My little heart sachets are a delight. I scatter them through drawers to keep them fresh with their lavender scent. They are fun to spot as I rifle through drawers, and then, once a year, I gather them in a pretty basket and display them on my dresser.

To line the basket, I used my wedding handkerchief, handmade in Cuba and brought to me by my beloved godmother, Mamá Lala.

The sachets have been collected through countless years; some are gifts, others I found in unexpected places.

Here's the basket from a few years ago, in which I used a different handkerchief to line the basket. Love is in the air. ❤

Valentine's Day 2017

It had to be red roses ...

The toile placemats depicted such a lovely romantic scene!  He's on his knees, asking for what?  Is he asking for her favors?  Is he proposing marriage?  Methinks the lady needs further convincing ...

In another intriguing scene the lady seems to be listening to the troubadour(?).  No, it can't be a troubadour, his hose and shoes seem too fine.  Is he wooing her?  If so, his technique needs improvement.  He really needs to look into her eyes.  Or maybe he's trying to tell her to go away . . .  Alas!  Men often don't understand a woman's heart.

I have been, once again, transported by another romance from Alexandre Dumas.  Are you familiar with The Sphinx?  I thought I was an AD connoisseur, but I hadn't heard of this one!

Save it for your next vacation, when you can linger, and pay attention to the various strings of the plot and it's many characters.  I loved it!

I used all my French-looking patterns.  The dishes are Mikasa French Countryside, and the flatware is Jefferson, by Reed & Barton for Monticello.  Both have the "fiddle and thread" pattern typical of the 18th century.  The plaid napkins are from Pottery Barn, several years ago, and, finally, the wooden heart I found at Joann's and painted myself.  I needed a heart on the table.

Red goblets were a HomeGoods find several years ago, and the champagne flute are Chartres, by Atlantis, now discontinued - they were given to us at our wedding.

I forgot to photograph the food, but because St. Valentine's fell on a weekday, the menu was simple:  Strawberry Spinach Salad with Sliced Almonds and Poppyseed Dressing, Roasted Chicken with Steamed Broccoli, and for dessert . . .

Two proven aphrodisiacs, at least at our house:  Chocolate and strawberries!

Welcoming January

What better way is there to welcome January than with a riot of mini carnations, the January birth flower - my birth flower, in garnet (birthstone) red?

In the language of flowers dark red carnations signify deep love and affection.  I dedicate them to you, my friends and fellow bloggers, with sincerest regard.

May the new year bring you love.  In the end, isn't that all that matters?

Roses and tea . . . and a cupcake . . . oh, and a poem!

If ever two were one, then surely we.

If ever man were loved by wife, then thee.

If ever wife was happy in a man,

Compare with me, ye women, if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole mines of gold,

Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that rivers cannot quench,

Nor ought but love from thee give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay;

The heavens reward thee manifold, I pray.

Then while we live, in love let’s so persever,

That when we live no more, we may live ever.

   

“To My Dear and Loving Husband”

—Anne Bradstreet

Paeonia lactiflora “Top Brass”

Ivory guard petals are followed by a dense champagne-colored petaloid center, and topped by the most delicate of pinks forming a whorl on the top of this exquisite double peony. 

This is the second of the three peony bushes that my husband, Lee, planted for me in 1989 - the year my son, John, was born.  I usually have to watch them like a hawk to make sure that rain doesn't drag them down and make their delicate petals wilt . . . 

This year, my husband spotted the first ones while he was outside cutting the grass, and brought them in to me with a huge smile on his face - two marvelous gifts to be loved and cherished . . .

I'm joining The Tablescaper for her Seasonal Sundays blog party.

Marital Discord: Two Obsessive-Compulsive Neurotics Sharing Living Quarters

I walked in the house tonight and found this on the kitchen table . . .

I won't keep you in suspense:  This salt-shaker-looking thing is a computer speaker . . . a used, 6 or 7-year-old speaker that my husband brought home from work . . . because they were throwing it out!  Mind you, he didn't bring it home because he found it interesting-looking.  Nope.  My husband, bless his heart, is all about function.  Robert M. Pirsig (Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance) might have said that my DH sees the classic beauty of the object, not the romantic.  He also didn't bring it home because he needed it.  As a matter of fact, he has a new set of speakers that came with the new computer he got for Christmas.  He brought it home because he has a pack-rat compulsion to bring home electronic "things" which even if he can't use immediately, he can save for that rainy day when China stops manufacturing them . . .

I fully realize that we all have our little quirks, and one of mine is trying to keep junk from finding a spot in the house and marking its turf . . . and I can be quite obsessive about it . . . but we just spent Sunday cleaning out part of the basement and organizing the Laundry Room and the pantry . . . I couldn't believe that after all that work he'd bring home . . . more junk?  So soon????  Arrgh!!!

By the way, I read this post to him before I published it . . . he just laughed.  The speaker will make its way to the basement and I'll be looking at this ugly thing on and off for the next decade until he finally convinces himself that it's time to let it go . . . And you know what?  It could be worse.  We have relatives (on both sides) that could give lessons in collecting stuff.  I mean, college-level lessons, Pack-Ratting 101.  Sometimes, I have to remind myself of how much worse it could be . . .

