The Passing of Miss Read

Dora Saint (Miss Read) herself.

If you've followed this blog for long, you'll know that Miss Read is a steadfast favorite.  Before Jan Karon had her Mitford, Miss Read had Fairacre and Thrush Green.

While it's been well over a decade since a new Miss Read novel has appeared, her books are always within my reach, ready to soothe and delight and to give one a place to go when things are a little bleak.  Whether you're in a fabulous mood and longing for a trip to the English countryside, or feeling low and need to experience a gentler, more pleasant way of life, Miss Read's books fit the bill ideally.

Sadly, Miss Read, Dora Saint in real life, passed away in early April.  Just ten days short of her 99th birthday the redoubtable Mrs. Saint spent her last moments at home in Oxfordshire.

Long a lover of country life, Dora Saint was able to combine a unique understanding of people with a genuine affection and knowledge of nature.  Her books were charming, witty, cozy and understanding, but they were never saccharine or sentimental.  Even the best of her characters had problems, albeit normal ones that most of us face, and could, at times, be less than charitable to one another.  This combination of goodness and reality allowed readers to understand and relate to the many people who peopled the fictitious Fairacre and Thrush Green, and made it terribly fun to see what kinds of problems they'd face and how they'd measure up to them in each successive book.

One of Miss Read's earlier books
in the Fairacre series.

As I sit here now, I can look up and see a long row of Miss Read's lining a shelf all their own.  Each one of these books has been read several times, and there are probably more I haven't yet enjoyed.  For those of you who know the characters yourself, who can't delight in thinking of Thrush Green's Dotty Harmer in her ramshackle cottage in the woods, surrounded by chickens and goats and brewing something on the stove bound to cause a case of "Dotty's Collywobbles".  Or Ella Bembridge and her tin if tobacco which she uses to roll very untidy cigarettes.  There's Miss Read herself, title character of the Fairacre series, and her perennial problems with Mrs. Pringle.  Why, every time we do a really big cleaning, I think of Mrs. Pringle's threat/promise to "bottom out" Miss Read's schoolhouse during one holiday break or another.  Miss Read's friend, Amy, is also a sometimes threat to the schoolmistress' solitary happiness as she tries to find some suitable matrimonial prospect to her uninterested friend's attention.  For some reason, although described otherwise, I imagine Miss Read (the character) as looking like a less elegant Deborah Kerr...

The list beloved characters could go on and on.  But, at the center of the books, I think that there's a real message of kindness, civility and appreciation.  A kindness to others - easily exemplified by Miss Clare and her gift of her beautifully kept thatched cottage to Miss Read; civility - demonstrated by the many inhabitants of the villages and their ability to deal with such ne-er-do-wells as Albert and Nelly Piggott or the Coggs family; and appreciation - for one another, for the joys of village life and the loveliness of nature that surrounds them.

An illustration by John Goodall,
Miss Read's constant partner in the
Fairacre and Thrush Green books.

Many years ago, in the late eighties and early nineties, I had an occasional correspondence with Dora Saint.  She always replied to my letters and questions in a kind and rather sturdy tone.  She was really quite as delightful on the blue airmail letter/envelopes she'd write on as she was in the pages of her books.

If you've never read a Miss Read book, more's the pity for you.  Nothing beats them.  Even the much-beloved Mitford series was influenced by Jan Karon's love of Miss Read, who was, in her time, influenced by the work of Jane Austen.  And, it's true...  All three authors seem to share a love of the details of domestic life.  The small things that make people's relationships successful or, on occasion, more of a challenge.

As for me, I am going to sweep aside the books I'm currently reading for a fit of indulgence in the Miss Reads.  I can't think of any nicer tribute to an author that I've loved for so many years.

Times are Changing at Dapper and Dreamy

I've loved writing this blog for the past year, and it's been fun to talk with all of you about our thoughts and ideas.  But, the Dapper and Dreamy blog as it is right now isn't quite what I'd envisioned.  It's become a little too heavy on my own opinions and insights, and a little to light on inspiring people, places and ideas.  When I first envisioned Dapper and Dreamy, it was as a place where, each day, you would be exposed to something new, something forgotten and something special.  A movie, a song, a book.  An idea for a family activity or a date.  A reminder of something old or nostalgic that we might want to reincorporate into our lives today.  So, over the next few weeks, I am going to be working to change Dapper and Dreamy to be more of what it was intended to be - a relatively short, witty and entertaining daily visitor.  A quick chat about something or someone that will add a bit of color and panache to our lives.

