Friday, September 29, 2023

Plum Birthday Journal

 Hello lovely ladies. It's my birthday month and as I shared last September a journal I had made for myself, I'm back this month to do the same. As I go on my weekly scavenger hunts I often find random vintage textiles that are of wildly varying colours - but alas - there is a method to my madness (I think!) and these dusty forgotten lovely pieces of cloth come home with me where I wash them tenderly and sort them into baskets. Over the summer I gathered a few plum coloured fabrics and so they all came together in my new birthday journal. 


I created a collage of different bits of vintage trims and velvety flowers. I found this vintage silver plated leaf decoration in a thrift store that really made me happy, I thought it added the perfect touch to my cover of of fanciful flowers.

I made a trip home this summer where I had time to pull out some old family photo albums.
What a joy it is to see an old photograph and suddenly find long lost memories washing over you. This photograph of me as a little girl made me recall that my very first memories are here in this apartment on Eglinton Avenue. I distinctly remember my very young self looking up in absolute wonder at very long crystal clear icicles hanging from the eaves of the entrance. Winter is such a magical time when you are young. I also remember my Dad taking us to a nearby park where we would ride a toboggan down the icy hills into piles of fluffy snow.




I'm already playing with my next basket of fabrics in fiery colours of burnt orange, rusty golden browns and dark rich reds, in anticipation of my favourite autumn season. I'll be back with another share. Thanks for looking and I hope you feel inspired.

Love, Lisa xoxoxox


Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.

No faint and hesitating trill,
Such tribute as to winter chill
The lonely redbreast pays!
Clear, loud, and lively is the din,
From social warblers gathering in
Their harvest of sweet lays.

Nor doth the example fail to cheer
Me, conscious that my leaf is sere,
And yellow on the bough:—
Fall, rosy garlands, from my head!
Ye myrtle wreaths, your fragrance shed
Around a younger brow!

Yet will I temperately rejoice;
Wide is the range, and free the choice
Of undiscordant themes;
Which, haply, kindred souls may prize
Not less than vernal ecstasies,
And passion's feverish dreams.

For deathless powers to verse belong,
And they like Demi-gods are strong
On whom the Muses smile;
But some their function have disclaimed,
Best pleased with what is aptliest framed
To enervate and defile.

Not such the initiatory strains
Committed to the silent plains
In Britain's earliest dawn:
Trembled the groves, the stars grew pale,
While all-too-daringly the veil
Of nature was withdrawn!

Nor such the spirit-stirring note
When the live chords Alcæus smote,
Inflamed by sense of wrong;
Woe! woe to Tyrants! from the lyre
Broke threateningly, in sparkles dire
Of fierce vindictive song.

And not unhallowed was the page
By wingèd Love inscribed, to assuage
The pangs of vain pursuit;
Love listening while the Maid
With finest touch of passion swayed
Her own Æolian lute.

O ye, who patiently explore
The wreck of Herculanean lore,
What rapture! could ye seize
Some Theban fragment, or unroll
One precious, tender-hearted scroll
Of pure Simonides.

That were, indeed, a genuine birth
Of poesy; a bursting forth
Of genius from the dust:
What Horace gloried to behold,
What Maro loved, shall we enfold?
Can haughty Time be just!

September 1819
by William Wordsworth

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