September - most glorious of months

Across acres of old pastures, where the goldenrod are taking over, late August and early September turn the land into a tumbling sea of the richest yellow. The fields are awash with waves of goldenrod that flow across the slopes and break against the stone walls and the woods.
Edwin, Way Teale

In the days when we raised sheep and I was enthused about spinning and dyeing wool the goldenrod and rabbit brush drew me into the hills and along the roadsides to gather
great baskets of yellow gold that with the proper mordants gave me the soft and subtle greens and tans and buttery colours to weave blankets that still keep us warm at night and lay over chairs for afternoon naps.

The first day of September, and we enter my most favourite month of all. September is like New Year's Eve to me, - it holds all the excitement of new beginnings. We come from a languid summer, full of zip and great expectations. It has been this way for me always, but more so when I was sending children back to school. I wasn't breathing a sigh of relief, - I just wanted in the worst way to go with them!!

When it finally came my turn to go back to school it was one of the most exciting times of my life, and I loved every minute of it.


Today has been glorious. Cool breezes, warm sun and blue skies. The intense heat of summer has retreated. The hills are still smokey, and the sun set tonight - a spectacular red ball against a smokey sky.



I spoke in a previous post about the curious anomoly that we depression children harbour and the guilt we feel when we indulge in the things we love to do. There is a need to find a practical reason for everything we do. It plagues me when I pass my weaving room, and much as the loom beckons and the unfinished warp scolds, there always seems to be something else that should be done. If I can fool my mind into thinking that I am weaving to make presents and save money at Christmas and Birthdays, then all is well and I can weave guilt free.

I had no hope of ever conquering this feeling until today I read of a wise woman's effort to change "should" to "could".

I said it over to myself, silently. It opened up possibilities, and so I said it out loud.

Try it, - what a wonderful release, - changing a negative to a positive. I COULD go and weave this morning. Or I COULD clean out the fridge. A great decision making opportunity, and permission to choose what appeals most (always keeping in mind that the fridge is going to continue to need to be scrubbed and polished and re-arranged) Perhaps a morning will come when that is the activity which really turns me on!!!!! Clean fridges do have a certain appeal!

Well, this way of looking at things opens up possibilities, and what better month to try it. Imagine, waking up to a morning of choices! I will feel like a butterfly, - a grasshopper. Certainly not a trudging ant. I will banish "SHOULD" from my vocabulary.

Of course there is still "MUST", but MUST places no burden of decision upon us, - it doesn't encourage us to procrastinate. It is purely and simply a fulfilment of an obligation, a commitment

I go into September with lots of enthusiasm and a light heart!!!

A reminder from the front of my fridge,

which is somewhat in danger of becoming invisible even as I grow older, and prone to the habits it warns against.

17th Century Nun's Prayer

Lord, Thou knowest better than I know myself, that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from craving to straighten out everybody's affairs. Make me thoughtful but not moody; helpful but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but Thou knowest Lord that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from the recital of endless details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally I may be mistaken.

Keep me reasonably sweet; I do not want to be a Saint - some of them are so hard to live with - but a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And, give me, O Lord, the grace to tell them so.

AMEN

Dr. Crippen's Blog

Tonight I have been putting in time before I can decently take my book to bed, reading Dr. Crippen's Blog. And finding it extremely interesting, - not just the topics contained therein, but also Dr. Crippen's response to the events that happen around him, daybyday, and his response to them. I like his humour and his commonsense, and have marked his blog as a favourite.

Mixed in with my admiration for Dr. Crippen's Blog, and his lifestyle, is a fair amount of envy. So many things to write about!!! And he does it with such style.

I had lots of things to write about at one stage in my life, - well, a pretty long stage, to be honest. Life is still fun, and interesting, but the umbrella is definitely closing on my sphere of activity. And the things that I can talk about are remarkably limited.

Dr. Crippen can talk about anonymous patients who cross his path daily. At this stage of my life I have only family and close friends who cross my path daily, and it is pretty hard to dissect them in a blog, or talk about their more familiar traits. Not an awful lot of them are liable to run into my blog, but they would certainly be amazed and astounded if by some chance they should, and found themselves publicly acknowledged for some innocent event in their lives, or a comment on their idiosyncracies.

Best to be diplomatic and confine one's thoughts and comments to the mundane, or at least to private opinions on uncontentious subjects. Safe, but boring.

Perhaps I should find a pseudonym and go on a wild and wicked spree, and run my stick along the fence - now I am old.

Shedding the illusion of central position

God help us, there is very little of that particular illusion left at this stage of the game. Which, I think, is as it should be.

