Home witches tea party

This frazzled homebird witch is having a little rest
kicking off her magic shoes and making polite request.
So tired of these antics that keep me up all night
and I don't mean riding broomsticks or giving folk a fright.

I'm talking about the pumpkin ghost, the smallest little pest
That haunts and taunts when darkness falls and causes great unrest
He rattles on the door handle and throws about his toys
Doesn't he realise that past 8 o'clock is bed for little boys.
The sheets not right, too hot, too cold, there's a monster under his bed
I want to tell him, not it's not, he's here awake instead!
This Halloween I'd like to have, a long awaited nap
or light a little corn candle, drink Mandrake's Inky Cap
Put Frightly Dancing on for a while, prance in stripy stocking feet
Fill the Jack O'lanterns with dancing flame and leave the trick or treat
Eat every chocolate warty toad, have myself a feast
Or just a bag of peppered pond bites with hair of wild beast

I still hear pitter patter, I still hear pumpkin feet
Getting him to go to sleep would be so very sweet
It's time to take some action, I must go and dust that tome
Of spells from dear old nana witch emitting a greenish gloam.

Carefully through its pages my finger tips do glide
Past incantations for the dead and making hearts collide
I find the one I want, a cautious hocus-pocus
Taking fairy moss and candy floss with a bit of roasted locust.
Wand in hand, tap-tap-tap, weaving sleepy thoughts
Using all my witchy powers of all that I was taught
Take twinkle twinkle, sparkling sand and flocks of counting sheep
Make that eiderdown like fluffy cloud, let me not hear a peep.
Wynken, Blynken and some Nod, light from luna dreams
Aromas of fresh lavender, music spun from streams

A blinding flash of All Hallows light, a puff of dragon smoke
Bats will fly, owls will hoot and little froggies croak
Then all I hear is gentle snores, a pleasant hum and purr
Of resting perfect cherub face, a little tot in slumberrr...

I kiss a little cheek, I brush away his hair
Leave a chink of glowing light, creep off down wooden stair
Cauldron bubbles, kettle sings, the sofa looks inviting
A perfect witches tea party, my favourite enchanting
Settling down with fortune cuppa, what a real delight
This mummy witch is going to enjoy her blissful Halloween night. Join in the party with A Fanciful Twist where all the Halloween merry makers go for some glitter, enchantment and magical creatures.

Blackberry lanes

A sign that summer is nearly finished,

Of ripening fruit and light diminished.

On country walks, along hedgerow lanes

By canals and allotments, I see the same.

Brambles rambling, natures gallery

a bounty treasure, here is the BLACKBERRY!

A slow succession of mellowing jewels

Starting off chartreuse until tinctured with jules.

With flowers, paper candied open petals

A landing pad, summer candles

For bees and hoverflies still so busy

Drunk on nectar, getting dizzy

Gather your berries, watch those prickles

Apron pockets, stained and trickles

of blackberry juice on childrens faces

Might not make the pie crust spaces

or layered with a crumbled top

Bubbling jam, pot after pot.

I managed to get some back to home

So bring out the cream for some fresh baked scones.

Elsa Beskow - pretty little books

Elsa Beskow, born Elsa Maartman was a Swedish children's author born in 1874 with a distinct style of artwork in her books. I first came across them last year when looking into Waldorf education which again I had only just discovered through Pinterest. Oh what that site is responsible for! Elsa was born in Stockholm and was one of six children. She loved fairy stories and started to create her own to tell to her siblings and would also spend her free time drawing the natural world. The untimely death of her father meant that the family had to move in with extended family - her two aunts and an uncle. The Swedish women's movement was prominent at this point in time and this heavily influenced Elsa's attitude and is reflected in some of her books. Elsa studied art at University and it was here that she both met her husband to be, Nathanial Beskow and started her children's illustrations. After marrying they had six children and Elsa started to have her books published. Her first book was The Tale of the Little, Little Old Woman in 1897 but her first real success was in 1901 with Peter in Blueberry Land.  The children in her books are modelled on her own children and she drew using their wonderful home and garden near Stockholm as inspiration. Her style of drawing is unmistakeable with nature, fairies, pixies and wildlife. Beautiful drawings that make these books a real treasure to snuggle up with your little ones and look through. Her drawings heavily reflect the seasons and one of my favourites is 'Around the Year' with a poem for each month.Elsa continued to write books until a year before her death at aged 79 in 1953. I thoroughly recommend her books and they are reasonably inexpensive to buy although I've never seen them in a bookshop but most of them are available through Amazon. I'd like to collect them all and have them on a bookshelf of their own as their pictures are so wonderful and would make a nice display for our snug room.