Dapper and Dreamy isn't just a blog, either.  It's really a way of thinking and seeing the world yesterday, today and tomorrow.  It's about turning up the volume on the good and worthy, and fading the bland, mundane and negative out.  It's about creating a style of living and thinking.  Dapper and Dreamy is a blog, an Etsy shop, a very, very small publisher and a participant in art, craft and gift fairs.  It's about embracing the new, the stylish and the charming, with an eye firmly set on the old, the retro and the nostalgic.

So, keep coming back and let us know what you think of our new direction.  Tell your friends about Dapper and Dreamy and, most of all, BE Dapper and Dreamy yourself!

Cleanliness is Next to Dapper and Dreaminess!

I love clean.  I don't love TO clean, I just love knowing that everything around me is clean.  With seven rather spirited boys coming in and out of the house all day every day, this is an impossible feat.  I know it, but I've never fully accepted it.  I still think that, somehow, we should be able to dwell in a relatively pristine space.  Afterall, seven boys not only means more mess, it should mean more cleaners, right?  Wrong.  But, that's alright...  they try...  Sometimes...  Some of them...

In spite of our slightly mad house, I still hold that cleanliness is one of the loveliest things in life, and cleaning is excellent therapy.  There are countless amusing mottos around.  They all suggest that a clean home is the sign of a life ill-spent or of some form of mental illness, and I can see their rather shallow humor.  But, I couldn't disagree more.  Cleaning shouldn't be about impressing others, although it can show a sort of respect and appreciation for those that come into your home.  It should be about creating a sense of ease and order, serenity and peace.  A house devoid of unnecessary or careless clutter, free from the neglect that heaps of dust and cloudy windows (fear not, our windows are quite cloudy just now!) suggest can be a wonderful oasis from the frenetic pace of the world.  It's lovely to sit in a cozy corner with a book or project of some sort and to look around and see things in their best light.  It's also a rather nice way of telling your family, and even yourself, that putting one's best foot forward needn't be for special occasions.

The smell that comes with cleanliness is also comforting.  The recent advent of cleaning products that genuinely appeal to the nose as well as the environment is fabulous.  Have you ever smelled Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day in Geranium?  Or almost anything by Caldrea.  The price is rather steep, but for big cleaning days, it might just be worth it.  For my money, just about anything lemon fresh will work, too.

We also use a special carpet powder, created by yours truly, scented with lavender buds and oil.  Not in the least overpowering or artificial, it leaves the house smelling as fresh as a summer's day in Provence (disclosure...  I've never been to Provence...  in summer or at any other time...  but this is what summer in Provence SHOULD smell like!).  We'll be offering it in our Dapper and Dreamy Shop soon.

Now, I don't wish to suggest that cleaning should take precedence over everything else.  Dreamy, the one person who can truly clean our house properly, reminds me that if we spent all our time cleaning in order to have and maintain the perfect atmosphere, we'd never have time to actually do anything.  Of course she's right.  And, in all honesty, cleanliness has to come in after family happiness.  But, I sometimes think that in our efforts to make things easier and more pleasurable we forget that the hard work that keeping house requires can actually enhance life, rather than add to the drudgery.

Saturday Is a Special Day

Saturday's at the Dapper and Dreamy house are very, very busy.  The whole place is a hive of activity.  If you add in special events like a dance, a holiday or a birthday, things become even more challenging.  This weekend, we only have the two special events - prom and Mother's Day.  Whew!

There are some things that remain constant.  Dreamy always, always bakes bread on Saturday.  The house fills with the wonderful aroma of flour, yeast and butter by about 1:00, and it lingers throughout the day.  Clothes are also ironed on Saturday.  There is a veritable pile of white and blue cotton shirts waiting to be crisply pressed for church the next day.  Not to mention the pants, the socks to be found and, if we are really, really prepared, the shoes to be located.  Generally, by Sunday morning, there is at least one shoe missing, meaning that (usually Harry) someone will be wearing their athletic shoes to Sunday services.

