Welcome to Friday Recliner friends – as always a little something to get your weekend started on a relaxed note and a quiet place to rest a while.

You’ll  find something  to inspire , something to admire or think on or create and something good to read.

Shall we head  on in – – – –

A Good Word

Your pearls are for the precious – 

the heart nurturers and nourishers,

not just for anyone.

Know the places where you can rest your head (and heart)

Tess Guinery

A Good Look

Weekends are for reading  (and swings).

Source: @breathbooksforair

A Good Idea

Dream A Little

from Anne Maree Clementson

(with a few thoughts from me thrown in at the end)

If you had a dream shed at the bottom of the garden, what would it be?

A. a potting shed

B. a she/he shed where you could hang out, drink tea (or champagne), read and generally escape reality

C. a workspace where you could still work from home, but have some distance from the house so you don’t end up doing the laundry instead of tackling your work ‘to-do’ list

D. a creative space where you could paint, sew, craft, make, knit, carve, weave, and make

E. a shed as big as a small house that is actually all of the above, and all yours

What would you do in your dream shed?

There’s nothing like dreaming for blowing the cobwebs out and getting a few ideas bouncing around.  But what about living the dream (or at least a little bit of it) where we are right now. What about that spot up the end of the veranda, the spare room you throw all your junk in, that neglected corner or even the dining room table you can use when everyone has cleared off and left you in peace for a bit. Not ideal maybe but we can’t  always be waiting for ideal can we. Take a sip of the dream, stretch your wings, do something that makes your heart sing.  Lets make a little room for the dream now.

A Good Read

On the shoulders of our parents — the cooks, nannies and gardeners — we’ve traveled far.

By Esmerelda Bermudez

Here’s  a snippet

When I’m out and about reporting, I think often of my mother.

I see traces of her by the garment district, in the seamstresses who wait at dusk for their bus home. I see her inside office buildings, in the janitors who quietly empty all the trash bins. I see her sometimes at the park, in the nannies who come down from the hills with babies in their arms.

Everywhere I go in Los Angeles, I see my mom and all these workers so clearly. It’s baffling to me that there are people who, day after day, might not see what I see at all.

For years, my mother, Lucy, an immigrant from El Salvador, worked cleaning houses. Once, she proudly took a copy of the Los Angeles Times to work with one of my first front-page stories. “My daughter,” she said pointing to my name. Her client, a retiree, couldn’t believe it.

“You should have seen the look on the señora’s face,” my mom said. “She asked me all about you and your work. She wanted to know how you got your job and if I was proud of you. I said yes, of course. Very proud.”

For years, my mom loved to tell people that story. She still does.

– – Keep reading

Till next week friends, have a beautiful weekend – rest up, do something you love xx

Remember you can browse through the  previous articles and posts linked to in The Friday Recliner right  HERE.