Cottage Winter Wonderland And A Book Launch

The lady stands guard in my back yard, watching over all, and smiling as the seasons change. She is a constant with her grace and beauty in any weather. A reminder to me to stay calm.

I have not posted here since spring. At that time I was planting roses and delighting in work being done on my ranch house. Then I do what I do best, I took a spin in another direction. I had an idea for a book, and the last months had me working at the computer, the work on my house at a standstill. This week, in the middle of an ice storm that has kept me locked in my house for several days, my book "Danger In Her Words" was published and available on Amazon on February 12. The Kindle version will be up for sale next week.

My character Susan moved from the city of Atlanta to a fictional town to live in her dream farmhouse, a late 1800s Victorian cottage on two acres of land in a tiny town with a population of 323. The cottage in my mind became a reality in my book. The farmhouse was a mixture of all the cottages I've looked at over the past two years. It was fun to have a romantic, sexy, bit of a thriller, take place in an environment I dream about.

Did I finally come to peace with my ranch house, or do I still dream of cottages at night? I think my house fantasy still lives on, although I am more in love with my old surroundings since I've made some changes.

My house is a mess. In the middle of the changes, when I changed course, things were left undone. I still need to hang paintings, move cupboards, and do the final decorating I love to do. Today I finally took down my Christmas trees. I am back on track...a little...somewhat...for me, a few steps forward.

A friend made a suggestion that started new plans for me, a garden fantasy. She visited my house for the first time, a few days before the snow drifted in. I am slow to invite people into my house, six dogs are a bit overwhelming for others. For me it is a lifestyle I love. My friend met the dogs and, after the initial bit of bedlam, they settled down, and we walked out to my deck and patio. She looked around at all the dried branches, plants that were dormant, bushes that might be dead. I am not a gardener, but hope for the best, expect the miracle of life to continue in nature on its own.  Her words, like music to my ears, "What a perfect spot to have a spring book launch! With a bit of work this place will be lovely."  I refrained from saying that with no work, the yard is lovely with established beds in the spring and summer. But she planted an idea. I may just have my book launch, or at least a garden book signing for my friends, when the winter weather has vanished and spring peeks in to say hello.

I will also post photos of my decorating as I start to pull it and myself together.

And what about my book? Here is a bit of a blurb.

A TV sitcom pitch gone wrong turns dog-column writer Susan Meyers in a tailspin. Sex Sells was the topic of the day at the writers’ convention. Susan decided to try something new and a steamy romantic novel seemed just the answer. A widow who hadn’t dated in three years, Susan was out of practice with men and sex. She turned to an online dating site to find inspiration for her book and unleashed a predator with the words she wrote. Tucked an hour away from her friends in a small town where she kept to herself, with only her tiny dog for company, Susan felt safe from the world. Little did she know her life was about to change. 

A romp of a story about writing and finding yourself in this book within a book. If you love girl-talk, farmhouses, antiques, country towns, a touch of murder, a sprinkle of suspense, and a bit of naughty fun, come join Susan as she learns about life from her character Jamie.  Two widows looking for love in all the wrong places might still get it right if they live long enough.

 

 

 

The yard in winter. We'll see how it looks this spring! I see planters of fragrant herbs on my deck and the old garden furniture placed a bit more artistically. One can never have too many garden statues, and I am working on a plan to make my yard the perfect cottage garden, if not with flowers, than with garden art. A little wine, some cucumber sandwiches, and cheese straws, would be lovely for an old fashion book signing. Ha! Who am I kidding. I'll want my Margaritas and chips. . .It is fun to dream and sometimes dreams do come true

 

 

 

My Faux Farm

Sometimes a house dictates what it wants to look like. My ranch house told me it wanted to be a farmhouse more than a cottage. I think in my heart I wanted a little farmhouse too - one full of cottage style with a touch of whimsy. I think I've achieved my goal on the outside. At night when I drive up - the solar caps on the fence posts lining my driveway wink at me as if to chuckle about the house's new look. A neighbor stopped by last evening as I was watering my plants. She wanted to know if I just moved in the neighborhood. I refrained from laughing. I've lived here thirty years. She loved the girl pulling the cow and wanted to know where to buy one. Shhh. I'll never tell. I don't want to ruin the neighborhood with too much silliness. My house has enough for all to enjoy.

Below are some photos of what we look like with our facelift!

Street view

 

 

 

Garden Lady

 

 

 

 

One of five Knock Out Rose bushes

 

 

 

Lady on wall by front window

 

 

 

 

Crusty metal flower hung on chimney

 

 

 

 Front door - new awning

 

 

 

Back gate, outhouse shutters, hen house, and egg sign!

 

 

 

 

And just as you were saying, how tastefully whimsical - Elsie appears in front of my gas meter!

 

 

I think I'll stay put for awhile!

 

Haunted By My Cottage Dream

Why this blog when I have so many I write on already? Other than I am blog crazy, there is a real reason. A new place for a different rant.

I have to clear my head of some decorating demons and come to terms with the fact I may never move and, in reality, probably don't want to. Yet I am haunted daily by cottage homes, farm photos, kitchens with cupboards not cabinets, small gardens with picket fences, and roses growing on arbors. I dream of goats and vegetable gardens. The words gentleman farmer sound like a symphony to my ears. I want to sit on my wicker chair, surrounded by my dogs, on a large screen porch, and gaze at the moon. On rainy days, I want to smell the air, fresh and damp, and on sunny mornings, I want to listen for the sounds of nature. I have a fantasy life in another home other than my own. It is making me schizophrenic.

