It's my birthday. I'm 63-years-old today. When we live longer lives than our parents, it's hard to imagine ourselves aging past them. It was that way for me as I approached 55, the age my mom was when she died suddenly. Now I'm two years away from reaching the last birthday milestone my dad celebrated.
Two lonely pots of bright yellow mums are all that's left on the back deck this morning. Gerry is busy outside bringing in pots and mats and outdoor furniture. The season is changing and we're inching toward waking up one morning to white—but not just yet. Please, not just yet. There was a hard frost
It's 10:00 am. This morning I have: prayed laughed enjoyed a quiet cup of coffee when I was the only one awake in the house taken a shower and gotten dressed made the bed talked with Gerry about something important talked with Makiya about other important things blanched and froze green beans offered suggestions on
Makiya is off to school, Gerry just left for a hike, the pups are snoozing and I'm finally taking some time to write this post. The first week of school comes to an end today and we're all settling into new routines. It's been a good week—a different week—but one rich with good things. Time
I’m sitting here listening to the sweet sound of rain. RAIN! At long last! The heavy weight of fire season is still with us but with many alerts and orders being rescinded and fires being brought under control, there is an easing of the burden. Skies, though not completely smoke free, are clear enough to
By the time I finish watering the garden, my head aches, my eyes are sore, and there's that irritation in the back of my throat again. It is a hasty watering. I look past the odd weed and ignore the pruning and thinning and general tidying up I should tend to. Just enough. That's become
3:53. That’s what time the birds woke up this morning. I know this because I was awake, trying to sort out the details of a disturbing and convoluted dream I had just escaped from. The sound of birdsong wiped the dream from my thoughts and I just listened while one loud bird announced daybreak to
I stand at the living room window, while my coffee brews and my soy milk heats, downcast at the gray. I’m hungry for sunshine and heat. Resigned to another cloudy day, I wander into the den. (Or, snug, as I’ve started thinking of it. Gerry and I have been watching Escape to the Country, a British
It’s that magical time of year when every day I see new growth in the garden. We’re eating beautiful and delicious lettuce now. I’m going to pull the rest of the spinach before it bolts and use some of it in a lasagne. I thinned the carrots, and am doing the same with the Hakurei turnips,
Outside my kitchen window, the surprise brightness of a crescent moon high in the east gives me pause in my morning coffee making routine, and I whisper an involuntary “oh!”. Later, with my hands wrapped around a warm mug, I stand at the living room window and look to the east to see what kind
It’s not yet dawn when I stand at our living room window, mug of soy milky frothy coffee in hand, and look to the east. The sky above the distant mountains is pink and, with subtle brilliance, growing ever more mesmerizing. I know, having watched countless sunrises, that the brilliance will reach a peak, then