Janice MacLeod's Blog

A friend died too young. Snuffed out in his prime. I still can’t believe I won’t see him again. So of course, now he is everywhere.

If you knew him, you’ve likely seen him, too.

His familiar silhouette in the stranger who drives by. The back of his head in front of you in line. His long fingers picking apples from the bin at the grocery store. There he is again in the school parking lot, this time in the gait of a man you’ve never seen before.

I watched gait man again today. He was waiting for his kids after school. His face showed that he was lost in thought. It’s fascinating to watch an unguarded face.

He turned and noticed me gawking at him.

Guarded face back on. Awkward smile of stranger. Eek. Reel it in.

I spotted my friend’s teenage sons walk by. Not the actual boys but a warped version. For a split second it was them, then a blink and they were a muddle mix of features, planting familiar faces on unfamiliar people. My eyes playing their tricks again.

You wonder how long you will see him everywhere.

Before he becomes someone you just see in your mind’s eye instead of with your actual eyes.

Then you realize it is nice to see him everywhere, even if it does take your breath away and make you sad again.

The funeral was like a Facebook funhouse.

A distorted reflection of all these people I knew once, years ago, and had light contact with through Facebook.

Here they were in front of me in all their dimensions. A sensory overload of whiskers and wrinkles, familiar voices of the teenagers I once knew speaking to me with their adult faces. When did everyone suddenly grow into adults? Weird.

That’s the funny thing about funerals.

They are a reunion where you wish you were at your best but instead you are at your most vulnerable. A coming together of those who have drifted apart. A comforting hand on the arm that can only come from someone who knew you 30 years ago. Who else can compete with that? That’s pure magic.

When I lived overseas, I got a get-out-of-funerals-free card.

It was golden ticket out of awkwardness and the risk of public emoting. But after this recent funeral, surrounded by so many people from my high school cafeteria, it was nice to see people who stayed and supported each other along the way.

And they were happy to support me as I snuck into the crowd, out from the fray.

Feeling a little like I hadn’t earned their love because I had disappeared for so long. My friend Annie hugged me and I told her she was always great at hugs.

“Yes! I am!” she replied.

A beautiful awareness of her superpower.

And all that time gone by? Length of time is an illusion. A measuring stick made of Silly Putty. Time flips and flaps and folds and unfolds. It’s impossible to measure.

All of us are really just kids walking each other home.

Janice

PS A gentle reminder about the 25% off Black Friday sale on letter subscriptions at my shop. Obligatory reminder over. I’ll now be crawling into bed to hide.

Etsy is having a Black Friday Sale where you will save 25%, but it only starts November 24th. So I thought I’d offer an Early Bird sale. Same 25% savings but offered early to bridge the gap. Why wait? Use PROMO CODE: EARLYBIRD25ER or click this link. It truly is the only big sale of the year. Feel free to buy holiday gifts and/or renew any subscriptions early to take advantage of the sale. I’ll just tack the new one onto the end of the current subscription. Ends November 23rd.

I received a note from a letter subscriber. She lost both a spouse and a pet in the same month. She said the letters have lifted her spirits. Here is the November letter… and art print:

We are waltzing each other around this planet… swinging around in tragedy and cable knits, on sunny days and howling nights. Companions on the journey. Strangers together.

Every day is happy-sad-happy-sad and we are never sure what we are going to get. When will tragedy strike? So these letters of mine, according to lovely readers, have become a moment of light on those days when life is more crummy than delightful. A nice treat.

It could be just the world we are living in, a specific circumstance, or just a broody moody November provoking a broody moody disposition. November kind of gives us permission to pull back within and sit quietly with ourselves.

Giving a Cottage Letters subscription this holiday season is like gifting someone a cheerful hello. A quiet bit of company that arrives in the mailbox. It doesn’t expect any energy in return or response of any kind. In a world full of noise, it’s a quiet way to give someone the feeling of being thought of again and again. And all without having the task of writing the letter or the guilt of not writing at all.

So a letter subscription is just the ticket. And saving 25% is even better.