In our house, there are also three Sunday School teachers...  I teach our son Nick's class (12 and 13 year olds), Dreamy teaches George's class (6 and 7 year olds) and our daughter Victoria teaches Harry's class (8 and 9 year olds).  This means that there are lessons to plan and treats to make.  It's a rare Saturday when Victoria isn't making something sweet to bribe her class into cooperation.  So, in addition to the wonderful smell of baking bread, you can add the equally enticing scent of cupcakes or cookies.

Saturday's also mean a rather lengthy trip to the grocery store and the farmer's market.  Today also included a visit to the local farm - the younger kids thankfully being taken by their older sister.  What will we do when she's away at college in a few months?!

Yum!  Chocolatey cake with a buttery
whipped cream icing and lots and lots
of crunchy chocolate and toffee candy on top!

On this particular weekend, there's also a Mother's Day party to prepare for.  Just a little one, but it will mean two additional desserts - a chocolate toffee cake with whipped cream frosting and a rhubarb custard pie - some gifts and a presentable flower arrangement.  While I know that these are supposed to be for the mother's, I'm pretty excited about them myself!

Dreamy has also been on a baking kick of her own lately.  Desperate to master the art of macaroon making, she's trying her hand at the violet variety today.  Pretty purple cookies sandwiching a lavender tinted filling and crowned with a tiny sugared violet.  These are to be given away to a few of her very lucky friends.

Violet macaroons...  Tres delicieux!

It's not all cooking and ironing, either.  In the ongoing process of making over the house, I was able to paint and reupholster two dining chairs and restain the piano!

And now, it's time to rest...  before making dinner and running out to get those last minute things that always seem to be needed for Sunday's dinner or someone's present...  Saturday's at the Dapper and Dreamy house are not for the faint-hearted.

I suspect that many of you can relate to days like this...  There always seems to be more to fill the time than the time itself.  It's a challenge to find a moment to sit and rest or read...  or blog!  But, we need to take those moments to maintain balance, if not sanity!  Regardless, I've always loved Saturdays.  They seem to be days filled with promise and creativity, challenge and accomplishment.  It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that, sometimes, I feel that I've done more of lasting value on Saturdays than any other day!  While my contributions at the office may have paid the bills, they certainly don't have the lingering quality of, say, the smell of baking bread or a warm afternoon spent enjoying homemade cakes in honor of mom.

Here's a little Saturday song for you...  While I've never found it to be the loneliest night of the week...  Who can beat a song about Saturday sung by Sinatra?

Time for a Change

Jolly and colorful.  The streamers are left over from
Dreamy's birthday party.

We like change at the Dapper and Dreamy house.  As long as it's positive change and we get to control it!  That may be why we have such a love of redecorating, rearranging and managing our home.  We get to choose what to put in and what to take out.  We can decide whether we want a quick, one day redo, or a  protracted, careful change.  This year, we opted for the slow, cautious, blue painter's tape using switcheroo.  If you've read past posts about my style of making over, you will guess that this was largely spear-headed by the much more thoughtful and judicious "Dreamy".  Blue painter's tape?  What's that for?

By the end of the month, virtually every room will have had some degree of transformation.  The bedroom walls, once covered in a vibrant pink paint, are now Dior Gray.  The living room, long the color of parchment, is now a springy lilac.  The hall, recently a dark tan has gone black and white.  And, as I write, our once "Martha" green kitchen is now being painted pink and white. We haven't touched the studio and, believe me, it's showing the neglect.  If I want to work at my design table, I have to climb over an ironing board, folded laundry waiting to be put away, Legos (ouch!), Playmobil guys and countless pots and pans (this is thanks to 16 month-old Max).

Books, organized by color, make quite a statement
in this bright green bookshelf.

