It’s Sunday. We have turned our clocks back and are in the dark months. A few days ago we were out early—leaving home at 6:30 am—for an appointment and I remarked how the quiet streets reminded me of my morning commute when I was still working. Gerry reminded me of what I used to say
I debate about whether to even attempt to pull together a Friday’s Fave Five post today because the week has been a blur, reminiscent of forty years ago when I had babies to care for. My world revolves around a tiny three pound Yorkie this week as we adjust to new routines. Gifts, delights, blessings,
Time has seemed to run in fits and starts this week as Gerry and I have been busy making plans and decisions and getting things done. As I sit here early on Friday morning and cast my mind back over the week that was, it is a blur. Trusting that as I put some thought
As I’ve been pondering blogging, what it once was, and what I imagine it returning to now, I remembered The Simple Woman’s Daybook. Months ago, when I was really struggling, I began listing things in my journal that I saw, smelled, tasted, heard, and felt as a grounding practice. It sounds simple, but it helped.
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
Gerry spends the better part of the day cutting down tall cedars next to our patio and deck, and tending to the aftermath. It’s a big job done on a hot day and the mosquitoes are merciless. The view from our deck is more expansive this morning, but there’s the issue of looking into our
In honour of the special occasion, Gerry takes an early morning trip to Costco during senior hour (the first Costco run since early March) to buy feta, and a handful of other things we’ve been missing (And yes. Toilet paper. The first package to come into our home since the madness began.) Now I snip