Have you heard of Elsa Beskow before and do you have any of her books?

A Boy and His Bear

This is a tale of a boy and his bear. The bear was won by his mummy in a Tots100 Blog Hop and kindly sent to review by Worlds Apart toys. It started off well, Little Bird ripped the box open eager to get at the snuggly cuddly inside and he took pride of place on the sofa. Mummy had a little setting up to do to programme him as he is not just any normal Winnie the Pooh - he talks and tells you it's time for breakfast or your bedtime!

After telling Little Bird that it might be time to go and have a wash and get dressed, my Little Bird said "No Way" in no uncertain terms and Pooh was pushed off onto the floor.

Pooh tried to enjoy a boat ride but was quickly thrown overboard to fend for himself.

Pooh made several attempts to play with Little Bird but they are still on frosty terms. Pooh thinks he will have better chance with the Woozles but will not give up trying. Christopher Robin my boy is not!

Mummy gets on much better with Pooh Bear as she has a bit of a Winnie the Pooh collection. However, he has a tendency to make me jump out of my skin when he goes off!

{To win your own little friend and have a look at him in action,there is a competition with Disney & Worlds Apart here.}

A bear, however hard he tries,

Grows tubby without exercise.

Our Teddy Bear is short and fat,

Which is not to be wondered at.

But do you think it worries him

To know that he is far from slim?

No, just the other way about-

He's proud of being short and stout.

A.A. Milne

Autumn Days When The Pumpkins Are Rolling In...

It's here, it is truly upon us. Autumn. I have been gathering in my harvest on the plot. On the window sills, catching the last few rays to cure their skin for storage, sit an array of pumpkins, squashes and gourds. Baby Bear, Acorn, Festival, Vegetable Spaghetti....all beautiful, oranges, greens, stripy, a bit warty and knobbly.

All ready for sweet pies, curries, pasta dishes, gnocchi with sage butter, roasting with rosemary, soups, making into garlands, Autumn door wreaths or scary faces for Halloween.

Picked up finds of Horse Chestnut, Sweet Chestnut, pine cones and berries sit on table tops (out of a Little Bird's reach!) and around vases of flowers. I always did love the nature table at school. I used to stick leaves and sycamore wings into a scrapbook or make characters out of sticks and beech nut cases as a child. I'm still that person, just lacking the time.

It is now noticeably darker come tea time and the mornings are damp and nippy. On rare sunny mornings, I hope it lasts and we can go out for a walk for more nature collecting for my little projects....

.....for I love to decorate the house for each season.

I have been gathering ideas from old magazines and Pinterest. So many great ideas but first and foremost it's an autumn door wreath so we are off to collect a few more items and get the floristry kit out of the shed, ready to wire up flowers and leaves. Hopefully I'll be able to show it to you next week.

This is a song we used to sing at Primary School and I adore the words. It's so cheery and was our absolute favourite.  Do you know it? 

Autumn Days - Estelle White (1925 -2011)

Autumn days, when the grass is jewelled

And the silk inside a chestnut shell

Jet planes meeting in the air to be refuelled

All these things I love so well

{Chorus}

So I mustn’t forget

No, I mustn’t forget

To say a great big thank you

I mustn’t forget.

Clouds that look like familiar faces

And a winter’s moon with frosted rings

Smell of bacon as I fasten up my laces

And the song the milkman sings.

{Chorus}

Whipped-up spray that is rainbow-scattered

And a swallow curving in the sky

Shoes so comfy though they’re worn out and they’re battered

And the taste of apple pie.

{Chorus}

Scent of gardens when the rain’s been falling

And a minnow darting down a stream

Picked-up engine that’s been stuttering and stalling

And a win for my home team.