My style is, compared to Dreamy's, somewhat more formal.  More orderly.  More theme-oriented.  My bywords might be Buckingham Palace cozy.  Hers is definitely more bohemian.  More colorful.  And much younger.  For most of our marriage, I think my style has prevailed.  It's not that there's ever been any sort of disagreement - we both share a love of each other's taste - but it's just sort of worked out that way.  Well, things have changed.  Our house is now a kaleidoscope of color, a veritable rainbow come to life in a 1910 bungalow.  We're not done, yet.  There's a few touches needed here and there.  We need to decide how to best bring all of the color together into a pleasing and cohesive whole.  And then, there are the rugs.  I am a fanatic about floors and rugs.  I want them to be always clean and pristine.  Unmarked, recently vacuumed and perfect.  Seven boys do not make this an easy, or even remotely possible, feat.  I can't tell you how many rugs, carpets and floor paints we've gone through in the last 12 years.

A boring, white dresser, transformed with a
few cans of paint and lots and lots of painter's tape!

The bottom line is that change is good.  Change is healthy.  And change can be very fun and very colorful!  Getting out of our decorative comfort zones should be refreshing, leading us to surprising discoveries about our taste.  And, whenever you decorate, remember that you are the one who will be living with it.  Few of us will be featured in a magazine, and house guests are generally the exception rather than the rule for many of us.  So, don't be afraid to paint, cover and spruce.  After all, it's only paint!

The reading corner...  Those pictures you see
in the corner are miniature versions of classic
movie posters, each with a brightly colored
matte a la the Indiscreet apartment.

Spring Just Keeps on... Springing!

Lilacs!  You can almost smell them right now, can't you?

It's been some time since I last wrote, but only because there have been so many other things going on in the Dapper and Dreamy world.  Making things, designing things to make, self-publishing...  the long list goes on.  If you are like me, you sometimes forget to stop for a minute or two to notice all of the wonderful things that already surround you...  and for free!

This time of year means the advent of a few of my favorite flowers.  In fact, you really can't beat late-April and early-May.  Why?  One word...  Lilacs.  Is there a more perfect flower?  Beautifully tinted, tiny and perfect little flowers clustered in giant cones of heavenly scent!  Just think of that amazing smell as you pass by an ancient lilac bush, or as you walk through a cool breeze carrying its heady aroma.

Lilacs are, to me, an old-fashioned sort of flower.  They are the kind of thing you'd find in a grandmother's yard, near the sides of country lanes, or around very old, abandoned farmhouses.  I once read about a man in Texas who went from ancient cemetery to ancient cemetery finding bowers of overgrown heirloom roses surviving beautifully with no help from nervous gardeners.  I rather think lilacs are like that.  Best left to their own devices, allowed plenty of room and sun to put on their marvelous annual performance.  And what a show it is...  Albeit a very short one.  My own lilac bush, tall, spindly and bare for the first six or seven feet, is always rather sad compared to many that I've seen.  Stuck between two pines by some unthinking person decades ago, now only the uppermost branches get enough light and warmth to burst forth each year.  It also happens to be in a part of the yard that I can't see easily from the house.  This has an upside, however.  I don't feel at all bad about cutting armfuls of blooms to bring into the house.  You have to capture them at just the right moment, though.  Rain and wind will cause the delicate flowers to turn brown or fall the the ground in a lavender flurry.  You must also watch them every day.  The last time I checked them, two days ago, they still seemed tightly furled.  But, today, they are glorious.

My lovely English bluebells!  Ignore that date...  They
don't really bloom in January and this was taken just
moments ago...  "Breaking Bluebell News!"

Lilacs aren't the only thing to enjoy right now.  English Bluebells are another absolute favorite.  Who can resist those perfect little bells, so sprightly on the stalks.  Imagine a woodland filled with an endless sea of their own particular shade of blue.  They truly are an English flower, don't you think?  When I was in elementary school, I well remember picking handfuls of them from a bed below our front window.  The stems would be wrapped in wet paper towels, and then foil, and carefully taken to school on Teacher's Day.  I loved the smell of them, barely noticeable but very, very sweet...  The smell of a wet, green, Oregon spring.

Dazzling camellias...  Bright, lipstick pink.

