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On A Cold Winter Morning
"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." --Abraham Lincoln
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Chilling drafts fly around the cabin. I wrap myself in an old, bright red trade blanket, shuffle about wearing fleece-lined mocassins and imagine sitting by a huge stone fireplace three hundred years ago. Working on a sampler to learn the alphabet and stitches, I add "wrought* by" and my name and date. Handmade wrought* iron fireplace tools and cooking implements hang from square nails on the stone fireplace wall next to the baking oven. From an iron crane a pot of stew sways above the flames while a three-legged toaster sits near the hot coals waiting to brown sliced bread. Oh, what a delight--toasted bread topped with gobs of butter and dripping with honey! Loaves of fresh bread cool on the wide board plank table. Soon the house will be bustling--buzzing with dinner chatter after Meeting.
*wrought = work, created by, or forged
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Every time I come to this Journal, I am surprised at what surfaces. This morning I had planned to chat about how I wrote down lists of topics last evening (another goal accomplished); brainstormed with my best friend and came up with similarities between writing and painting, or post a recipe my mother made using crushed graham crackers, condensed (or evaporated) milk--I can't remember which and chocolate chips. Instead I transported myself momentarily back in time and rambled on about what I would see, feel, taste and smell while in that place.
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benu4444 at 10:22:00 AM EST Blog about this entry |
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Benu... ahh where is it you said you lived? NC? I will be right over to sample some of that fresh baked bread sliced and toasted with fresh butter and honey.
2/20/05 11:42 AM
Comment from benu4444 - 2/20/05 11:40 AM