Inspirations: Springtime, a Dear Friend, and My Big Brother

I've been thinking often of my word for the year: inspire.  I'm feeling incredibly inspired lately, especially now that spring has arrived in full force here in Portland.  I have a huge writing project to finish, and for the first time, I can honestly say the end is in sight.  So, thank you soft spring air and blooming cherry trees, and cheerful muscari.  Somehow all this growth and renewal gets me to writing.

Photo by prairie girl studio

I also am feeling inspired by friends both far and near.  One friend in particular is on my mind today.  Her name is Aeleen, but perhaps some of you know her better as prairie girl.  She is back to blogging these days, and her gorgeous photos and words are more inspiring than ever.  You can visit her here. Also, Aeleen was the winner of my London Treasures Giveaway, so if you're curious about what goodies I gathered while on my trip, she and one of her sons have created a wonderful post about the package.  When you read it, you'll discover that Aeleen has been through a great deal in the past several weeks.  I'm holding her and her family in my heart as I write this.

The photo above is of one of the Murano glass eggs I included in the parcel.  I think she and Jesse have taken a pretty object and turned it into something spectacular.  That's what Aeleen does with everything she photographs.  She notices detail in a way that never ceases to amaze me.  She also has a heart of gold.  Truly.  Perhaps that is what inspires me most.

And finally, the photo above is of my big brother when he was a wee lad.  Mark celebrated his birthday this past week.  He's now just a few years decades older than he was in this photo.  I've never mentioned him here on the blog before, so I hope he doesn't mind.  Ever since I can remember, my brother has inspired me with his artistic talent, his quick wit, his insatiable curiosity, and his deeply caring soul.  When we were kids I loved to watch him draw ornate pictures of houses and flowers and fantasy race cars in his sketch book, and I would follow him pretty much anywhere he would let me.  I especially liked searching in the woods with him for treasure . . .  or hanging blankets in the attic to make a fortune teller's tent . . . or building elaborate sand castles encrusted with shells and sea glass at the beach.  No matter what we did, everything with my brother felt like an adventure.  I love this picture of Mark with our kitten Sharon in his arms, because it captures who he was then and who he still is now.  He has taken in countless injured, ailing, and homeless animals over the years, providing them with shelter and boundless love.  He has also offered incredible support to me whenever I've asked--and often when I haven't.  We've lived far apart for most of our adult lives, but no matter how many years pass, I can just close my eyes and he's in the bedroom next to mine, Led Zepplin or Janis Joplin cranked up to 10.  I can just knock on the wall if I need him, and I know he'll always knock back.   

Sunflowers, Mums, Pumpkins, and Love

"A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person."  ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Second Neurotic's Notebook, 1966

I have marriage on my mind tonight because Todd and I had the great thrill of serving as attendants at his younger sister's wedding over the weekend.  The flowers above are a close-up I took this morning of the bouquet I carried.  I was so busy talking with people and enjoying myself at the reception that I didn't take one single photograph.  Me.  Can you believe it?  But the mental images are vivid.  I loved so much about their wedding weekend: 

family and friends gathering the day before 

to decorate the reception hall with huge pots of mums 

and piles of pumpkins and gourds 

rehearsal dinner at a really good local Chinese restaurant--

the platters of noodle and rice and egg rolls never stopped coming

dark clouds in the morning that cleared as the wedding hour approached

watching my youngest niece before the ceremony 

as she practiced tossing rose petals 

from her pumpkin-shaped basket

a homily on love by their parish priest

the toast given by the best man--maybe the best one I've ever heard

warm apple crisp in lieu of wedding cake

autumn leaves falling outside the windows of the hall

watching two best friends exchange vows

getting to share my birthday from now on with their anniversary

(okay, that one is a little selfish, but I can't help myself!)

What, you might, ask, happened to all those mums and pumpkins after the proverbial party was over?  The mums went back to Todd's dad's garden and the pumpkins we divvied up among family members. A few made their way back home with us.  The bride and groom are on their honeymoon  now, of course, but they are coming to visit us at the end of the week.  When they arrive they will find these little reminders of their wedding day tucked into corners all over the house.   

My favorite is the white one in my workshop/guest room,

but I like the humor of the pumpkin on my hutch, where it echoes the shape of the melon-patterned tea service and the "Peter Pumpkin Eater" child's lamp.  While the message of that old nursery rhyme leaves much to be desired for married couples, I can't resist the charm of the lamp.

This tiny pumpkin sits in our front hall where we keep cards on display in a vintage Underwood typewriter.  

As I type this post I'm remembering it was twenty years ago this very month that I met my husband on a chilly Halloween night.  October seems an auspicious month for beginnings, indeed.   

Once More to the Lake

One summer, along about 1904, my father rented a camp on a lake in Maine and took us all there for the month of August. We all got ringworm from some kittens and had to rub Pond's Extract on our arms and legs night and morning, and my father rolled over in a canoe with all his clothes on; but outside of that the vacation was a success and from then on none of us ever thought there was any place in the world like that lake in Maine. We returned summer after summer--always on August 1st for one month. I have since become a salt-water man, but sometimes in summer there are days when the restlessness of the tides and the fearful cold of the sea water and the incessant wind which blows across the afternoon and into the evening make me wish for the placidity of a lake in the woods. 