Camellias can't be left off of the list of spectacular Spring flowers, either.  We have a large, round, very old bush just in front of our porch.  The blooms are bright, lipstick pink with golden centers.  Each year, this bush attempts to fool us.  Saving its glory for the last possible moment, only one or two blooms show up in the first few weeks, making you think that you'll have a less than dazzling display.  But, just as you are about to give up, the dark green of the shiny leaves is broken by hundreds and hundreds of bright blooms!  Giant fistfuls of the woody branches are cut to be thrust into the magnificent blue and white vase that sits atop the piano.

Tiny, perfect flowers...  Shadowed by an
artlessly amateur photographer...

Finally, the diminutive English Daisy (can you see I like anything prefaced by the word "English"?)...  Like tiny, white stars, English Daisies dot vivid green lawns from home to park to pasture.  Everywhere you look, there they are.  Some consider them weeds.  I see them as a reason not to mow the lawn...  Or at least to mow around them. What bright, cheery little faces they present, speckling the grass in surprising little patches.  And to think...  I don't have to buy them, plant them, pinch them back or anything else!

Spring seems to linger, providing a parade of bright pinks, cool blues, brilliant reds and dazzling yellows, not to mention pinks and purples and greens of every possible shade.  It doesn't require much effort to enjoy the display...  Look up... Blooming cherries and plums and apples!  Look straight ahead... Camellias, lilacs, flowering currant, forsythia!  Look down...  Daffodils, tulips, crocuses and, of course...  Bluebells!

Welcome to the Dapper and Dreamy
Bungalow!

Grandmother's Are Dreamy

My grandmother's house in Corvallis, looking not much like
it did when she was alive.  Gone are the perfectly cone-
shaped trees on either side of the walk.  Also, none of the
flowers that she tended herself, all around the foundation,
and the old hydrangeas and irises under the windows.

Recently, reading a post on Susan Branch's blog, I was reminded of some of the fun times I had with my grandmother.  She wasn't what one would call a "cozy" grandma.  Yes, she knitted and crocheted up a storm, but the best you could hope for when it came to any handmade gift was the ugliest pair of crocheted slippers you could ever behold.  I know this might seem cruel - picking on the crafting tastes of the dear-departed, but I sometimes wonder if she knew this fact and was just waiting for someone to call her bluff.  It wasn't that she couldn't make beautiful things.  I can't begin to understand how she could translate complex patterns into doilies of every shape and size.  One of my favorites was bright yellow and green one that, when starched, looked just like a ring of daffodils.  And those pineapple shapes that always seem to be picked into these lace-like table linens?  Unbelievable.

My grandmother was much more than doilies, however.  She was, to me, simply fun.  She had a sometimes raucous sense of humor, laughing at surprising and slightly (and sometimes not so slightly) off-color jokes, and she taught me all sorts of important things.  For example, poker.  I was the only grandchild to spend the night with her in her later years and we'd stay up very late playing cards.  When my aunt or mother were around we'd play Canasta and Aggravation (on the board that my late grandfather had made many years before), but in the evening, it was penny poker.  We'd also watch Saturday Night Live together, sort of.  She'd be in her room and I'd be on the couch and we'd laugh at all the same parts - especially Dana Carvey's Church Lady character.

Her house was an absolute mess.  My mother tells me that for most of her childhood my grandmother was a strict housekeeper.  "A place for everything and everything in it's place."  My grandma once told me how she thought she annoyed her guests by following them around picking up after them (so, that's where I got it!).  By the time I was in the picture, her house was filled to overflowing with "stuff".  Paperwork, yarn, catalogs, piles of finished doilies (kept, rarely given away) bric-a-brac of many generations, magazines and books of crossword puzzles.  In fact, if you could manage to get a break from games, she had so much fun "stuff" that you could spend endless rainy Saturday's just looking.  One of the best things were the tabloids, of which my own mother didn't really approve...  there were often stacks of old  National Enquirer and Star and People magazines to read.  We never had those at home!  But the ultimate fun was heading upstairs with my aunt.  In the unoccupied rooms one could find trunks of family heirlooms to look through.  Boxes and boxes of letters and old pictures and vintage books and magazines.  It was an absolute treasure trove.  My aunt, truly one of the funniest people I know, and I would read the letters aloud, sometimes in crazy accents, sometimes "embellishing" them as we went along.  You could hear our laughter all the way downstairs.  When she was ready for us to come back to the dining room table to resume the games, she'd yell up the stairs, "What are you doing up there?  I didn't say you could go up there!"  She didn't really mind, she just wanted the fun to be where she was.

