There are two jobs in our home -- no, three -- that I enjoy doing even though they are so ordinary and disliked by most people that you might consider it odd for me to speak well of them.

One job is unloading the dishwasher; another is folding laundry; and the third is making the bed. There, I said it. 

How can this be possible, you ask?

It's not really a mystery. It started years ago when I struggled as a brand new adult to learn what it meant to keep a home. Things had not been going very well for a long time, and when two children were added to the mix, the real crunch came.

Making the Bed I

Making the Bed II

"It's good," I thought, "and it might work."

It was good and it did work, but very slowly -- inch by inch and minute by minute, in fact.  My plan was not to change my habits so much as it was to change my attitude about the work in front of me. That's probably the best way to describe it; and even though it sounds simplistic, it was nothing like simple.  I was successful two days and failed the third, but I kept on moving.

Then one day I realized that I enjoyed seeing the patterns and colors of dishes as I took them out of the dishwasher; on another day I heard myself telling my sister I didn't really mind folding the laundry.

She was stunned.

Look what I found last week in the garden . . . a surprise melon. In the spring of this year I bought some bulk seed from our local hardware store. It was called honeydew cantaloupe, and I could only imagine it must be delicious.

I'm not sure why I thought buying seed in bulk was the right thing to do. The garden is so small, and I gave up bulk seed about 4 years ago. I think it's because I feel more authentic when I buy seed in bulk, don't you?

Anyway, I planted 10 seeds out of about 60, in three hills. I'm ashamed to say I lost hope for those melon sprouts soon after they came up. When they turned yellow and started leaning over while still less than 2 inches tall, I left them to their own devices. "What made me think I could grow melons in this tiny garden?" I wondered. 

Keepin' it real for us, 

Sandie,

aka The Head Rabbit 

I'm glad this cup found its way to my home. It's from the thrift store and was found by a friend of mine who could tell right away that it belonged here. She was right.

I've collected a goodly number of cups and mugs over the years, in spite of several decluttering binges. They always find me again. That's because it matters which one I use at any given time. Different occasions call for different cups.

As far as I'm concerned, this orange one has everything going for it -- good shape, wonderful color, and for me, the small size is perfect.

I like September. It's kind of an unaffected little month, not showy or overdramatic. Sandwiched as it is between full-on summer and the break of fall, it's like the middle child who gets overlooked because August and October demand so much attention.

I drove to our cabin this morning for a short pause in this rather strange year. October 1st starts me down the slide into the holidays, and I wanted to have some time alone with September before that.  I saw a few early orange and red leaves along the roadway already letting go of summer, and more than one roadside stand selling fresh-smoked barbeque. A few pumpkin and scarecrow displays had been put up pretty as you please near mailboxes and storefronts.

It was a good drive with clear blue skies -- not an all-out explosion of fall, but it was obvious where we were headed.

Such is the way of September.  It's a cross-over, wooden bridge from summer to autumn.  There's nothing artificial or insincere about it, so I pay close attention to what it has to say.  When I pulled into the cabin driveway,  my thoughts were well into one of my favorite topics.

Tetsubin are small Japanese teapots, made of glazed cast iron, and they make a wonderful pot of tea, especially in the fall as it starts to turn cool. I have four of them in different colors: one has dragonflies on it; one is for casual, everyday tea; one is for oolong tea only; and the last one is. . . well, red!

I've always liked the phrase "the art of tea."  It's a fitting description, don't you think?  The cup, the steam, the warm aroma, the amber color of the tea in the cup, the quiet -- all good things for the canvas.  Of course, being able to use the word "tetsubin" while I'm doing so makes it that much better.  

As months go, I'm slow to let this one move on.  Let's give it more respect.  "September," I say, "you can be proud of your legacy of hot tea and that fine  window on October."   

There now, let's stop pretending we don't know who September is.   

Afternoon Tea

Here's a short list of rules I have on hand to help me stay calm in this over-strung world. It's far too easy to let the day-to-day things go unattended. The trouble is, those things are the glue that holds all the rest together.

We'll call this list "Rabbit's Rules For Maintaining Sanity." Listen up!

Kristy's Cat Painting

I used to iron every week -- on Tuesdays usually. I would line up all the cotton shirts and linens I had washed the day before, then iron them slick as I could and hang them up around the room to admire. The challenge was to leave no wrinkle behind, and with the help of a hot, hot iron and spray starch, I was very good at it.

I had (and still have) a wonderful, worn, wooden ironing board--the one you see in this print--that made the whole job a pleasure, as did the dog by my side, the smell of fresh detergent, and music, always music.

Old Wooden Ironing Board

Folded and Put Away