~E.B. White, "Once More to the Lake," 1941

Much has changed in Maine since E.B. White wrote his beautiful essay about returning with his son to the lake of his own childhood.  The road to many weekend escapes is now lined by strip malls packed with Wendy's and Pizza Huts; most cottages come equipped with wi-fi access and cable TV; and the calm of the lake is disturbed by the incessant buzz of jet skis.  

However, if you rise early enough and glide out onto the lake in your canoe, you can be the first one on the water.  You can paddle in the cradle of the lake with the sun rising on one side and the moon sinking on the other.   

And in the afternoon, there are still porch rockers for lounging and porch beds for naps.

And, of course, there are docks for leaping.

I can think of no better place for a birthday . . .

or a campfire . . .

or a morning sleep-in.

This past week I took a series of portraits of my family on this very dock using this very pink bentwood chair as a prop.  Something about the chair all by itself spoke to me, too.  What a place to sit and listen for the loons at sunset or watch for the bald eagle who lives nearby.  Here a body can forget the rumble and rush of the world and settle into a quiet rhythm all its own.

Birthday Girls

"We turn not older with years, but newer every day."

~Emily Dickinson

This is a magical week of birthdays.  First there was my niece Maddy's, now there is my friend Jackie's, and then there will be my sister Susan's.  Each one of them inspires me, makes me laugh, and makes me think, and so I wish them all many adventures and surprises of the best kind in the coming year.

May each week lead you to a new discovery and each day to a new joy.

xo Gigi

Happy Hallowell

It was Todd's birthday this weekend, so we took a trip up to Hallowell, Maine, on the Kennebec River.  One of our favorite habits is staring at old buildings and imagining what we'd do with them if they were ours.  You know how you do, like imagining a whole other life that seems quite possible for a magic fifteen minutes or maybe even an hour.  I love those little windows of dream time, especially when shared with the coolest person I know.  Hallowell is the perfect place to indulge in this habit of ours because it is pure architectural perfection.  Of course, it doesn't hurt that it's packed with antiques shops, too!  At the Antiques Mall we bought a set of three old (I mean old) lockers from a high school in upstate New York.  They're going to hold belts and ties and scarves and whatnot back at the homestead in Massachusetts.

One of the shops downtown is guarded by ferocious beasties and graced by two Buddha heads.

I am in love with these two buildings.

We often speak of Southern Gothic literature, art, and architecture, but growing up in Maine, I always felt that there's a Northern Gothic, too, and places like Hallowell epitomize this style and feeling,

Think of the wonderful patina of Savannah, place it up north in the cold with less light and a mix of Victorian and colonial houses, and you start to get a sense of what Hallowell is like.

Someone is redoing this massive beauty high on a hill.  Think of the ghost stories you could write here!  Speaking of which, Stephen King's house just up the road a ways in Bangor is well worth a look, if you're ever in Maine.

As you head south of Hallowell on the back roads, you encounter sweet Maine villages like East Pittston, where you'll find a gorgeous compound of houses that all appear to be part of Tuttle Antiques.

Lovingly restored, the houses glow in the late-afternoon sun.

We stopped briefly in Dresden to get gas at a tiny store with pumps from the 70's that had--I'm not kidding--duct tape on them.  Not sure what it was holding together, and I probably don't want to know.  I felt like we were on an episode of the Red Green show.  But across the street was this lovely church with the sun setting behind it.

Back in Portland, we hopped on the ferry to head home.  The sky was burning pink behind us and the stars were waking up in front of us.  I asked Todd if he'd had fun.

"Yep," he said. "Best birthday ever."

"You say that every year."

"And it's always true."

P.S. If you're ever in Hallowell and you need a great meal, go to Slate's.  They make all of their own breads, croissants, and muffins; their food is tasty; and we had the sweetest waitress ever.  Their bakery is just a couple of doors down.  We had to split a pumpkin whoopie pie.  All that snooping around old buildings had made us hungry!

P.P.S.  Before I forget, the pretty leaf-skeleton lantern on my new header is by Pachadesign.  I bought two from Sammy and Glenn to have for my table during the holiday season and beyond.  They are so delicate and beautiful that I can't stop taking pictures of them, even when there's no candle inside.

Happy Birthday, Oscar Wilde!

Lucky me, I share my birthday with Oscar Wilde, who turns 155 today.  While I am slightly younger, I wish there were some magical way I could have met him. When I am asked the famous question about the three people with whom I would most like to share dinner, Oscar Wilde is always at the very top of my list.  

"Thirty-five is a very attractive age; 

London society is full of women who have of their own free choice 

remained thirty-five for years."

~Oscar Wilde

Happy weekend, my friends!  Thanks so much for visiting this week.

P.S.  MFK Fisher is second on my dinner list.  The third choice changes depending on my mood.  Today it would be Charlotte Bronte.  Now that would be a birthday dinner to remember.  Think I could get Mary Frances to cook for us?