Once upon a quiet morn, beneath the watchful gaze of grey clouds, I set myself to the charming endeavours of home, for there were treasures to be made anew and comforts to weave for this beloved cottage. By that wise soul Sarah Ban Breathnach, it is said that true contentment is the art of discovering wonder in the humblest corners. And indeed, I took to heart her counsel on making a home with what we have on hand and not what we wistfully wish it would hold.
First, I turned my attention to a simple, round and sturdy crock that once held flour, oats, or perhaps brined cabbage in its distant past. Though worn by time and emptied of its purpose, it seemed quite eager to serve once more. With careful hands, I applied a delicate stencil of letters- just the sort of simplistic embellishment I imagine might have graced my English granny's larder. When it was complete, I stood back, pleased as a child on Christmas Eve. And there it was: a noble vessel, reimagined for my eggs each morning, which would henceforth nestle cosily within its flour-dusted embrace.
Then, as the kitchen clock struck noon, I came to the matter of my apron. One cannot make a proper home without the garments to do so, and I must confess, I've longed for something that might boast both pride and practicality. Rummaging through my cupboard, I found an ole' bedsheet of faded floral print, soft with age but sturdy still. I folded and stitched by lamplight, humming a tune that seemed to lift from the depths of memory. At last, it was complete- an apron of simple yet noble design, as suited for baking bread as it was for gathering herbs from the garden. With each creation, I felt the very bones of the cottage grow stronger, knit together by the love and attention bestowed upon it.
My darlings, I hope you are well and fit. I am sending you all my love. Our little Christmas bunny book will be out ere' in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
Most affably yours til my next swim, Razzy xxx
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