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.
My eyes are drawn to the schoolyard where six teenage boys are shooting hoops. That the sight seems extraordinarily ordinary speaks to the time in which we live. Ahead, the stoplight turns red and the convoy I’m in slows to a stop. I’m grateful because it gives me a few precious extra moments to watch
I must have known it at some point but the knowledge that the sun rises due east on only the spring and fall equinoxes and that now, as we approach the summer solstice it’s more northeast, faded. Watching the sun rise over the hill on the other side of the ridge this morning confuses me.
Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow It’s a gray morning and the forecast is for patches of rain. Kamloops rain, which usually doesn’t amount to much. Gerry is going fishing with his cronies today so I hope that’s the case. If all goes according to plan we’ll enjoy rainbow trout for dinner. I’ve recently discovered watercolour
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