The First Trip North of the Season!

We're back from our first trip north of the season. And of course they brought out the sunsets, just for us!

 

I'm pleased to say Lizzie Coco managed reasonably well in her carrier, although she was quietly vocal along the way so we'd not forget she was there!



No ugly surprises were waiting for us this time -- no "home invaders" like the squirrel a year or two back that pushed us into hard core cleaning (versus open-it-up-and-dust-it-out). That's always a huge relief! The biggest issue was getting the pine needles raked up that fall profusely from the trees. Both Rick and I had a share in that one and it's looking pretty good!

Going to the cottage is like coming home. So many past experiences come to mind when I'm there -- times as a kid and times with the cousins formed the backbone of my life at the lake as a teen and young adult. My fondest memories of my parents are wrapped within those four walls and the lake. They all come tumbling in as we turn into our area, drive down the road past the old cottage, turn the bend and get to our place.



With the cousins, we swam and waterskied until we were forced in by lack of gas in the tank or dinner on the table. At night, a card game or jigsaw puzzle. Our houses were interchangeable as we were in and out of each others' spaces on a regular basis.



I think each year we spent two months waterlogged, wet and very happy.

Then the parents were gone. They never had a chance to meet Rick or the boys. I wish I had my favorite photo of their first visit scanned, or many of the others that came later. I loved that they fished and built sand creatures, though truth be told, my cottage had no allure for them compared to the fast toys and boats at their grandparents. Someday they will appreciate the quiet!



This weekend I read two books and did several pages in the art journal. Rick, of course, had his bike rides.

And Lizzie just enjoyed new terrain, exploring every inch before going back under the quilt!

And, I am pleased to boast (because this never happens!) I beat Rick in Scrabble! (Getting the Z and playing off it several times, not to mention the J on a triple word score, didn't hurt!

And of course there were the nightly (and morning) serenades!

The best part about leaving the lake in early summer is that you know you'll be back again and that (hopefully) the (giant) mosquitoes will disappear, the temperatures will be warmer and the skies bright more often.

Summer days aren't what they used to be. They can't be. A generation dies. Children grow up. Cousins live far away and visit less often. And those long, endless summers where time didn't matter and life was easy are probably gone forever.

But there are still precious moments to be had and I intend to have as many as I can. And of course, there will always be memorable sunsets. I can work with that!

An Estate Sale Horror Story

No, nothing really bad happened at this estate sale. It all happened in my head.

It all started at book club when one of my pals mentioned another member was busy working on an estate sale that would take place a few days later. "They have lots of antiques and ton of crafty stuff," Sarah said. "It's going to be a good one."

I refrained going on Friday. I do not need one single thing. Ever. But the thought of a second day's discount (and the fact that it was rainy and cold and Rick was doing an out-of-town 100-mile ride that day) led me to googlemaps and then to the house. Cars were lined up on both sides of the road. I viewed this as a good sign. I would be fed up with the crowds and leave quickly, dollars saved, no need to add anything to the pile.

The first thing I saw was the chintzware. I have a few pieces of my mom's and I thought, "This is so pretty. My colors. Spring. Wouldn't it be nice to have dessert on these little plates or serve home made macarons on this lovely larger plate."

I passed up the very nice stacked tables, thinking they'd be good TV tables or even art overflow tables. One was kind of wonky and wobbly and yes, I know me -- I'd knock it over in a heartbeat. But the buttons were nice!

A couple of cute Christmas items which I am convinced I will give away. Maybe. So, not pictured!

And then... the basement. This is where my freakout began.

The room was long and narrow. Imagine, if you can, several folding tables, two deep and several long, filled with plastic shoebox-sized storage boxes with everything under the sun. Ribbon. Stickers. Papers. Printed out collage sheets. Old cards. Stamps. Flowers. Tags. Embellishments. Books. Glue. Scissors. Napkins. Tools. More buttons. Work the woman had done herself.

There had to be 40 or 50 boxes. All well-categorized (probably the work of the estate sale people). Then there were Xyron cartridges, paper cutters, big stuff.

And another table with a huge box of Valentine-related and another of mixed holiday and more of her cards and on...and on... and on.

Fill a bag for $5. (Amazing what you can fit into an oversized lunch bag). Some things marked as bulk. As you can see, I was restrained but not good.

So, you might ask, where is the horror story in this? Apart from the fact that day two was only 35% off (not the expected 50%), the sale was fine. What wasn't fine was my head.

