calm after the storm

Willow Manor is once again quiet after the whirlwind holiday weekend. As I go about setting things in order, it seems extra still, after three happy days of raucous laughter and general craziness.  I told someone recently that I am orderly, but not compulsive.  This faithful Goodwill shopper, as you can imagine, has her fair share of gathered objects, which logistically is a dusting nightmare, but a magpie will have it no other way. There is a certain comfort about having my things about me in my nest, like Mary Kate Danaher in The Quiet Man.

I don't know about you, but the way I keep house is often a result of how I deal with outside pressures. There is something about putting order to my belongings, which lends a feeling of control.  Years ago, when the manor bubbled with a wild mix of dogs, cats and children, I often found great satisfaction in ironing huge baskets of rumpled clothing.  Funny, now that the manor, apart from my personal magpie nest, is an empty one, the ironing board is rarely pulled down from the built-in cabinet at the far end of the kitchen.

Today I put away dishes and wash linens, ponder the joy in stacks of freshly folded white towels, and miss the laughter of my gathered family.

When I cannot bear outer pressures anymore, I begin to put order in my belongings...

as if unable to organize and control my life, 

I seek to exert this on the world of objects.

Anais Nin, The Diary of Anais Nin

wisteria on the patio gate, Willow Manor, May 31, 2011
(click to embiggen)
top photo: kitchen cabinet shelf, Willow Manor

eight tubes of lipstick and a buckeye

No woman I know 

could ever be a terrorist. 

Put a bomb in a Gucci bag? 

Oh, no way! 

 Joan Rivers

I'm not the only one who puts on a few extra pounds in the winter.  My handbag does, too.  Several years ago, when the extra gigantic bags were in, the average woman's handbag weighed nearly a back-breaking 7 pounds, 11 ounces.  Thank goodness, everything's a bit smaller now, including the electronics, but by the end of winter, mine's heavy.

This week was time for the annual spring purse purge.  The contents is dumped out and weeded through, like a garden. All kinds of odd junk, quite forgotten at the bottom of the bag, is excavated, including chopsticks, fortune cookie fortunes, eight tubes of lipstick and my lucky Ohio buckeye.

The sorted stuff went into my new waterproof vinyl spring bag, a great find on the TJ Maxx clearance rack for $24.99. It has all kinds of nifty zipper compartments and even came with a matching umbrella, even though I'm not really an umbrella using kinda girl.  It also has my main criteria; an over the shoulder strap, for hands free shopping.

I love my glow-in-the-dark plasticized beetle key chain. It makes finding keys at the bottom of a very large, dark bag a breeze. You can find them here.

I'm thinking balls are to men what purses are to women. 

It's just a little bag, but we feel naked in public without it.  

Sarah Jessica Parker, Sex and the City


What do you feel naked in public without?

6 uses for a woolly sock

You know I've been longing for woolly sock season all sweltering summer long. Yesterday, it was actually cool enough to slip my feet into a soft, glorious pair. I was transported immediately to Woolly Socks Heaven. So, to officially kick off the season of woolliness, I thought you might enjoy six new uses for a woolly sock.

Wine Woolly: Slip a (clean) patterned kneesock over the bottom of a bottle, then knot the top to create a decorative carrier. (Better yet, offer your hostess two bottles so she can enjoy a pair of woolly socks.)

Woolly Pad: To soothe an achy neck from over-blogging, fill a sock with rice and a few drops of a relaxing essential oil, like lavender. Tie with ribbon; microwave for one minute.

Woolly Storage: Place a Mason jar into a pretty patterned sock, then tuck excess fabric inside the jar. Fill. (I love this one.)

Woolly Duster: Clean hard to reach places, by attaching a sock to the end of a broom and securing with a rubber band. Lint clings to the sock. (Forget Swiffer.)


Bulb Woolly: If a loose lightbulb has lost its box, slip a sock over the bulb to protect it. (I don't know about you, but we never seem to have any extra bulbs laying around the manor. One's always going out.)

Draft Woolly: Fill a sock with beans or old dish towels and place in front of a drafty window or door. (This will empty my whole sock drawer. The dear old manor is so drafty.)

Thanks to realsimple.com for the woolly inspirations. (my photos)

fridge worthy

No new poetry today. Nothing overheard at the manor. That old
devil moon put me in the cleaning of odd places, and rearranging
mood this week, so I don't have a clever blog preloaded and ready
to post. When this particular mood happens to strike, I have to take
full advantage, because I'm pretty laid back, when it comes to
housekeeping. I'm not a slob, but let's just say the manor is not
always sparkling clean. I like to do more interesting things like read,
experiment in the kitchen, write poetry, and of course, blog.

It's about this time of year, before the holiday season hits me like a
Mack truck, I start thinking about things, like the top of the manor
refrigerator. The fridge and I are exactly the same height, so I don't
ever see the top, or even think about it, for that matter, until
November rolls around.

Every year I mentally analyze the holiday guest list to check for tall
people. You know, tall enough to see the top of the fridge in their
stocking feet. My daughter went through a phase, in her college
years, of dating only giants over 6' 5". These big guys, because of
their height, qualified as "fridge worthy", and the top stayed
amazingly clean.

Well, I can't think of any super tall holiday guests this year, (except
my youngest son, and he doesn't count) but I climbed up on a chair,
anyway, and gave the top of the fridge a good going over with me
mops and me brushes, just because. You know what I'm talking
about; that icky combination of cooking grease and dust, that turns
into tiny wet mice, when you go over it with a damp cloth. Well,
the mice are disposed of, even if no one is "fridge worthy" this year.