It’s not uncommon to see deer where we live. They meander in the field behind our house, sometimes standing on their two rear legs as they reach for tasty morsels on high branches. They make salad of tulips in my front garden in the spring, to the extent that I’ve given up trying to grow
I'm going to the community garden to water and pick blushing tomatoes. I pick early, allowing the fruit to ripen in the safety of my laundry room, to foil destructive garden thieves who are apt to pluck growing things from garden plots at this time of year. My laundry room is a party of ripening
There’s nothing especially remarkable about the sky right now. I’ve been watching it gradually grow light, and for a while I thought it might be spectacular. Not so. Not yet. There are more days like this than there are extraordinary ones—in terms of sunrises and experiences. We must learn to appreciate the ordinary, and see through it
Gerry brings home two flats of plump, sweet raspberries. I wash and crush some; cook and stir and sweeten them; fill jars with jam and set them in the water bath canner to process. It’s ridiculously cool outside for late June but in the kitchen where I work you’d never know it. While the jam
We’re driving home from the garden, where we put up netting for the sweet peas, when Gerry says something about going fishing tomorrow—on Saturday—and my head spins. He tries to make me believe that it’s Friday, not Thursday. I think he’s messing with me. “What day did I talk to Kristi?” I ask, seeking an
I enjoy coffee and conversation with a friend in a coffee shop, and that little piece of the world seems almost normal. Just as I’m about to make one of my granddaughter’s discarded Disney princess barrettes part of my style, I connect with my stylist and schedule a hair appointment. I’m getting my hair cut today.
It’s a beautiful afternoon so, after watering the garden and pulling a few weeds, we head to the nearby park to walk. It’s okay. We’re encouraged to get outside and enjoy our city parks. People on blankets in the grass, and towels on the beach, appears to be practicing appropriate social distancing. Something new, since
The round glass vase of tulips has been on the dining table for a couple of topsy-turvy weeks. I push them to one end when I put placemats out before a meal or when we sit down to play a game. We watch them go from tight waxy buds to bright and beautiful flowers and, for
The sun shines through the east facing window kissing the bunch of tulips on the dining table. The light is magical. I’d like to put the macro lens on my camera and play but there are other more pressing things to do. I grab my phone and take a quick shot to mark the moment.
We go out for lunch at a favourite place where they serve an Indian food buffet. Three young people come in, while we’re feasting on things like butter chicken, vegetable korma, and naan bread, and sit at the table behind me. Unable to keep from overhearing their conversation about profs and grades and assignments, we
We’re out and about on a sunshiny mid-February afternoon, going about our business and enjoying one another’s company, when we encounter a man who has fallen on the ice. He’s injured—not seriously—but an ambulance has been called. We’re shaken and choose not to go for a walk in this icy area. Subdued. Each sitting with our