A measured sense of self is most important in achieving maturity, and when we become parents the responsibilities we feel for our children are inclined to give us the illusion of control. This continues at least until the last child leaves the nest, and in some parents there is great difficulty in granting children true freedom to be adults and in charge of their own lives. A mother's constant worry about adult children is really a failure in faith, and a clinging to a feeling of responsibility and control

I speak from experience, and I have been a long time reaching the point in my life where I can shed the worry and the feeling of being responsible for everyone's happiness, everyone's safety.

I think this lack is an indication of what is currently known as a "control freak", and control freak's have a really hard time acknowledging that probably everyone can do just as good a job as they can in making decisions and living the good life. And some can do it a whole lot better!!!

I strive to age graciously, and have found that "the old folks" inspire love and respect, but woe betide them if they think they have any control over the events that happen in their children's lives, - or their children's response to these events.

What a happy freedom acceptance of this concept brings!!! It's like being newly weds again, - just to have each other to care for and to consider, and the familiarity of years of marriage to smooth the path. And besides, there is that constant movie of family life that we can sit and watch (and mostly enjoy) without any sense of responsibility. Furthermore, most of the things you get to watch are the pleasant events, - nobody tells you about the things they think might upset you, or on the other hand, might upset them!!!

WOW - so much for the illusion of central position, - hurrah for the seats on the sidelines!!! Let the parade continue!

Breakfast conversations

For many years my husband and I depended on rising early and having breakfast together before the children swamped us. After we found ourselves with an empty nest we still had busy days and it was the one time we could be alone together to talk about the important things, and the not so important things, trade news, ask advice, receive advice (you would understand this aspect of our conversation if you were familiar with my husband) gossip a little, and forge the bonds that have kept us together for 61 years.

Now we are not so busy, and the retirement years are upon us, breakfast conversations are still an important part of our day, but they have changed somewhat in content. They involve a recital of the hours we spent in bed.

Sleeping well - not so well.

No comfortable positions - aching knees.

Mind refused to shut down - didn't sleep all night, just hovered on the edge.

Did you hear the dog woof - did you catch the faint odour of skunk passing through?

Couldn't breath properly, - could it be dust mites?

But after good nights a contented relating of unbroken slumber, and a sigh of relief.

The topic turns to items in the paper which is now spread out before husband. Main priority goes to political topics, and these can engender a fairly passionate conversation, but luckily we are of the same persuation, and the heat is equal on both sides of the table. Eventually the newspaper loses its hold - I go to make breakfast and listen to the occasional comment floating out into the kitchen.

When breakfast is done, and we linger over coffee, then we can look forward to the day.

I have often wondered how boredom can hold sway with so many people? There is so much to do, even in retirement. And such a choice - how will we divide the day to do all the things we want to do. More often, because of the work ethic neither of us seems to be able to shake, it is "how will we divide the day to do all the things we feel it is necessary to do?"

I have neglected to mention the part the little dog, Caspar, plays in this breakfast ritual.

There is the traditional throw and fetch game of ball and the feeding of bits of toast, but he doesn't come in to his own until our daughter arrives for coffee and a visit after her morning job.

She and Caspar have a routine. He sits on his little hind end, waves his front paws in unison, and talks for treats. He used to sing for treats, but Caspar is like the rest of the family, - growing old and losing some of our most endearing charms. He also has a nasty little habit of nipping at toes if they come too close to his sleeping bod and startle him. He is variously loved, liked, accepted or frowned upon, depending on who in the family is expressing an opinion about him.

Well, it is time to do the night-time ritual and go to bed.

Main purpose - to garner breakfast-time topics for tomorrow's conversation!

Time to play Scott Joplin

When we begin to feel dismay at the slowness with which we work, and we bemoan the aches and pains that accompany tasks that were once accomplished with ease and pleasure, - and when we start to feel weary and irritated and the joy of each day doesn't buoy us up, - that's the time to stop practising hymns for the organ and start to play Scott Joplin!!!!

I know that the Elite Syncopations or the Pineapple Rag will elicit a positive response from my husband, no matter what he is doing.

Music is such a wonderful "pick-me-up" - or "calm-me-down" - whichever is required. Our emotions are attuned to the lilt and the rhythm, and the memories evoked by favourite tunes seem guaranteed to lift the spirits.

We don't dance around the kitchen much anymore, but the dance tunes of the era we grew up in, and the songs of wartime and the years immediately after, can make us feel young again and full of spunk.

And so I play Scott Joplin for our enjoyment, - with fingers that have stiffened somewhat and don't play with the same sureness they once did. But the magic is still there, and half an hour of Rags can put a little spring in the step and a little hope in the heart.