{Chorus}

Dog Days

I have two dogs, both girly mutts from the local dog's home that cost just the standard donation of £60 each. They've been with me for a good few years, before Little Bird arrived. They used to sleep in my room and even at the end of the bed sometimes (don't say yuk, I'm not the only one) and snuggle on the sofa. These days they have comfy beds in the middle room and stay downstairs. Both have had showers this week after it was noted by a family visitor that they ponged! Don't you just love that wet dog smell?

Each has their own funny personality. Tara will not walk across trailing cables (as they are snakes), sees imaginary hazards that she has to skitter past like she's on roller skates, shreds any bins left out, jumps like a gazelle, tries to dig her way out of the wooden flooring when it thunders, loves car journeys and will perch over your shoulder and growls at poor Milly when she accidentally nudges her. 
She was here first. She's the boss. Her nickname is Whipper-Doodle.

Milly is exceptionally greedy, comes over to you and kindly belches after eating, hates anything coming through the letterbox and shreds it-including any hands posting it (now we have a mailbox), has spindly legs that do not match her potato croquette of a body, does break-dancing when she has an itchy back, very clumsy, shoves her nose at you until she gets a stroke, hates car journeys and guinea pig squeals the whole way, snores loudly. 
She shows a lot of cupboard love. Her nickname is Dumper Truck.

This week a delivery man ignored the mailbox and pushed a telephone directory through the door  (like I really needed one anyway!) and in her hackles up, feisty, pudding footed dash for the useless book, dragged the door curtain, pole with fixtures and fittings, plus a chunk of plaster all off the wall, landing on my head in the process. I still love her - just.

The Power of the Dog - Rudyard Kipling (1865 - 1936)

There is sorrow enough in the natural way

From men and women to fill our day;

And when we are certain of sorrow in store,

Why do we always arrange for more?

Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware

Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy

Love unflinching that cannot lie--

Perfect passion and worship fed

By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.

Nevertheless it is hardly fair

To risk your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits

Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,

And the vet's unspoken prescription runs

To lethal chambers or loaded guns,

Then you will find--it's your own affair--

But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,

With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)

When the spirit that answered your every mood

Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,

You will discover how much you care,

And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We've sorrow enough in the natural way,

When it comes to burying Christian clay.

Our loves are not given, but only lent,

At compound interest of cent per cent.

Though it is not always the case, I believe,

That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:

For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,

A short-term loan is as bad as a long--

So why in--Heaven (before we are there)

Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

A Fairy Song

We went searching for the Little Folk on what maybe the last warm weekend afternoon of summer..........

They leave traces that they've been there, a clue, a token......

Look carefully around the toadstools, you may see a Pixie or a Brownie having a nap or a chat. They also like to play the flute and pipes....... badly.

They like to dance.....Elves are especially over enthusiastic suffering many a sprained ankle.

They tend to snore loudly......so listen out. Dogs will hear this and go sniffing.

They can be quite bad tempered, avoid their fury. Hobgoblins are vicious. Be warned!

They are extremely houseproud and like to decorate their homes with acorns and fluff. Brownies have the best houses without a spot of leaf litter or woodlice poo to be seen. Do not get confused with troll holes, I don't think you would as they smell really awful.

Some are so small that they are carried on the breeze.



Many like to live in the trees, these are the Elders, they keep watch. So be good or they will fire arrows made from birch twigs at your bottom.



They wear fancy clothes woven from leaves and gossamer. Apart from trolls who are scruffy and like to scare the fairies by running around naked for dares.



But as the day draws on into evening, some like to have a party - mainly the Imps and the Fairies who are notorious revelers.  Always take a bottle of honeysuckle and primrose cake to one of their shindigs. Often their cousins the Piskies come to visit from Cornwall - they are very good dressers and like red.



Others are very sensible and settle in for the night under a fluffy eiderdown.



And some like to have a mushroom feast.



A Fairy Song - William Shakespeare

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough brier,

Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire!

I do wander everywhere,

Swifter than the moon's sphere;

And I serve the Fairy Queen,

To dew her orbs upon the green;

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;

In their gold coats spots you see;

Those be rubies, fairy favours;

In those freckles live their savours;

I must go seek some dewdrops here,

And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

{Tread carefully}