I’ve been chewing on this quote from Darby Hudson:

He goes on to write:

“Some things you make keep growing. Most don’t. A day of work you dragged yourself through years ago – dead the moment you clocked out. That day is now vanished money from your bank account. But a poem you wrote half-alive after work with what little you had left still burns, catching fire, lighting up the heart of the night decades later. And when you’re gone, someone will find it on a page… and for a moment, they’ll close the book and open the sky.”

Remember when artificial sugar came out. We thought ourselves SAVED. Saved from all the bad things about sugar. We were going to be so skinny! Of course, we soon realized that the fake stuff isn’t the same at all. With artificial intelligence, I get so BUMMED OUT. It is taking away all the fun jobs along with the arduous jobs it promises to relieve us from. It is a hell of a painter, a hell of a writer, a hell of a faker.

I’ve been painting a lot lately knowing AI can probably do it better. But there is a hope that it will relieve me of the burning desires to follow through on a vision. Projects BURN inside me. BURN. A haunting that can only be exorcized by doing.

Lemons are a crowd fave. Still have stems to do on this one.

Oranges on a hot pink background. Still have a few blossoms to finish.

More oranges, this time floating in a sinister sky that may end up entirely blue… or not. Still mulling.

I could have whipped these up with AI.

BUT WHAT IS THE FUN IN THAT?!?!!

It was a relief to paint. The brush is welcome pal, dipping in paint, swirling on the page, seeing what comes of it.

AI might be here to stay. It might be convenient and useful and helpful. But I hope its presence starts a revolt in our souls where we buy from artists, make real art, and insist on tactile screen-free fun. Let’s hope.

Janice

PS If you are still here, quick reminder that the Early Bird sale is happening over at Etsy for the letter subscriptions. Save 25%. Use PROMO CODE: EARLYBIRD25ER or click this link.

Oh my stars the postal strike is over. Honestly, what a pain. I immediately sent out the October Cottage Letter so if you’re wondering, it’s on the way. If you’re wondering what the letters are all about, get one here at my Etsy shop.

Thirteen years ago I was wonder if anyone would care to receive a letter from Paris. Holy smokes, that turned out rather well. Thousands upon thousands of letters. The post office staff would groan when they saw me coming to ask for stamps in bulk. That always meant they had to go to the back and take them out of the vault. I’m not sure how far this vault was but they made it seem like it was in the catacombs. Anyway…

I didn’t plan to start a trend — I just wanted to send a few painted letters from Paris, to report on the pretty life, and to make some walking around cash. But those early Paris Letters became the very first letter subscription on Etsy… There wasn’t even a category for them back then.

Ah this was one of those prize autumn photos in Paris. Good times.

And the story continues from my cottage. This month I talk about the garden, or more specifically, the slow fall into chaos. This sentence alludes to the topic:

Pajama, pyjama, po-tay-to, po-tah-to... Let’s call the whole thing off, which is how I felt about pulling out weeds near the end of the season. Even with the postal strike and time on my hands, I didn’t seem to find time to deal with the weeds. I’m hoping a solid frost takes care of it.

While I was twiddling my thumbs, I was trying to make videos on Instagram. That begat the algorithm to share with me just how many other letter subscriptions there were out there. And that begat a lot of feelings. Not all great. Sometimes I wonder how these young ingénues with their excellent pants and video editing skills do it. I mean they push out a lot of videos. They have thousands of thousands of followers and piles and piles of envelopes in their videos. How???

I, too, was one of them 14 years ago. Let’s see how they are doing 14 years from now. One cannot compare. They offer gold encrusted stickers. I offer longevity. I also have you, sweet reader, who has been with me since the beginning.

I subscribed to a few of these letter subscriptions and I laughed at the small print. I mean, they jam as much as they can into one piece of paper. One does feel old at having to pull out the new and improved reading glasses to read a letter.

Also in reading articles about the Canada Post strike, I learned about how many people never receive letters or anything fun in the mail. Weeks go by before they even check their mailboxes. They don’t even know the fun they are missing.

Then I spotted this on Instagram:

Thank you US Postal Service for restoring my faith in the letter. Yes, a handwritten letter is a word hug.

