April 12th, 2010

My mind is scrambling through the day, searching for something to write about.  What did I do? What should I pick??

Well, I set a record for leaving bed at five a.m. and returning to bed four minutes later - in the meantime padding down the hallway, scooping up the sleeping dog, slipping on a jacket, carrying him down the stairs and he, sleepy eyed, quickly tinkled (euphanism...) and came back to be picked up and deposited on the couch to finish his night's sleep.  And I too, was soon back to sleep for another hour.

When the mornings are warmer and lighter I stay up and putter in the garden, but still, in April, the sweet warmth of the bed calls me back.

Monday, and I change the bed linen, wash the breakfast dishes while I watch the rosy breasted finches feeding on the niger seed in the far apple tree.  I haven't seen any gold finches yet, but they will be back soon.

Small sighs of dismay when I dip into the day's list of blogs I follow and find that the Weaver of Grass has posted a list of literary quotes that SOMEBODY has identified completely.  100%.....  They are mostly all familiar, but I could certainly never identify all the authors.

I go on to do some paper work, write a letter of love, take Caspar for another short walk to shake off all the trimmings that Charles has clipped off his little legs.  Now that he is such an old gentlemen we do this job in bits and pieces, - a little trimming today, a little more tomorrow, and so on.  Before the job is all finished he is inclined to look a little shaggy in spots, but there - does that really matter when the sun is warm and the breeze is fresh and he lives to see another spring.

We stop for a cup of coffee, and then I go out and start some water on the garden, - a small sprinkler that will do the job efficiently and not disperse the water into the wind and away, away.

Lunch time and I open a can of onion soup to add to the cheddar cheese and hamburger concoction - a leftover in the freezer.  Charles has always been most appreciative of his meals,  - handy with compliments and sparse with complaints.  For which endearing trait I am most appreciative.

A little reading after lunch, until I nod off - then up, refreshed, and out to the kitchen to bake a batch of banana/blueberry muffins and make plans for supper, - is there enough salad left, - shall I retrieve a chicken breast and shake and bake it?

It is Happy Hour, but Charles has escaped outside and is deep into a new watering project involving pipes and stiff plastic hose that is not in the least amenable to bending, - I don my go-fer cap and eventually we settle down to a little drink, a little supper for us, and for Caspar and Callie the cat, -  an hour of Tom Barnaby, and then I am off to bell practice.

our bell choir at Christmas

We practice a concert piece and then we shine the bells and pack up for a workshop on Saturday.

Home, and the end of a perfectly ordinary day that nevertheless gives great contentment for things accomplished, for peacefulness and conversation, for friends and dear ones to cook and care for, for the mourning dove that Charles spotted in the neighbour's tree and called me to come and see, for the barn flowers that are waiting to be planted and are flourishing still in their plastic bags.

The world is so full of these wonderful, ordinary days.   Amen