC clerks and ship’s captains, regentesses, pastry-makers – and him, still wearing that broad-brimmed hat. She tries to pity him. Pity, unlike hate, can be boxed and put away.
The church’s painted roof – the one thing the reformers didn’t pull down – rises above them like the tipped-up hull of a magnificent ship. It is a mirror to the city’s soul; inked on its ancient beams, Christ in judgement holds his sword and lily, a golden cargo breaks the waves, the Virgin rests on a crescent moon. Flipping up the old misericord beside her, her fingers flutter on the proverb of exposed wood. It is a relief of a man shitting a bag of coins, a leer of pain chipped across his face. What’s changed? she thinks.
I can’t deny that I wasn’t drawn into this world. Each sentence was rich and linguistically opulent.
But, I wanted more. The story fell short and I was left feeling as though I had missed something!? Does anyone else feel that way? Everyone else I have spoken to, who has read it, seems to have loved it. Is this an Emperor’s new clothes situation?
When I was done, I thought about it, I re-read the first chapter, I re-read the last chapter. I pieced those together and realised who the deceased was and who the three other women in attendance were. Now, I’ll admit, I’m a happy ending kinda gal. But, I can deal with with an ending where I draw my own conclusions. But, with this, I felt I had no definite threads from which a conclusion could be inferred.
It was almost as if I was reading two different stories. Nella’s newly unfolding life in Amsterdam, as an 18 year old bride to Johannes Brandt and Nella’s mysterious and odd interactions with the Miniaturist. The two stories never seemed to collide.
”There is nothing hidden that will not be revealed . . .“, the book states. Yet, I feel all and nothing was revealed.
I find it difficult to write this – to clearly express my views because I am still a bit dumbfounded – a bit bewildered. I feel like the maid, grasping for clues that are hidden behind keyholes, shrouded by the mist that has risen off the river…
And there it is. I’ve written these words and am still no better off. If you have an answer; if you can shed light where there is darkness, please let me know.
What sad, sad news I read this morning. We lost a musical genius today. A humble, talented, hardworking man.
B.B. King, you and Lucille will be missed.
I can’t believe it is only Wednesday! Three late school nights in a row for both of us. Yesterday at school we worked to put up the senior exhibition. It was a one night only exhibit and today we spent the day taking it all down. Sigh.
I’m getting Mr. Michie’s cold. The sunshine is giving me spring fever, although tomorrow it is supposed to pour all day. This morning, a cup of coffee spilled all down my blazer, scarf and grey shirt. So, for the rest of the day I looked like I was wearing dirty clothes. Yep, it must be Wednesday.
Come on Friday, I’ve been waiting for you all week!
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The kisser of boo-boos; the maker of pancakes; the whispered words that banish bad dreams; the cool fingers that ease a fever; the hands that hold, soothe and dry tears; the lips that kiss, that speak words of love and encouragement. The ears that hear what is being said and often what is left unsaid. The arms that offer hugs when no one else’s arms will do. The smile that let’s you know that everything will be okay. All these things and so much more only begin to scratch the surface of what it means to be a Mama.
My Mom holds all these qualities and so much more. Through the miracle of invention, I get to speak to her every day, even though we are thousands of miles away. I think so often of those brave pioneers who stepped up onto their wagons and set off down a road that would lead them so far away from their families, that they might never see them again. Occasionally we have the chance to Skype before I leave for work. After that I am set for my day. It doesn’t matter what else happens from that point forward, I have seen her face and all is right with the world. We laugh, we have our “little” secrets, we enjoy each other’s company.
I see the same thing between my gorgeous sister and my sweet pea of a niece. Even though she is still itty bitty, they laugh together, they have their own language, they share looks, they have their own little jokes and things they do to tease one another.
We are blessed to have Mothers, GREAT Mothers. Not everyone can say that. I’m very lucky, I can say that! I have a wonderful Mother and a sister who is a wonderful Mother too. Moms are often under appreciated. It is the hardest, at times least rewarding, non-paid job there is. But, it is an important job. Jacqueline Kennedy said once, that “if you bungle raising your children, I don’t think whatever else you do matters very much.” I think that is so true. You are shaping someone’s life in your hands. Being a parent is an important job and we should celebrate Mom’s, not just today, but everyday.
Happy Mother’s Day to two of the most important women in my life. Like all good Moms I have more than two women in my life who have guided me and celebrated my ups and downs, have been my cheerleaders and confidantes and I celebrate them as well. I love you all.
We’re kicking off our shoes and kicking back this weekend. It might have only been a four day week, but it certainly packed a punch!
Mr. Michie is sick, so we’re not getting a lot of sleep. There have been problems on the either the train or tubes every day. Wednesday night I had the joy of being stuck for about 40 minutes in the tube as there were signalling problems further down the line. School has been manic and it doesn’t feel like we ever had Monday off.
But, all of that has come and gone, the weekend is here. It might only be two days, but I plan to make the most of them!
Here’s to the weekend. Long may it last!
I dream of staying home on sunny mornings. Grabbing coffee with Mr. Michie, giving him a kiss at the bus stop and then waving as his bus pulls away from the curb. Heading to the grocery store when it is still early and quiet. Tending to our little flower boxes before our street has fully woken up. Cleaning, reading, making bread and drinking tea. Planning dinners and creating a cozy atmosphere to welcome him back home to after a long day.
I read in the front of one of Ina Garten’s cookbooks (I can’t seem to remember which one) that when Jeffrey comes home, the house always smells of delicious food, candles are lit, music is playing and he thinks that’s just how it is, but all of it is very deliberate. She is working to create a welcoming atmosphere. That stuck with me. I was very fortunate, I grew up in a loving, welcoming household. My parents (both excellent cooks), entertained frequently. Music played, candles were lit, the atmosphere was always relaxed. I have carried that with me and do it within my home. At night, the party lights are on, we play music, we light candles, we laugh and talk about our day. These things are so very important. When the world outside your door is buzzing and whirring away it is important to have an environment you can return to that welcomes you with open arms.
I have a project I am working on currently. Well, I’ve been working on it for a long time now if I’m honest. It’s almost ready to go out into the world. It’s like I’m roasting a chicken, I keep basting it and basting it and the skin is almost cooked to perfection, sizzling, crispy and browned and the meat is succulent and moist. It’s almost time to pull it out of the oven, but not quite. My project is almost done cooking. I hope good things come of it. I’m ready for a change, I’m not quite sure what, but I’m antsy lately, I feel unsettled. I’m ready to be doing something different. I’m ready for the next thing. The wind is blowing and I think it is carrying my heart along with it. Here’s to dreams, I hope more come to pass than don’t.
I have a secret. It’s a guilty pleasure secret and I’m going to share it with you. About two weeks ago, I read about a Kickstarter campaign to make a time traveling movie called “Kung Fury”. David Hasselhoff is involved in the project and has made a music video.
The title song, “True Survivor”, along with the video is just the best reminiscent cheesy 80’s piece of happiness that I have come across in awhile. I can’t stop listening to this song, it’s just too good. I’ve played it so often, Mr. Michie even knows all the words. I played it for my parent’s and they liked it too. I’m not ashamed to admit, I like “The Hoff”, singing away in his leather jacket in front of a white Knight Rider styled car.
I think the title of the song is appropriate, because that is what I have done this week: SURVIVED! Here’s to the weekend!