It carries the weight of a journey — paper that has been used to tell a story. It has been touched, folded, sealed, and stamped. It traveled from my hand to hands at my post office, all through boxes and sorting machines, to other hands in other post offices in other countries, through all kinds of weather and moods just to reach you. It arrives in a mailbox with a kind of presence you can’t get from a text or email or feed.

A letter asks you to pause, to sit down, and to take a moment. It’s proof that someone, somewhere, thought of you long enough to write.

And at the end of a long day of screens, you lay your head down in bed and think about the day. None of those other things come to mind… but that letter. Oh yes. That letter arrived. And wasn’t it nice to get something fun in the mail.

-Janice

PS The latest over on Instagram…

Canada Post is on strike. I’m still taking orders at my Etsy shop. The moment it’s over all the letters will be popped in the post and start their migration from my mailbox to yours.

I’m hoping everything will be resolved quickly, but as a businesses owner who relies on the post office, I can’t pretend I’m not bummed out. You may recall that this happened already in the past year. It’s all part of the same negotiation and we are all getting tired of it.

It feels like they hold the mail hostage whenever they don’t get their way. Like a toddler. A toddler with power.

It affect small business owners. It affects the side hustlers sending small items through the mail. It even affects people who feel daily joy in walking to the mailbox to see what might be in there.

Today’s Sudoku from the local paper will have to wait.

It’s no big deal in the grand scheme of things but in about a week I’ll start to get messages from people in other countries who don’t know about the strike. Where is my letter?

So there is that side situation to anticipate, however, it’s time to…. drumroll please….

TURN A BUMMER INTO A BLESSING.

Because we don’t whine. At least not after the aforementioned 6 sentences. No, we see this as divine intervention carving out space for us to forge ahead with other projects that could use some attention.

Those tomatoes aren’t going to salsa themselves.

Those cosmos sure aren’t going to deadhead themselves.

And there is the cat next door who need company!

So there has been some thumb twiddling.

It got me thinking about idle time and how we as a people are no longer good at it. We pick up our phones instead of paintbrushes or pens, instead of lacing up, instead of laying down for a proper nap, instead of opening a new document and giving it the title of a new book.

I compiled a list of THINGS TO DO while AWAITING the END of the aforementioned STRIKE.

The list got so long I’m now wondering if I’ll get it all done before the strike ends. Suddenly there is a hustle vibe.

I guess I’m still not that good at idle time. I have picked up my phone too often. I have reshuffled the TBR pile of books next to my bed. I painted a cosmos:

Then I deadheaded some faded cosmos and painted them, too.

Ah the faded cosmos. Therein lies a metaphor. Past their prime but still got something going on. That’s what this postal strike has done. I sure feel faded by it. But, it has reminded me that I’ve got a few practices that need practicing.

So that’s just what I’m going to do.

Catch you on the flip side.

Janice

“And all at once, summer collapsed into fall.”

Oh Oscar Wilde sure could whip up a nice quote.

The tip top of the trees are beginning their annual costume change. I’ve been documenting the process. Day one of back to school was also the Mom March. That’s when we are all going for daily walks around the neighbourhood without kids. Boy oh boy there is nothing faster than a mom free of tagalongs.

Been picking up the first of the fallen leaves by day and painting them in the evenings. (It led to the sweetest of all updates at the end of this post.)

Maple leaves.

Oak leaves.

Gingko leaves.

More maple leaves.

The votes are in for including original art in the Cottage Letters. I’m so loving writing the letters. The letter itself is the hero, but my artistic brain just LOVES creating a whole package that includes extras.

Now Cottage Letters will always include:

A letter

Original art

A poem

Not sure why that took so long. Seems kind of obvious now.

Notice the cosmos on the art card shown above. It was inspired by a garden success. This year I jammed a whole slew of last year’s cosmos seeds in a flowerbed. The result is a stunning display of WOWZA.

I just love how cosmos sit against a blue sky.

Some mornings I go out to snip a few blooms but I have to wait until breakfast is over.

The translucent petals are mesmerizing. It begat a lot of painting.