Stacks of decorating magazines and books spill off tables and chairs. I buy farm memoirs to see how others live. My boards on Pinterest grow in leaps and bounds, as I find photos I have to save for future reference. Visually I am overstimulated! I get in trouble regularly buying treasures I don't need for space I don't have. That is how I became an antique dealer years ago.

I spend too much time on Realtor.com, looking at houses, miles from where I live, in tiny towns with small populations, where I feel everyone bakes pies, and visits their neighbors. It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling to want to join a small community and live in an old farmhouse. The simple life, I tell myself.

Yet, I am more a city gal who wants to head out her front door and find great things to do within minutes of my driveway. I love quiet times in my house, but not in my surroundings. A confusing contradiction at best.

I look at houses more than I care to admit. Friends think I am crazy. They like where I live. It is a fun way to spend a day, a drive to the country to look at property. Old homes fill my head with dreams. Sometimes looking at another house makes me appreciate mine more. Sometimes I want desperately to move.

House ads don't always tell the truth.  I rarely have an agent take me to a property. I hate to waste their time. Most of the houses I like are empty, or I just drive by to see the outside, the neighborhood. Mostly I just look at photos online and think, what if?

But sometimes a beauty does appear that needs close attention.

Over the holidays I found the perfect little farm house on an acre of land. I called the listing agent and drove myself to look at the house. It was vacant. She told me to pull in the drive and to call her when I got home if I wanted to view the inside. I had not pressed to meet her, because the truth is, I am not in a position to buy.

The house made me want to buy it.

It was the farmhouse of my dreams on an acre of land. Built in the late 1800s, it was somewhat renovated and in charming live-in condition. I gathered this from peeking in the windows and looking at the photos online. Reality check. I knew the roof was twenty years old, the heating and air would need replacement, the windows needed glazing. There was a long list of things that would need to be addressed by any purchaser.  I have some of those same issues in my late 1940's ranch house and they worry me. I did not care this farmhouse needed work, as I looked across the street at other older homes that sat on acre lots, and visualized living there with my six dogs. The yard had a farm fence. My first thought was a better fence for the hounds.  I circled the house on foot and imagined entertaining friends on the huge patio with its brick fireplace. This could be for me.

The town, with its population of 700, was off  a main highway. You crossed railroad tracks to enter the area. Five small brick buildings made up the downtown. One building was for rent. Immediately I saw myself living there and renting the empty building for a shop. Never mind, I just closed my own small shop, in another small town, closer to my home, because it didn't work, and I ran out of money. The dream is always present.

Though the town is tiny, a university is a twenty minute drive away on the expressway. That seemed reasonable to one who was without reason on this afternoon.  Rural, yet close to culture. Perfect. I felt all my needs converge on that house.

I called the agent from my cell as I smiled back at the house.
"I want to see the inside. But I need to tell you, I have to wait to make an offer. And I'd need a short lease purchase." I had to buy time to to figure out how to buy this house.

"I'll run that by the seller and get back with you." The agent's words filled me with trepidation. Had I gone to far? My heart fluttered, with excitement or fear, I couldn't decide.

I was not in any position to buy a house. I had no money. I had my house that needed to sell, or rent, and I was in the middle of re-financing my house in Florida and could not legally enter into another contract until that loan closed. Make note: my kind of crazy runs deep.

The next day it rained so hard I could barely drive to meet my friend for lunch, five minutes from my house, in downtown Decatur, which is full of culture, restaurants, little shops, and a small town feel close to the big city.

What would I do in that tiny town of 700, off the highway, where I'd drive for miles to find a place to eat on a rainy day in Georgia?

Panic set in. Would the agent tell me the owner wanted to talk about a lease-purchase? OMG! What did I get myself into?

I called her after lunch to see what he said.

"I'm so sorry. He'd been out of town for a few weeks and had an offer  waiting in his e-mail. I didn't know that when we spoke the other day. He wants to try and work with it."

As soon as I hung up I was sad. I was also thrilled it was no longer something to toy with. However, I called the agent back a few weeks later to see what was happening with the offer. The house had not left my thoughts.

"It's under contract and will close in a few weeks."

I was sad again, against all reason.

I want to move, I don't want to move. I am addicted to houses like I am to my dogs. I've lived in my house for thirty years (give or take a year), first with my boyfriend, who became my husband twenty years into our live-in relationship. We had five years of married life here before he died in May 2008, a total of twenty-five years together in his house, that was our house, and is now my house.

My house is perfect for me, yet I dream of change. I have 3000 square feet of rambling ranch, full of art, painted cottage furniture, and dogs. My yard is private. My location is ideal. I've filled my house with things I love, yet I still long for something different. Or do I?

This blog will help me find my answers as I share the beauty of all I find, the work I do to make my ranch more cottage style on the outside, and a place to hoard all the photos I find online that are my downfall!

Demons need to be put to rest. This blog is my exorcism.

My farmhouse loved and lost. A blessing in disguise. Darn it.