I used to write Friday-love posts regularly...or at least fairly regularly...and I think I'd like to try that again...we'll see...I'm just dipping my toes in, as you do....
Despite the arsey weather, it looks like autumn outside...which is what I find so very off-putting about the current temperatures...30C and falling leaves simply do. not. match.
I love this time of year, I really do. I’d probably write more about how much I love it but I’m very cognizant of the dangers of autumn-love becoming a Thing. You know, like the H-word and all that. I love a good photo of fingerless-mittened-hands-wrapped-around-a-stylish-mug, or artfully arranged gourds-with-corn-stalks-and-red-maple-leaves as much as the next person, but it does tend to become wearying once it's become a hashtag. Still, I’m absolutely and utterly enchanted with the colours and smells of the season…*happy sigh*. The asters and goldenrod particularly are positively foaming with colour and literally humming with bee-folk.
Speaking of humming, a stray hummingbird has been visiting the feeder this week. Ha! Good thing I didn’t take it down. Clearly the poor wee thing is just as confused as the rest of us as to what season it’s supposed to be. Which naturally segues into another comment about the stupidity of the temperature and the dearth of rain in the forecast….but…..
...in an effort to avoid further complaint about the weather, here are some oddments and miscellany for your perusal, Dear Reader; just a few of the Lovelies in my world...
♡ I’m going to a physiotherapist once a week for my shoulder. I wish I could say it was pleasant. It isn’t. Oh, he’s very nice and everything - his name is Allan - and I rather enjoyed the weird and wonderful muscle-twitching of his acupuncture machine-thing, but it’s very painful and he tells me not to do all of the things I want to be doing. Like sleeping on my left side and doing my garden jobs. He asked me if I’d started riding again and gave me a pained expression when I said I had.
♡ I started the C25K program about a week or so ago and now my right knee has started acting up. This happened the last time. I suppose I was waiting for it to happen again. I have a History with that knee, stemming from when my parents dog slammed into it when he was a young and ungainly adolescent. That was more years ago than I care to share - the darling culprit having earned his wings several years ago after a lovely long innings. I begin to get the feeling I’m falling apart at the seams. I’d bring it up with Allan but I suspect he’ll tell me not to run. For someone who inflicts pain, he’s very against doing things that cause pain.
♡ I’ve been reading some lovely books lately — bearing in mind that my reading tastes vary wildly and I’m pretty much open to any suggestion — I’m very much inclined towards gentleness these days in my choices; books that reflect quietness and simplicity. The books in question are those from the Cottage Tales of Beatrix Potter by Susan Wittig Albert. Talking animals, the Lake District, Beatrix Potter —what more needs saying? They’re probably a bit naff and there are times when I raged against the narrative voice (violating that oh-so-holy-commandment of Thou Shalt NOT pull your reader out of the story! Tsk. Tsk.) —but I was unashamedly enchanted. I’ve read all of the ones available at the library….which leads me to the question of why, oh why, do libraries only carry bits and pieces of a series? I’ve come across this a lot in the last while, when looking up a particular series that’s been recommended. I’m one of those people who likes to start at the beginning and read through in order.
♡ Having said that, I just watched the fourth season of Father Brown without having seen the third. #thuglife. It’s just the way the hold turned up at the library - there are long waiting lists and I didn’t want to give up my turn just to wait for the third season to come up. It was fine. I suffered no ill-effects. I just love, love, LOVE it. Once again, hardly needs explaining - Cotswold village of the 1950’s, Mr.Weasley as Father Brown, award-winning strawberry scones…and although there’s always a murder, there’s never any gore or shock with it.
♡ I’m currently addicted to eating sliced tomato on a toasted bagel, spread first with homemade pesto. If I were one of those Influencers, I might make it a Thing and then the price of avocadoes would plummet. The tomatoes come from the farmer up the road — they’re heirlooms and as such he has trouble selling them to the City Folk because they’re somewhat unsightly. Which is to say, not perfectly round and blemish-free. Apparently some people will sacrifice flavour for aesthetics. But not I. And, if do say so myself, my pesto is utterly brilliant. It was a bumper year for basil and I’ve reaped a mighty harvest. If this stupid weather holds, I may even get another load in. So there’s an up-side, I suppose.
Right…that’s enough drivel to keep you going for a while. I’m finding this whole write-in-Scrivener-assemble-photos-later approach to be very conducive to regular writing. I’ve long had the notion to partake in the resurrection of Olde Tyme Blogginge...and this might just be my way to dodge the Mad Aunt.*
Speaking of which, the lovely Helen over at A Bookish Baker has some great thoughts on just saying ‘sod it all’ and remembering the reason we all started this blogging lark in the first place. Someone, somewhere convinced a lot of us that Blogging Because We Like It simply wasn't Done or Good Enough. The only thing more ridiculous than that notion is the fact that I fell for it.
It all comes from taking oneself too seriously, I think and really, who has time for that anymore?
*Mad Aunt = my inner critic…I find it helpful to imagine it as a dotty old character who talks loudly and upsets the tea things; also, wears slippers to the supermarket and probably still has her rollers in under her plastic rain-hat.