If you want fun mail, head over to Etsy and use code LETTERLUV10 ffor 10% off. Makes a great gift.

Janice

Oh and one more thing…

It comes with a BOX!!!!

Oh my stars. It is a 20-notecard set (2 of 10 designs) inside a stunning box with envelopes. It’s everything I ever dreamed of… better actually, because it is published through Chronicle Books. If you’ve ever walked into a bookstore or stationery shop and gasped at a gorgeous set of notecards, it was probably made through Chronicle Books.

You can pre-order now through your local bookstore. Also on Amazon and everywhere you buy your books.

Photo: Thorley Illustration

If I were to coach someone on STARTING a creative practice, it would be this 5 step process:

STOP
You need to quiet yourself. Stop jamming so much in your day. Create pockets of time to make quiet spaces to hear your intuition speak to you. Your intuition is shy and polite. It holds back when you’re running the roads. We fill our days. That’s what we do. Take some of that off the agenda to fill it up with a practice.

ASK
Now that you’ve opened up space, ask yourself “What is my intention?” Want to strengthen your inner conversation with that voice through art? Inspired by other artists and want to create art like they do? Want to make something so you can sell it because what you really want is more money to travel and see the world? Having a clear intention gets the ball rolling and builds energy.

TRY
Find your own art. A practice that works for you. Try all the things. Paint, write, draw, recite poetry, act out dramatic scenes, make collage from sea glass… you get the idea. Doodle poodles. Restore vintage paint-by-numbers. Try things based on a) what is easily accessible b) what feels good (example… I’m not going to take on carving stone in Italy or pottery because one is too far away and the other doesn’t feel good in my hands).

LEARN
Evaluate the experiences. Many things will bore you. Some things will intensify your curiosity. At some point you’ll land on something that is better than you expected and you’ll feel like you’re making it WITH someone. Even then sometimes it’s boring but you don’t mind this particular flavour of boredom. I still get bored when I’m painting. I’ve learned to get faster at painting. I have to outpace the boredom that will seep in if I spend too long on one piece. Plus, all that futzing about usually ruins it.

REPEAT
If you found something that makes you come alive, repeat it. If you’ve found something so very boring, repeat step 3. If you run out of energy to even try, repeat step 2 and ask yourself again what your intention is. You might have to fine tune your WHY to reenergize yourself.

I did not expect to find a creative stream of consciousness through typing on an old manual typewriter. It was through trying it out (step 3) where I discovered it. Typing on a typewriter is an interesting ghostly communion while typing on a computer is not. I can’t explain it. Oh wait, yes I can.

Photos: Thorley Illustration (who also designed the piece)

The author of the Breathe Magazine article, Alice Elgie, sums it up nicely:

“No email facility, no news or social media feed, no online search function – a lack of distraction is one reason for choosing to compose first drafts on a typewriter. More than that, however, is the momentum, the rhythm, the sound of ideas moving from mind to hands to page.”

About using a typewriter to get in the creative mode:

“Janice MacLeod, creator of letter-writing subscription project, Cottage Letters, and author of Paris Letters, fell in love with typewriters when she was gifted an old manual model. ‘It reminded me of the joys of typing on a typewriter when I was a kid, back before correction tape and screens, when mistakes happened and that was just fine.’ Janice harnesses this sense of liberation in Cottage Letters:

‘My one goal each month is to exquisitely describe the month as best I can, and for that I use my secret weapon: the typewriter.’”

The August Cottage Letter in the Etsy Shop

The magic behind using a typewriter:

‘Typing taps into the same source I feel when meditating and I also feel my chest sort of vibrate when I type,’ she says. ‘I believe the body holds memory, and whatever memories are inside are jostled when typing. If you think about it, the chest is face to face with the keyboard, like the chest is doing the writing.’

Perhaps the most important point:

‘I never, ever have something interesting to say before I sit down at the typewriter. Not a clue. I sit down, put the paper in and… wait. The typing itself gets me into the mindset to create, I don’t get into a [creative] mindset first.’

How it feels to write with a typewriter:

‘It feels like a ride I’m on, but a slow ride, like an olden-day kids’ train. For me, the lack of distraction is at play, especially since the typewriter has its own noise.’

