… on small gestures that hit the high notes

I like to consider myself a fairly together person.

Well, not completely and totally together.

But, like…. mostly.

And being mostly together, it is a bit of a riot that certain, small gestures can just undo me deep down inside (like, every time).

One of those is when a gentleman brings me flowers for any reason.

Yes, seriously.

So, when we held a little get together at The Inn the other night, and a new friend showed up and handed me flowers he’d picked from his own garden?

Oh yeah.

I melted.

And I put my pretty flowers in a pretty vase and then smiled each time my eyes paused on them.

JoHn chuckled at me, long ago resigned to the fact that my heart melts at the whole idea of quiet, sweet-tempered offerings.

Well… then something else happened and I don’t want you to get too excited but…

Two days after that, another gentleman brought me a gift.

He had also been at our place earlier in the week – drinks and nibbles in the Old Barn – and I’d given him a tour of the house. He is a majorly experienced and very talented restorer and renovator, and is old school when it comes to how to bring something back to life. It was a big, BIG compliment when I heard he had considered our resto-vation of The Inn and Old Barn to be ‘the real deal’.

When I ran into him again a couple of evenings later, and he said he had a present for me, I was confused (but also a bit excited (because present!)).

And I’m telling you, this guy knows how to impress a girl.

Hang on.

Okay, here you go:



Square-cut roseheads.

Rusty ones.


Purchased in the ’60s from a company that was clearing out it’s inventory.

Saved, ‘just in case’, since then.

And presented to me in a super clean and re-purposed tuna-or-cat-food-or-dog-food tin can… with a knowing smile.

Oh, yeah.

People who appreciate such things have a kind of radar for each other.

My smile nearly broke my face.

I gleefully took them home and put them into a glass jar for all to see. Sat ’em on my window sill. No deep dark cabinet for these gems.

When JoHn got home from his trip, I excitedly showed him.

And then, last night, this man was at the local watering hole when we got there. JoHn mentioned the nails to his wife and they both had a laugh. When her husband came over a little later, JoHn ribbed him too with a, “Seriously? Nails?! I’ve got my eye on you, pal.”

So. To sum up:

New friends.

Fresh flowers.

Old nails.

This place just keeps getting better and better.

Thanks for readin’.

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