EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK - FLORENCE BLUME - 👀🖤

Florence didn't have a wife keeping count of his ever-growing collection of old things. However, it did come at a cost. He had successfully filled his house to the rafters, in the attic, in the basement, in the garage, and in the small cottage at the back of the property.

The other day, Florence found an old book at the thrift store someone had painted inside of.

One of the paintings was of a woman sitting with a cat on her lap: I wonder who she was, Florence uttered out loud, no one there to hear him.




Excerpt from the book - FLORENCE BLUME👀🖤




*ALL OUR VISITORS BRING HAPPINESS

SOME BY COMING AND OTHERS BY GOING *




"Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see." - Happy April 1st

And A Happy Caturday🐾🐾🐾🐾


A mother/daughter Ghostly Adventure, writing together for the first time about their favorite subject, the supernatural.

♥️ Annabelle & M ♥️ © 2023

A GHOST OF A CAT 🐾🐾🐾🐾

A GHOST OF A CAT

Maggie and Bats' mom, Shy, came for her dinner and then left.
How's that for gratitude?

She was never a mom; she hated her job and chose to abandon her three kittens in our backyard. After all, she was just a cat! A cat who was overwhelmed by the enormity of parenthood to three kittens.
Maggie was left to take care of her little brother, Bat. A sister and now his mother; she protected him and did a good job.
After all, she was just a cat - with a heart!
Good thing Maggie turned out right. Bat certainly, would not have faired well outdoors.
I wish we had done more to keep Shy and tame her: maybe she would have cared more for her babies. She is only a memory now and a screen saver.
Early mornings always remind me my cat Maggie has never forgotten. She will come and sit on my lap, snuggle, and purr, and the minute I open my computer and the screensaver comes on, she perks up and stares. She remembers.


“Mother is a verb as well as a noun. We all, male and female, have the capacity to mother others.
And we can each, always, mother ourselves.”
― Orna Ross

 

FLORENCE BLUME

FLORENCE BLUME - A GHOST STORY

Before he died, Florence Blume was a solitary man who enjoyed living alone with his cats in his beautiful home in the woods. At the entrance to his house, he hung an old Irish proverb, 'Beware of people who dislike cats. It seemed to keep unwanted visitors and fake friends away. 

The isle of green was an easy place to fall in love with flowers. Florence knew what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

He was a professor at the nearby college and taught Botany. 

All his free time was spent tending the gardens surrounding his home, always in the company of his two cats, Maggie and Bat. 

Florence had a favorite flower, The Lily of the Valley, and his favorite season was Spring. One night, after dinner, while listening to his classical music and reading poetry, he came across a poem by Tchaikovsky, 'Lilies of the Valley '- He had discovered a kindred spirit who loved the same season and flower as he. The two souls had the same thought, after death, darkness, or light? Florence knew the joys of the earth; before and after his death.




LILIES OF THE VALLEY -TCHAIKOVSKY


"I wait for spring. And now the enchantress appears,

The wood has cast off its shroud

And prepares for us shade,

And the rivers start to flow, and the grove is filled with sound,

And at last, the long-looked-for day is here!

Quick to the woods!—I race along the familiar path.

Can my dreams have come true, my longings be fulfilled?—

There he is! Bending to the earth, with trembling hand

I pluck the wondrous gift of the enchantress Spring.

O lily of the valley, why do you so please the eye?

Other flowers there are more sumptuous and grand,

With brighter colours and livelier patterns,

Yet they have not your mysterious fascination.

Where lies the secret of your charms? What do you prophesy to the soul?

With what do you attract me, with what gladden my heart?

Is it that you revive the ghost of former pleasures,

Or is it future bliss that you promise us?" excerpt from Lilies of The Valley was written by Tchaikovsky in December 1878 while he was in Florence.

Return To Happiness

Return To Happiness

 The scent of the lily was sweet, the old ghost's favorite spring flower. Small pure, white bells sprung up in May, and each spring, he anxiously awaited their arrival. There was a special place he had found. A country road passed by the back lot of a house, in the ditch across from the yard, and a patch of lilies grew amongst poison ivy. He had dug some up for his yard and planted two stone pots with moss in one spring, and he always picked large bouquets filling the house with their beautiful heavy scent. The beauty of the afterlife, flowers were always in season, and this Christmas couldn't be without fresh lilies. A long time ago, he had read a book titled "The Meaning of Flowers" and found the lily of the valley's meaning quite beautiful - Return to Happiness. 

"Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see." 

As I mentioned before, these paintings are almost complete. If I feel something I've missed in the process, I will return to it and add in hopefully, removing nothing else from the illustration. Editing not only the writing but the illustrations as well. Some may never make it into the book.

 A mother/daughter Ghostly Adventure, writing together for the first time about their favorite subject, the supernatural. 

♥️ Annabelle & M ♥️

AN AFTERLIFE TO LOVE

An Afterlife To Love

What's not to love? A quiet wild where your home is a little cottage secluded in the wood no one knows exists. Alone, with your cats and your books.

In life on earth, I was never one for being a social butterfly. I found it such a chore and so exhausting being in company. I preferred retiring home with my cats; they were my favored companions. Don't get me wrong, I do like, some people. I like some ghosts: they never really change when they die. But living quietly with the sound of my cat's purr on my lap, a good book to read, my 8th cup of coffee, and the birds singing in the garden makes an afterlife to love.

"Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see."

As I mentioned before, these paintings are almost complete. If I feel something I've missed in the process, I will return to it and add in hopefully, removing nothing else from the illustration. Editing not only the writing but the illustrations as well. Some may never make it into the book.

A mother/daughter Ghostly Adventure, writing together for the first time about their favorite subject, the supernatural.

♥️ Annabelle & M ♥️

© 2023

STORMY, STORMY, STORMY WEATHER

A perfect stormy night for a good sleep, the old ghost thought.

It poured and rained, such a sweet sleep filled with dreams of his earthly life and memories. Stormy, stormy, stormy weather was his favorite weather.

And then, the sounds of the thundering storm were interrupted by the breaking of glass. Ghost got out of bed and went downstairs to investigate who had disturbed his sleep: a baby owl; perched on the broken window pane. Maggie and Bat were wondering why he was there.







The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.




My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;

It rains, and the wind is never weary;

My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.




Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;

Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,

Into each life some rain must fall,

Some days must be dark and dreary.

-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

A mother/daughter Ghostly Adventure, writing together for the first time about their favorite subject, the supernatural. ♥️ Annabelle & M ♥️ © 2023 @batandmaggie (Daughter's instagram account)