Photo: Thorley Illustration

There is more in the article. And you don’t need a typewriter, but it sure is fun to have one.

Janice

PS Thanks for all the help in the previous post when I asked if I should include my own art in the Cottage Letters. The answer is a resounding YES. August includes an art card featuring blueberries. More to come…

A quiet day. Light rain. A good day for a mini artist date. But what to do? Where to go? A mini-road trip around home.

I know the roads where I grew up and I know the roads where I now live, but the 30 minute drive in between is a bit vague.

The best way to imprint the map of an unknown place is to explore those roads without worry of getting lost. In fact, getting lost helps you stitch it all back together in your head. So I dropped the daughter off at the day camp and wound my way home as the crow flies, as the saying goes. Or took the milk route. Wandered off the beaten path. Took the scenic route. Took the long way around as well as the long way home. Aghm…

I digress.

I stopped in at dad’s first. One of us has a green bean situation in our garden, the other has a cucumber situation. Either not enough or too many. After the swap, I headed toward home, but this time I took the side roads, the lesser concessions, the roads I knew the start of but wasn’t sure where they would end up.

I drove through tiny hamlets called Fishers Glen and St. Williams, Forestville and Port Ryerse. I drove by the winery I knew from concerts attended, but this time I approached it from a different angle. I spotted the restaurant overlooking the marsh they say is good but I was always unsure of the location. Came across my uncle’s driveway, too, but from the other way. Normandale, the beach they talk about. Low and behold. There it is. All these places I pretended to know when people spoke of them. Here they were all along. Waiting for me.

I drove by the house of an old sweetheart. His parents still live there. They had us over this past spring for the maple syrup run. He had flown home from far away, hence the visit. He and his wife. Me and my husband. All of us gathered in the sugar shack, either catching up or getting to know each other through the sweet steam.

Apologies for the euphemism.

That day in spring, we went out to the barn to look at the truck. THE truck. The truck we drove around in before we headed our separate ways at the end of our summer romance. The truck was stored under a tarp for 30 years. “Wouldn’t take much to start ‘er up again,” he said.

You got that right. (Not apologizing this time.)

That visit helped. I didn’t know it at the time, or even that help was wanted, needed or required, but it was there all the same and it was welcome.

I slowed down as I went by the house again. Would have stopped in if anyone were outside. Would have grabbed the cucumbers off the passenger seat, explained the glut, used it as an excuse to stand on the same driveway of way back when.

But no one was outside and it was raining anyhow so I drove on.

I drove by the churches where I first learned hymns. Someone is still looking after those old timeworn halls. No weeds but no flowers either. I still recall the smell of those old hymnals and can hardly make it through a rendition of Old Rugged Cross without wanting to sneeze. Oh those Sunday school mornings. He and I sitting next to each other making friendship bracelets. Tying binds.

Soon, I arrived back on familiar ground—the roads of errand running, adulting, the 60 zones where I push the limit, the four-way stops I might roll through. But this time I took my time. Even went through a glen called Sleepy Hollow, popular with cyclists and curiositists. Stopped at a pioneer cemetery, too. Found original settlers here with their last names being as familiar as a roll call when I was in school.

Walked around another cemetery where I knew some people from school. Not too many, but a few. A few who would probably love take this little road trip down unfamiliar yet familiar roads. And that got me feeling grateful that I had the time and inkling to give myself a little road trip before I was swept back into regularly scheduled life.

Janice

PS The August Cottage Letter is going out this week. This time it features some original art. I think I might make adding original art a regular thing (see angsty request for guidance below). Sign up over at the Etsy shop and I’ll put you on the August list. Use code SUMMERROMANCE10 to get 10% off any letter subscription. Or use this link: https://janicemacleodstudio.etsy.com?coupon=SUMMERROMANCE10

Offer ends when August ends. Just like a perfect summer romance.

Angsty request for guidance:

I waver on adding original art into the packs. I like them, of course. But the priority has always been the literary, juicy letter itself. That was the original plan anyway. Yet I feel compelled to add bits and pieces. Now I wonder if it’s ART with a letter included or a LETTER with art included. Or am I overthinking it? Please advise.

