Thrifty finds

Don't you love the tin! It's the Queen Elizabeth. Found it one day, and then the red box the next. I heart hearts.



I'd like to eat a couple of Benson's 'Quality Confections' right now.




Or maybe have a cigar? Cigar boxes, to be used as storage or maybe altered at some point. . . .

Actually, it's time for lunch . . . maybe I can find a recipe or two in the 'Electric Refrigerator Recipes and Menus -- SPECIALLY PREPARED FOR THE GENERAL ELECTRIC REFRIGERATOR.'

Copyright 1927, original price two dollars (which seems like a lot for back then).

Bonus of handwritten recipes tucked inside -- I especially like that the recipe for Egg Spatzen was written on a scrap of MARSHALL FIELD & COMPANY paper.

Would you join me for an Informal Luncheon? I'll serve salad greens and dressing or maybe a jellied soup stock, kept in a covered glass jar in my fancy General Electric refrigerator.

And we can have frozen whipped cream on our dessert -- maybe even delicately tinted pink green or yellow. Fancy.

Remembering sound

The white coneflower and the Rudbeckia maxima right next to the beehive have never stood so tall. Is it the sound of buzzing coming from deep inside the hive that prompts them to grow so happily?



The first day that the hive was in the garden, I stood close to it and listened to the buzzing. I’d heard that buzz before – constant, insistent, low. I was transported back to my childhood – a foggy distant memory of Grandpa George and his beehives.

The hives were not in the small apple orchard that stood between our house and Grandpa and Grandma’s house. They were in the far-off orchard that was tucked back beyond the grape yard. The bees were there to pollinate the orchard and grapes, I suppose; I don’t remember any harvest of honey. I do remember the buzzing and the heat of a summer’s day and riding with Grandpa in his old pickup.

Memory is connected with our senses and I’m often taken back on the wings of scent – the smell of apple blossoms, of cinnamon and yeast, of muguet de bois and Coppertone and line-dried sheets.

But the sounds of memory -- harder for me to summon up. I'm mulling this one over.

What are your sounds of memory?

Patterns in the garden

On a quiet Sunday morning, finding patterns in the garden:


stripes . . .


and dots . . .

It's my favorite time of the week.