The Mikado

One of the intriguing things that is beginning to happen to my husband and me as quasi-empty-nesters, is the opportunity to go out without too much advance planning, needing to take a vote, check baby-sitter availability, or having to make sure that the refrigerator is filled with food.  I mean . . . we just got dressed and left . . . hmm . . . We didn't even have to write down emergency numbers for anyone . . . It was rather liberating . . . and weird . . .

Anyway, last night, Lee and I went to see The Mikado at the Lyric Opera House in downtown Chicago.  Whenever we go there, I remember the first time Lee took me when we were dating back in 1983 to see the musical, 42nd Street.  Picture the two of us . . . young and cute . . . with the most appalling taste in clothes!  Lee wore his black biker leather jacket (yes, unbelievable as it may seem, at one point in his life, my husband owned a motorcycle) over his light blue polyester suit that had been out of style for at least ten years.  I wore a Norwegian blue fox fur jacket . . . and a mullet.  What can I say?  It was the eighties!

In time, Lee got rid of the bike and the suit (the jacket is in the back of a closet somewhere . . . ), and I shed the mullet and the fur . . . but the memory . . . I wish I had a picture.  This morning Lee and I were talking about our evening . . . and laughing at our young, naïve selves.  The funny thing is that much has changed in the intervening 26 years with regards to the dress code for the opera; a broader range of styles is now quite acceptable and not so obviously out of place.  I saw long dresses and pearls last night, although most women were wearing smart casual outfits . . . but there were also a few old coots that stuck to their jeans and gym shoes without regard to what anyone thought . . . I suppose I enjoyed them the most remembering that evening in 1983.

The evening as a whole was wonderful, but to be truthful, The Mikado was a bit disappointing.  I thought for sure that a play featuring a pair of star-crossed lovers named Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum, had to be fun.  I suppose part of the play was, but the music was just so-so.  I didn't latch on to any song that would make me want to sing it in the shower over and over again.  I did learn the origin of the term "The Grand Poo-Bah" - in The Mikado, he holds, among others, the titles of First Lord of the Treasury, Lord Chief Justice, Commander-in-Chief, Lord High Admiral, Archbishop of Titipu and Lord Mayor - and is now applied mockingly to someone who exhibits an inflated self-regard . . .

Here's a view of the Main Lobby as the crowd was exiting the theatre.  The photo was taken from the Mezzanine . . .

The building has some beautiful Art Deco touches, including the chandeliers . . .

Detail from above one of the doorways . . .

The play started at 7:30 P.M.  We left the house at around 5:15 P.M. to allow for time, weather and distance.  When the play ended at 10:25 P.M. we were hungry, so we dashed to the nearest McDonald's.  Never did one of those greasy, inferior hamburgers taste so good!  Afterwards, we settled in for the ride back, and listened to Christmas music all the way home.  Then we went to bed . . . me and my Nanki-Poo . . .

Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!

My parents have been gone for many years now, but for some reason, I never forget their wedding anniversary.  Perhaps it's because through them I had such amazing proof that love exists and endures, despite trying circumstances.  My parents' marriage wasn't perfect, but even at those most difficult moments, there was a light that would appear on each of their faces when they spoke of the other. 

Here's a short excerpt from one of my father's letters to my mother:  “[By] writing about my feelings in these brief lines, I mitigate somewhat my desire to tell you these things in person; I live in hope of having you next to me, to squeeze your beautiful hands, and to take refuge in the oasis of your love.”  That has to be the most fitting caption for the photo below.

This photo isn't dated, but from my mother's hair, and the background view, I think this was taken while they were living in their first apartment in Old Havana, probably around 1954.

Marriage is a Bowl of Strawberries

“I'll eat the strawberries after you finish installing the bathroom sink,” I said to my husband when he asked me for the third time when I was going to eat the pint of strawberries I bought a couple of days ago.  Lee abhors throwing away food.  I mean, it really, really bugs him.  I smiled to myself after I said that.  Gotcha!  You won't be nagging me about the strawberries any more, I thought, not unless you want to open up the can of worms that is our bathroom remodel.  But Lee laughed - this guy is so on to me.  If I thought to manipulate him into finishing the sink on a weeknight, I'd have to do better than this pitiful tactic . . .

Then, as I sat down to dinner the next day, a bowl of strawberries appeared by my plate - washed, hulled and cut into bite-size pieces . . . and when I looked up, there was my husband, with a smug smile on his face . . . yup . . . he'd installed the sink . . . I looked at the strawberries, then at him again . . . so now I'm supposed to eat the strawberries, I guess . . . I'm mulling this over looking for the catch . . . I have a working sink . . . that's good . . . I have a bowl of delicious strawberries that I don't even have to wash . . . that's good, too . . . nope, I can't see the catch . . . either he is the sweetest man that ever was, doing this because it'll make me happy and also because he is just as anxious to be done with this project as I am . . . or he really hates the idea of watching the strawberries go bad . . . I'm pretty sure it's the former . . .

But we still need baseboard trim installed, so I'm not taking any chances . . . I'm going to the store tomorrow and buying another pint of strawberries . . . just in case . . .