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The summer reading extravaganza hath begun in earnest… partly because I was just in London for a wedding and partly because when I was there I spent so much money on books, so it’s a book-laden staycation for this cool cat.

London bookshops have restored my faith in a humanity who loves print material, who loves reading books, who loves the analog life.

For me, reading a physical book stretches my attention span, while reading on a screen shortens my attention span. It’s just better for my mental health. Plus, less noise. Plus, pretty!

The bookshops were swarming with enthusiastic readers. It made me glad to be among my people.

Impossible things before breakfast by Rebecca Front is a collection of true stories about surprising turns of events, bizarre misunderstandings, and improbably life lessons. Sounds good, but in this case, David Sedaris “was completely captivated” and the cover was summery. That’s enough for me.

Map of another town by M.F.K. Fisher is a story of a food writer who moves to Aix-en-Provence after the Second World War. Sounds good. Also the cover is lovely.

Remainders of the Day by Shaun Bythell is the diaries of a bookshop in Scotland. I liked the cat on the cover.

Notice the water bottle. It was a freebie from the hotel. They give all the guests refillable water bottles. Nice souvenir! I’ll be well-hydrated as I read.

The Covent Garden Murder by Mike Hollow is about… well, the title really says it all. Plus I was near Covent Garden when I bought it.

84 Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff is a collection of letters between Helene and the bookseller of a used bookstore at 84 Charing Cross Road. The address is now a McDonald’s. Bummer, but progress happens.

Notice how these Nora Ephron books look so great side by side.

Then it was off to the wedding where I met up with my Paris buddies. Hats were required for the ladies.

This was a truly bilingual wedding. You spoke in French or English and everyone had to understand. It was a relief to know I haven’t lost too much French. But just to be sure, afterward I picked up this little treasure:

I picked up Julian Green’s Paris because…

French on one side. English on the other. My attention span stretches even further with books like these. Speaking of stretching. I picked up this thinking it was a set of notecards, but NOPE:

It’s a long accordion of fantastic birds and flowers. A fun surprise.

Kingfisher with Lotus Flower is a collection of birds of Japan by Hokusai Hiroshige and other masters of the woodblock print.

I also zipped into The National Gallery, London which has one of the best museum gift shops in the world. I opened a book of saints and landed on this page:

Aw, the same name as my husband. I took it as a permission slip to add this to my book haul.

So now I’m at home and planning on sticking close to my garden and porch with my new books. The July Cottage Letter is out the door and the August letter is in the hopper.

She is curious about everything. I thought about my Cottage Letters and realized that I’d love for it to keep going and growing. I’m a letter writer, it seems, and the Cottage Letters are a natural sequel to the Paris Letters. I care deeply about sending these little beauties in the mail… taking care to be neat and tidy, include fun ephemera. I just love it. So thanks if you’ve already subscribed. It makes me so happy!

If you want a Cottage Letters subscription, sign up at the Etsy shop. Use code LETTERLUV10 for 10% off everything in the shop.

This month I included pretty cards from Katie Daisy, on whom I have a massive art crush. So bright! So bold! So many!

That’s all for now. If you need me, I’ll be in a book somewhere.

Janice

It’s June. A hint of warm weather is on the horizon, enough to get us out on the porch but still in sweaters and under lap blankets.

For one, the elderly have lived long enough to know a good thing. A warm set of legs keeps the whole body feeling cozy out there on the cool patio. A lap blanket extends our stay, away from those blaring screens inside.

Must we really continue to fool ourselves? We start each day with an exuberant feeling that the day will be full of accomplishments, big and small. Then we fritter away countless hours hypnotized by the screens.

As long as you leave your phone inside, you’re free out there on the patio. Away without even being away. Free to hear the wind rustling through the new leaves on the maple out front. Free to hear a full thought waltz its way around your noggin to completion. Free to allow thoughts to get carried away.

To get carried away… a pleasant preoccupation when a thought gets carried away… one thought rolling toward another as the eyes rest on the maple out front and its bright green newness. Seeing it but also not really.

