Dear Sunday Letter friends:
Hello again! Didn’t I just write you a letter, what, like yesterday? The closer we get to the end of the year, the faster time seems to buzz by. Why is that?
Today marks the 100-year anniversary of the signing of the agreement that ended World War I. Take a moment to honor veterans, past and present, for their service and sacrifice.
Prelude to Winter
There I was, happily lulled by our perfect sweater weather, not too cold and ideal for strolls through the fallen leaves. Ideal for soup cooking and cornbread baking. Then, boom! A forecasted low of 17 degrees?
I went into panic mode as surely as if a button had been pushed. Snipping plants, moving succulents and dragging ferns from the porch, cutting rosebuds that would otherwise never have had a chance to flower. Now our house is filled with the last of the blossoms, my summer friends that will soon go dormant or vanish altogether.
I can’t be the only one who does this pre-winter panic dance? I can’t be the only one who feels a little melancholy about it either.
Bargaining with Myself
Since I broke my wrist (sixteen months ago!), I’ve been completely uninspired to go to the gym. It was as though that splintered bone directly controlled my motivation. How many times over the past six months have I said, I need to go to the gym again?
Finally, last week I went. It felt good! And the entire time, while the miles began to add up on the elliptical machine, I thought about the fried chicken I planned to eat for supper.
That chicken kept my feet moving.
I wondered how many miles I would need to ellipticize (just made that word up) each day to justify daily fried chicken?
Baby steps, y’all, baby steps.
This week I plan to return but forego the chicken. No promises.
By Friday, the yellow, confetti-like leaves had dried out, and John spent several hours mowing and mulching the yard. But we woke on a frigid Saturday morning to at least a 1.5-inch leaf fall accumulation. Bright, pea-green leaves spread evenly like snow over every surface covering brick pathways and stone borders, steps and shrubs. It even formed drifts beside the garage.
It was as though John’s mowing had never happened.
Look at our driveway…
It will make a nice, protective bottom layer for the real snow headed our way.
Leapfrogging into Falala
Tis the season for Gift House Antiques’ Holiday Open House. Every nook and cranny, from baseboards to rafters, is filled with Christmas. Yesterday, walking through, I felt completely overwhelmed. It’s as though we leapfrogged from mid-fall over Thanksgiving and landed smack in the middle of Santa’s very cool workshop.
Do you remember playing leapfrog during school recess? I wonder if kids even know what it is today? It’s up to us to keep these important things—leapfrog and hopscotch and cake walks—alive…
I didn’t buy anything because I simply couldn’t get into the early Christmas spirit, nor do I need a single thing. (Not yet, anyway.) I drank a cup of belly-warming cider and went on my dazed way in denial that Santa Claus will soon be coming to town.
In 43 days to be precise.
If you’re in the Christmas spirit or need a boost, head over to Gift House Antiques. It’s truly magical.
What Momma Said
I tell you what, being a star is hard.
See you next week, Sunday Letter friends.
Thank you veterans!
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
P.S. A gigantic THANK YOU to this entertaining Rogers, Arkansas book club for inviting me to talk about Gracie Lee!