I came home and looked at my stuff -- not the new, but all the old stuff I already have. Now, mind you, this is stuff I am using. Not daily but regularly. I am not willing to part with it yet. But I couldn't help thinking "This is what my house will look like someday." Wall to wall tables with boxes of ribbon and cutouts, stickers and tape, books and mediums, buttons and papers, stamps and pens, feathers and glue guns, tapes and tags. Not to mention a few new old Golden Books. Or what will be left of them after my scissors go at it!

I'm still shaking.

Now granted, I hope I won't be here to have to deal with that. It'll be Rick's problem (or someone's!). He'll call the estate people and they'll put them in neat categories and say "fill a bag for $5" and that'll be that.

But I have seen the future. And it scared the heck out of me.

I Will Never Get These Read

But, I will certainly have fun trying!

 

Rick and I spent a couple of days in the metro Detroit area helping Kevin and Molly move to their first house. They own it fair and square -- apart from the lion's share of it which the loan company has, but details, details! It's theirs to settle in and have a real home.

I don't quite understand this interpretation of Beethoven!

Amidst packing and unpacking, sprucing up the house inside and out and doing all those moving things, Rick needed to check his work email so we went to the library. And wouldn't you know it, they were having a book sale.

Yes, I know -- this is a place is I should not go. But really, how could I pass up tons of books? Or these terrific travel pamphlets. I've always loved these and am getting quite a collection on all things Brit. Now there is a Mont St. Michel booklet to start France off!

My shelf is bulging. Well, actually, one of my wicker chairs, till I can figure out where they will all go! I couldn't resist the memoirs.

These two food memoirs/biographies were especially good finds for me -- Ruth Reichl's "Tender at the Bone" and the bio of Judith Jones, Julia's "Mastering the Art" editor.

These two looked fun -- more Britain and Judith Viorst on aging? Sounds good for grins!

And I loved this one -- it's huge with yellowed pages. And I'll never read it. But the illustrations at the top of this post are from this book and you can bet you may be seeing it in "altered" form as parts of various 
future collages!

It was a good thing Rick finished his e-mail check when he did or who knows what would come home. But it was $11.50 well spent. (Oh, and there was also a book on Versailles and one on the Titanic!) Meanwhile, it's going to be a good-book summer!

The Real Gypsy -- Three Years Later

Those who have started following The Marmelade Gypsy over the past few years may not know there was a real Marmy Gyp. So please indulge me while I remember Gypsy, the namesake of this blog and my good buddy for 14 years, on the third anniversary of his passing this weekend. For many years, this photo was the banner for The Marmelade Gypsy.

Everyone who has a cat thinks theirs is the greatest -- even if they periodically despair of bad behavior. And they're right.
And so was I.

I won't go into Gypsy's story here, apart from the fact that he found me when he was just a kitten, about eight weeks old. It took two months before he became our cat. Well, admittedly our cat. As Rick said to me about six weeks before that, "You've got another cat."

He was playful and sweet and he loved his treats.

He also appreciated hanging out under the tree at Christmas. "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille," he seemed to be saying.

He was always ready for his close-up and there was a secret to the good photos I had of him. His limited vocabulary had two words that made him look up alertly. "Fancy Feast." Long after we had moved from Fancy Feast to a better food, he still would perk at the name. So, instead of "cheese," we'd mention the FF word and bingo!

Like many animals, he liked the sink.

And, he was tolerant of the seasonal humiliation of bow ties and Halloween costumes...

 

...and one couldn't do laundry, knit, read the paper or a book without his crawling up for attention. Which I was always only too glad to give.

So many of us have had our pets leave us, hopefully after long, happy lives. When Rick and I went to Europe, we left a very sick cat in the hands of a wonderful woman named Jan who came to stay with him for the nearly three weeks we were gone. It was tough duty -- she had a lot of phone calls with Friend Kate and our wonderful vet who talked her down more than once when Gypsy stopped eating. She gave him his IV fluids like a champ and he hung out with her while she did her bead work. Before we went away, we did pictures with the sweet boy.

And Jan took this photo while we were gone. It's part of a series of his last pictures. When we returned he was so thin. I didn't want to remember him that way. I am convinced he hung on during our trip and for two weeks after so he could be with us when he let go.

Blogger Vagabonde kindly made me this wonderful waterlogue version of Gypsy which I've since had made into note cards.

I find his fur in the keyboard and he's still a part of this blog, even though Lizzie now has center stage in the banner.

Time helps heal but it doesn't always stop the tears. Lizzie is filled with play and a big purr and I love her to pieces. She is Lizzie -- she is not Gypsy. There is no other Gypsy, nor will there ever be.

And I'm OK with that.