My daughter is learning about rap music. I’m not sure where she’s learning it, but that’s not the point right now. She’s out here on the porch with me and has asked me to make up a rap song.

Always the entertainer. Always keen to impress my little audience of one, I furrow my brow as if deep in thought, nod as if I’ve got it, then clear my throat before I begin:

“Now this is a story all about how
My life got flipped turned upside down
And I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there
I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel-Air…”

I go through the whole theme song. She’s impressed but skeptical. “Did you really just make that up?” I laugh and confess.

It is sad to think of all the fun songs that will never be known to these kids. They’ll never really understand the scope of the Michael Jackson arc. They’ll never see Madonna the way we see her. Bruce Springsteen will just be some old guy their parents like. They won’t sing Bob Seger’s “Like a Rock” when they see a stunning new GMC truck on the road. And when they check into a hotel in California, the Eagles will not come to mind.

Bummer. I was recently driving and singing along to “Here I go again” by Whitesnake.

Why is that still in there? Kicking around in my memory bank?

How did it even get in there?

Why is it fused so tight decades later?

Worst of all, the song makes more sense to me now than it did when I slow-danced to it with Mr. Wintermint Certs.

“No I don't know where I'm going
But, I sure know where I've been
Hanging on the promises
In songs of yesterday
And I've made up my mind
I ain't wasting no more time…”

Wowza, Whitesnake. Truth! Who knew the “songs of yesterday” would be this actual song? Mind-blowing.

Anyway, this is how my thoughts got carried away today sitting there on the porch with my lap blanket, considering the watercolour shade of that tree. Sap green I think.

By autumn, it will be bright fire red, and I’ll be back here on the porch. Back with the lap blanket…

“In the cold November rain.”

November Rain was released 33 years ago. Oh my gawwwwddddd.

The June Cottage Letter just went out for subscribers. If you want in, head over to the Etsy shop. This week’s theme involves the wisdom of cats. Also the new notecards… oh yeah!

"If humans were as content as cats, there would be no wars. Only gardens."
-Kurt Vonnegut

Here at the ol’ cottage, the dandelions and forget-me-nots are blooming but nary is there a lilac in bloom.

Spring has taken its time getting here, unless you’re at a mall. Then it’s summer dresses galore.

I recently wistfully beheld the beauty of my summer dresses all lined up in the closet just waiting for a sunny day.

This is where my love of dresses began… at Hadrian's Wall in Rome.

He’s cute but not much of a talker.

I bought this dress on the Isle of Capri with the lovely Áine back in 2010, so you know providence of the dress was already off to a good start. I wore that dress out. Seriously. Remember when I lived out of my suitcase for a year, then stretched it to four? Yeah, that dress was part of all that. And holy goodness gracious it held up so nicely until the fabric wore out.

Though I had to toss the dress eventually, I’ve been buying versions of it ever since.

And to really dive deep into the obsession while I await warmer weather, I started painting gingham dresses.

Then I added a few more dresses, uploaded the scans, performed some magical digital jiggery pokery, and voila!

Get these in the Etsy shop.

What I love love LOVE about designing these notecards is that I finally found a decent printer who prints fantastic hues on the INSIDE of the card. Technology has finally caught up to my artistic desires. Here is one of the insides, but they are all matchy matchy different with the outside of the cards. Good times!

I also created a set of gingham dress notecards that went out with the Cottage Letters this month:

I SOLD OUT of the cards pictured here with the four dresses. Amazingly enough. I’m so flipping happy that people are liking the Cottage Letters. The rest of the letters in May will include one of the bigger, bolder gingham dress notecards, so if you want to try out the letters, now might be a good time to score a fun extra notecard so you can send your own letter.

Just look at all these Cottage Letters in the basket, ready to head out to the post office.

It’s like the philatelic equivalent of a gingham sundress.

Anyway, I’ve been redesigning the old notecards now that I have a printer I actually like. I’ve been posting a slew of the familiar Paris scenes in the shop as well as some new art that comes along…

It’s amazing what gets done when one is waiting on the weather.

Janice