If I had my druthers.....

If I had my druthers the room at the end of the hallway would still be Charles' dressing-room-cum-small-workshop, but alas, that is not to be.....

And so today two of the sons and a son-in-law wriggled the loom out of the travel trailer where Charles and I had deposited it some years ago, put it in the back of Frank's pick-up and while I was at the church doing Bulletins for tomorrow's Palm Sunday service, they marched it up the back stairs and had it all assembled, even with the warp still on it and in good order when I got home.

Thank you so much, fellows....

 

I have a studio again!!!

 

The last entry in my weaving journal, written on July 1st, 2008. reads;

 

"Have given up Glimakra - it is at Sharons - not yet put together.  Still have the Le Clerc - it is in storage in the Quonset hut, but there is a spot for it in the trailer where most weaving equipment resides.

 

I am once again encouraged to weave by my inner self - the energy quotient is considerably less, but there are things I want to do while I still can.  Starting with the table loom (not the Dorothy) and all the silk blouses I have been saving.

 

Look up recipe for rag bags - (Ruth Blau's honeycomb) and start making silken strips''

 

I did do that, - the Le Clerc did make the trip from the Quonset Hut to the Trailer, 

and I did start to make small silk mats, but then we moved, and Charles' mobility reached the stage where he couldn't just slide into a pair of trousers and throw on a shirt and jacket, - it was instead a painful operation for him to dress, to put on socks and shoes, and he needed a place to call his own -

a cave where he could fiddle and sort and read and think

and one does what one must.

 

I know he would be pleased to see the Le Clerc in operation again.  He was such a part of the weaving operation, making sectional warp beams for both the Glimakra and the Le Clerc

and so many other creative additions to the looms and the weaving equipment. 

 

His dream was to make an automatic fly shuttle for the countermarche, but time flew by instead

and  the years weren't long enough to realize all the dreams.

 

I see him smiling at my pleasure today.

 

 

 

 

How lucky I was to be married sixty-seven years to such a lovely man!!

My dear DIL, Nicola, came yesterday and did magical things with my computer, so that now I am Wireless (is that the same as being Clueless?) and I am able to use Charles' laptop here at the kitchen table, while my toast toasts and my egg boils merrily in its little flowered china jar.which I resurrected when I changed my breakfast menu.

I even cut my toast into soldiers, and dip them, something my darling husband was not familiar with, not having had an English mother.  I am afraid, he didn't entirely approve of the practice!!!!!!

March is doing its 'Lion' act today, - very damp, chilly and windy.  I will confine my gardening to writing in my journal and  replanting the lily bulbs I rescued from the garden on the hill to bloom  in tandem with the blaze rose that grows against the garden shed.

                                           

I'm off to discover what precious rich earth lies in wait for me at the bottom of the compost bin to make the lily bulbs feel at home in this sparse soil here in town.  And to see what progress the daffodils are making........

If the weather improves tomorrow will see another couple of hours in battle with the cutch grass and the Chinese Railroad Line that have made themselves at home - even throwing great parties at times, I suspect, - up there in the old garden.   It does, however, just seem to ignore this neglect and is springing up with great energy and promise, glorious in this wild March weather.

I am reminded of D..H. Lawrence and The Enkindled Spring.

 

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,

Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,

Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between

Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring?  My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, a shadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

 

 

Wednesday, March 20th, 2013

ABC Wednesday

The letter this week is J

 

 

The lovely, romantic Jasmine seems a perfect choice for J.

 

 

A cherished Valentine present in 2012

 

Jasmine - its name derived from the Persian 'Yasameen', meaning Gift of God.

 

It has the most compelling and enticing fragrance

 

The National Flower of Hawaii, Indonesia, Pakistan and the Phillippines

 

Jasmine has great cultural importance in the East

 

being used in marriage rituals, festivals, religious ceremonies

 

and in the home

 

Used often as a hair ornament, - tucked behind the ear or in a braid

 

its lovely fragrance is pleasant to both the wearer

 

and the passer-by

 

 

 

 

for more takes on the letter J visit here, at ABC Wednesday.

 

A Sunday Drive

Scooped up by David and Nicola we took the old familiar path towards the Lower Similkameen, around by Ginty's pond, through the meadows and the orchards, where the sap is beginning to rise, the grass grows greener every day, the willows glow in the sunlight, the little black angus calves frolic close by, and down by the pond the shrubs don the soft, subtle shades of spring.

Over the bank, perched on a railing, we spied a large bird, - a golden eagle, said David, and certainly it bore all the signs of that magnificent bird, and this is not called Eagle Valley for nothing. We watched as it sat silently, quietly.

 

I caught it with the camera as it flew low across the meadow. a great large shadowy span, pale against the stubbly earth and the patches of burnt grass that had reached on to the grass from the burning of the bullrushes that clog the creek running alongside the road.  Can you see it, centre left? Perhaps if you were to enlarge the picture....

The upper pond was clear and reflective - a few ducks swam between the branches mirrored on the water. 

 

 

 

 

The lower pond, which held no water in the fall when Charles and I visited. was beginning to fill again. No turtles, no raccoons, but away at the end a pair of nesting ducks, and another couple swimming their way into the remnants of the rushes.

 

 

The remains of last year's corn crop lie waiting to be folded into the ground to feed next year's cobs, or to br taken away for composting

David captured a picture of K Mountain, not as silent as it looks as spring break-up tumbles rocks down the talus slides that give the mountain its name.

We finished the lovely afternoon with an early dinner at the Thai Restaurant in town, and I felt refreshed and somehow comforted by memories of the times before that we have lingered here and there along the so familiar route, the so familiar scenes.

As I write dark clouds gather over the valley, touched in the west by the sun dodging between them on its way along the rim of the hills.  The catkins on the hazel nut tree outside my window stretch out long and golden and my heart feels a little lighter, even though the forecast for tomorrow is for stormy weather and wild March winds in the afternoon.

In the morning I have plans to go once again to the garden on the hill, as I did this morning.  Under the fall debris those amazing scarlet buds poke through the rich black earth, and the daffodils have pushed aside fall's sodden leaves, grown tall and straight and true and any minute now will burst into glorious bloom.

I snipped at the forsythia and brought home enough to brighten up the Church this coming Palm Sunday before the darker days of Holy Week. - there should be daffodils galore for Easter.