The Vintage Yellow Chair

Recently, when my mom and I were on a drive, we saw this chair sitting at someone's curb. It looked as forlorn as a bright yellow chair could possibly look, but we weren't sure if it was actually out for the garbage. Since we didn't want to walk up in broad daylight and steal someone's chair from the edge of their lawn, we decided to wait. The next day it was still there. The day after that it had not moved...so we took action. To be neighborly, my mom left a note in the owner's mailbox saying that we took their chair and, if it had not been for the taking, to call her at the number she left. The owner called her that afternoon...to let her know that the chair had been out for the garbage, in case she was feeling guilty! I thought that was quite kind! 

This bright little chair is very old, potentially from the 1920s. I like how it is missing some chunks of paint, because it looks loved. I'm sure it will make a cute décor addition or prop for a photoshoot. It certainly looks jaunty with a pot of Johnny Jump Ups!

Floral Wanderings

At this time of year photoshoots are inevitable.

I love this house. It's like Pride and Prejudice and Madeline in one.

It has a pretty public garden that is a great place in which to take photos and have a picnic.

The apple trees...

...and the magnolia trees are just finishing blooming.

I can't get over how peppy these primulas are!

I become so used to the engulfing petals and chartreuse haze that, one day every year, I wake up shocked to find that there is shade on the grass from leaves that erupted overnight.



Mommy

I found this poem titled "Mother" in a Rachel Ashwell book, although the author was unspecified. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful and true piece of writing. Motherhood should be appreciated beyond measure. 

 

 Mother is a little girl who trod my path before me;
Just a bigger, wiser little girl who ran ahead--
Bigger, wiser, stronger girl who always watches o’er me,
One who knows the pitfalls in the rugged road I tread.

 

Mother is a playmate who will always treat me kindly--
Playmate who will yield me what true happiness demands.
She will never let my feet stray into brambles blindly--
Mother’s just a bigger little girl who understands.

 

Mother is an older little playmate who’ll befriend me--
Yesteryear she traveled in the path that’s mine today.
Never need I fear a foe from which she might defend me--
Faithful little pal who ran ahead and learned the way.

Here are some '80s photos of my mom. She is creative, funny, talkative, and we get along great! I have ran out of ways to describe how amazing she is. I love her so, so, so much!

Continuing down the path, here is my wonderful grandma. She was a painter and always looked effortlessly perfect.

 (My grandfather's caption clearly proves that he agreed!)

...And here she is with her mom, my great grandma, who was a talented photographer and a lover of literature.

 "Yesteryear she traveled in the path that’s mine today..."

"...Faithful little pal who ran ahead and learned the way."

Happy Mother's Day, all!

Daffodils

 When the daffodils are in full bloom my family heads to a certain daffodil-filled park for an afternoon. We read the poem from my previous post, carefully jump through the fields of flowers, and take a whole bunch of photos. It's been our tradition since before I was even born.

To be festive, of course, I usually wear some sort of coordinating outfit. My mom made the dress in this photo, and I found the eyelet blazer for $5 secondhand! It was clearly worth more than $5, and, judging by the perfect condition, I highly doubt it was ever worn!

I always rescue the daffodils that have had their stems snapped off by clumsy feet.

A visit to the daffodil fields definitely is one cheerful and carefree tradition!

National Poetry Month

In celebration of April, National Poetry Month, here is a brilliant, blithe poem and a quote.

"Daffodils" 

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

--William Wordsworth

"Everybody who has ever lived in the world and could string two rhymes together has written a poem on spring. It is the most berhymed subject in the world--and always will be because it is poetry incarnate itself. You can never be a real poet if you haven't made at least one poem about spring."

--Lucy Maud Montgomery in Emily of New Moon