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,
I carve out time to sit in the park in the shade of a magnificent tree, and look up. I find peace in the strong trunk and branches, in leaves, still in the heat of the afternoon, and the sun’s rays barely peeking through. I watch a man wearing a red shirt climb out of
I have three large flower pots near the front door with dark purple, black, and white petunias and potato vine; two in the back yard and one on the deck with geraniums and pansies; a hanging basket filled with a variety of multi-coloured blooms on the upper deck; two rectangular planters with sweet peas already
We prepare for another day without electricity. Gerry backs the cars out of the garage (the automatic garage door won’t open with no power), I think about what to take out of the refrigerator so we won’t have to open it while it’s off, fill water bottles (yeah, I know we could drink tap water,
I’m feeling the weight of many things this week but there have been simple delights, nonetheless. Time for another edition of Friday’s Fave Five to shift my focus. Spring colours. I continue to be mesmerized by different shades of green as tender young leaves fill out trees. I’m not sure why, but it all seems absolutely
Some unexpectedly busy days over the past week or so, now I’m hungry for quiet time. Not yet. Not just yet. But soon. Pockets of time carved out leave me grateful for quiet moments, but needing deeper pockets in which to roll around. I practice appreciating what is rather than what could be. My backyard
Friday morning. Before my first sip of soy milky frothy coffee, I watch in wonder as the first golden rays of the sun rising kiss the world where we live. I stand at the window transfixed by the grace of a deer wandering in our front yard. My eyes are drawn up as two Canada
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information? T.S. Eliot, The Rock I heard these words spoken in a Masterpiece program we watched a few days ago and they stuck with me. Written close to a century ago, they speak clearly to the state of
I’ve always enjoyed Boxing Day. It’s quiet and low key—a day of books, jigsaw puzzles, and leftovers. This year Boxing and Christmas Days look much the same, but still there is a sense of exhaling this morning. A hint of reflection and intention with a measure of rumination. There are things to do, but not yet.
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
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.