Friday, April 12, 2013

I have been visiting in blogland - lovely exotic spots and old familiar places, where I can catch up on what friends are doing and thinking and saying. 

It occurs to me that I might write a post.   It's time!

I consider how I am filling my days.

There are the books I am reading, and the loom in the back room that lures me intlo winding a bobbin with lengths of old silk blouses, cut into brilliant slippery weft,  covering the warp with whatever comes to hand and in whatever manner I unconsciously choose the colours that fill the bobbin, - a lovely mindless activity that leaves my mind free to wander, and when I have finished a session it is a surprise to see what I have woven, and how the monet colours blend together.  I have almost finished the first little mat, and will go on to another in shades of green that will perhaps encourage spring to visit.

There are wonderful daffodils and tulips in the garden, and I must go out in the rain in the morning and gather an armful to take to the church, where we are catering to a 'Retreat' tomorrow.  Tonight I made pastry and lined two large quiche dishes to make a Lorraine and a nice mixed seafood quiche, to take along with some ham.

About the books, - I have just got from the library 'The Unbearable Lightness of Being' by Milan Kundera - a book referred to by Edmund Sherman in his book on Contemplative Aging.  That was a library book too, but I sent to Chapters for my own copy because there were just so many comments I wanted to pencil in about what I was reading, and that habit is somewhat frowned on in Libraries.....

I am quite ambialent about 'contemplative aging' - I see the benefits, but on the other hand too much contemplation is liable to lead to melancholy, for which a good busy day is the only antidote, I think  -  or a lovely chat with old friends, or a shopping day.  Or a day spent cleaning the house!!!  Orin the garden.....

I planted potatoes in a tricky orange plastic bag, with a little door at the bottom to retrieve the new spuds when (if) the seed potatoes produce results.  And I put a big pot of yellow pansies by the back door, hoping they would inspire the sun to shine!  Some of the peonies are sporting large, fat buds, and the rhubarb is reaching its ruby red stems up the little barrel I put over the plant to force enough stalks for a pie.

When I went in to make the bed the other morning I passed by the open window and the fragrance of the violets that grow along the fence line, under the window, made me stop and close my eyes and take deep breaths and think how lovely life is and how terribly important it is to hold close each day and squeeze every last bit of happiness from it.  I have lost two old and dear friends this week. 

I think about the continum of the years and the happiness they contain and plan another day!

It hasn't been grey and miserable every day, and we really have had some beautiful signs of spring.


Penny said...

Lovely photos of flowers that I wont see for months. keep smelling the violets.

The Weaver of Grass said...

What an inspirational post for anyone over the age of sixty five Hildred. I am eighty and it certainly inspired me. I love the Kundera book and have read it many times. I do so agree with you about ageing - it is inevitable, we can't stop it and we absolutely must enjoy every minute of it. Alright, there are plenty of things we can't do anay longer, but we must take pleasure from the things we can do. I am just off to make a coconut cake and then to make my first foray into the garden.

Hildred said...

Oh Pat, a coconut cake sounds delicious!

Barb said...

Your cooking and baking is making my mouth water, Hildred. I wish you'd take a photo of some of your loom projects. They sound so colorful and interesting. Your photos of spring make me happy. More snow on the way here in CO.

Sallie (FullTime-Life) said...

A lovely post -- definitely a keeper. I want to refer to it again and again. I'm thinking particularly about your remarks about contemplative aging (and I will look for that book). My father was frightened of becoming one of those "old people" (his words) who lived completely in the past, so he would hardly even talk to us about his childhood or history (he told us things when we were little, of course, before he was "old") but when we were grown with kids and really cared, he just wouldn't share . I feel like we missed so much of him that way.

So to me it's a balancing act to remain in the present (and future) and still remember and share the past. I think you are doing a remarkable job of that. I hope I do half as well.