One of my favorite memories is actually from when I was much younger.  My grandma always had a "hangout".  A particular restaurant that she'd visit every day at the same time.  For ages it was Sammie's.  Sammie's never seemed to have any other customers, although I am sure they did.  You could find my grandmother there every afternoon, maybe with her friend Liz, but often just chatting to the waitress and cook.  She'd sit in the same booth by the window, long brown cigarette drooping from her mouth, drinking coffee out of thick, brown mugs.  I was always fascinated by the cigarette smoke as it spiraled up, up, up into the air, toward the high wooden ceiling of Sammie's A-frame dining room.  I'd sit and watch it curl upward while my mother and aunt and grandma talked.  Sometimes she'd by me an orange juice or, if I was really fortunate, a hot chocolate with whipped cream.  Even better were the butterhorns that I might convince her to buy.  Funnily, in all those years, I can't remember her ever eating anything herself.  Just talking and smoking and drinking coffee.  Years later, after she'd died, one of the waitresses told tell me how my grandma would love to help out, bussing the tables and getting people water or other little things if it was busy.

As I grew older, I think I developed a sort of special relationship with my grandmother.  She could be tricky, though.  I remember once, after she'd made some really good chocolate cookies (this had NEVER happened before in my lifetime), I told her that I'd love to have some for a birthday present.  Her response?  "Well, I wouldn't hold your breath!"  And, she was serious, sort of.  No, she didn't end up surprising me with any that year, or any other year, but I honestly didn't expect her to.  I didn't take it personally, it was just my grandmother being herself.  She'd had a very hard life, it was a wonder that she'd survived it as well as she had, and I loved her for it.

I don't think my grandma ever spent more than $5 on me.  Christmas, birthdays...  a $5 bill in a card.  And I was glad to get it.  There might have been a couple of exceptions - a subscription to Jack and Jill magazine and the most wonderful wooden store, filled with tiny wooden merchandise - canned foods, apples, cheese wedges, bags of flour and sugar, barrels of who-knows-what...  all in unfinished wood.  You really had to use your imagination with this toy, and I played with it for hours.

There is a point to this walk down memory lane...  In Susan Branch's story, she told of her mother's summer visits to her own grandmother - Susan's great-grandmother.  The fun was simple and homespun, and the lessons learned there were about such things as how to dream and how to make your dreams come true.  My own mother's stories of her summers on her grandmother's wheat farm in Washington are similar.  They include tales of helping her grandmother and aunts to cook for the farmhands at harvest time and, always, endless games of Canasta.  I love those stories, even now after I've heard them many times.  My own children will have similar recollections of my mom.  Like generations before, they all sit at her table, playing cards and drinking Pepsi and laughing, sometimes until the tears flow.

For some reason it seems that we now expect grandmothers to be cash cows...  buying clothes, cars and computers, taking trips and affording their grandchildren the luxuries their parents can't afford.  And, I suppose this generation of grandmother's is quite different than the one I enjoyed.  They're not white-haired ladies who play cards and gab with their friends, they're more likely to be career women with entirely different abilities and interests to share with their grandchildren.  Of course, there's not a thing wrong with that, the cooperation of the generations in rearing the adults of the future is a wonderful blessing.  But, afternoons of cards and Pepsi were awfully fun.

The key to this, if one is necessary, is that grandmothers can provide their grandchildren with so many wonderful memories, and the best ones are entirely free (OK, $5, tops).  They occupy a unique place - they knew one's parents when they were young, and just as silly, and they can take some of the pomposity out of them.  There's nothing better than to hear, "Well, when your mother was 12..." followed by some tale of woe and wrong-doing.  They can provide comfort and sympathy, all the time telling you that, in the end, you'd better mind you parents.

For all her idiosyncrasies, I adored my grandmother.  She was terrifically fun, and she was a pal.  I dream about her all the time to this day, and she's been gone for almost fifteen years.  I hope that when our children have kids of their own, I'll have the chance to follow a little of my own grandmothers example.