And for melancholy times there is always Joplin's beautiful and haunting Solace.

Whilst August yet wears her golden crown,
Ripening fields lush- bright with promise;
Summer waxes long, then wanes, quietly passing
Her fading green glory on to riotous Autumn.
- Michelle L. Thieme, August's Crown

The new garden in August, - joyous and fulfilling all hopes.

The hands still find comfort in the soil,
and the heart in the promise of another year.

Calling for Rain




Traditionally the last two weeks in August are a tenuous time to plan holidays in the Okanagan/Similkameen, but instead of the rain that often comes at this time of year the sky is heavy with smoke from the Tripod fire in Washington, seeping across the border and up the lower Similkameen, through Cawston and into the main valley. On a positive note the smoky skies are rendering the sun's rays less powerful and keeping the ripening apples from scalding.

We have been haunting the fruit stands, looking for over-ripe peaches to bring home, slice up and enjoy at each and every meal. Not the same as sending a child out to pick a pailful off a heavily laden peach tree, but age must make it's concessions and we are thankful to live where fresh fruit is handy.

I had a lesson in humility yesterday as I tried to download a program under a grandson's patient supervision, and via Windows Messenger. Sometimes the selenoids fail, and the networks just don't connect up, but we were successful in the end, and that was a fine compensation for a frustrating struggle. Probably what I appreciate most about the whole endeavor was my grandson's sweet patience, and that he resisted taking over my computer to do it for me. Hands on is a great way of teaching, and one that stays with you if you are smart enough to take notes. And then not forget where you put the notes!!!

We have been in this new house almost a year now. In the rush of moving boxes get put up on shelves and things get tucked away in unfamiliar places. With our daughter's help I have been able to investigate the contents and delighted in finding yarn I had forgotten about, pictures I had thought lost, and even last summer's shoes that got packed into a box and shoved under the house!

This morning I heard my husband exclaim, (as he went through an airforce file) "here is a letter with all the names and addresses of the members of 170 Squadron"! Sadly out of date, alas, - the date on the letter was August 8th, 1945.

One of the compensations of growing old, - having the time for memories, even if the short term ones aren't as sharp as the childhood remembrances.

Take the goods the gods provide, and don't stand and sulk
when they are snatched away.
- Mary McMullen

Lost Garden Part 3

Fall in the Lost Garden


"The garden is a mirror of the heart."

We come from the earth, we return to the earth, and in between we garden."

"Darkening nights are drawing in Log fires are lit, the curtains close Gardens wait for the year to begin Inside gardeners warm their toes."
~ By David Squire

"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts."
~ Rachel Carson

"But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness.
The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head ...
The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on."
~ Robert Finch, Poet

Lost Garden, part 2

Summer in the Garden

How grateful I am that we were given all this beauty and the opportunity to help in the creation of such loveliness.

"When the world wearies and society ceases to satisfy, there is always the garden." ~ Minnie Aumonier

"A society grows great when old men plant trees whose shade they know they shall never sit in."
--Greek proverb

"Cares melt when you kneel in your garden."


"But each spring...a gardening instinct, sure as the sap rising in the trees, stirs within us. We look about and decide to tame another little bit of ground."
-- Lewis Gantt

"You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt."

"Gardening is a way of showing that you believe in tomorrow

"In the Garden, my soul is sunshine."

"Where but in a garden do summer hours pass so quickly?"

"If you have a garden and a library you have everything you need."
~Cicero

"I garden, therefore I am."

Memorium for a Lost Garden

Spring in the Garden

When we moved to the Back Pasture we left behind five bedrooms and our treasured garden. The new owners are fine people, but Garden Philistines. We went to capture some seeds from the perennial sweet peas along the fence line at the old place and I mourned the flowers and shrubs, struggling to get through this hot summer without adequate water. The house has been made into apartments, - perhaps one of them will be rented to a gardener who will take pity on the honey suckle and trumpet vines, the magnolia tree and all the plants in the border along the fence.

The sweet peas we want to perpetuate were planted on the orchard that my husband's grandfather started when he returned from the Alaska Gold Rush, and they still grow on the original orchard. We have carried seed carefully from place to place, and they grow tentatively in their first year in the new garden, here on the pasture.

Our new garden has been a delight to create, but in my memory are all the wonderful hours I spent, early in the morning and in the cool of the evening, revelling in the care of the flowers, - the roses and iris and phlox and daisies. I remember with love all the trees that my husband planted, - dozens and dozens on the three acres that made up the property. Almost all gone now, - yanked out to accommodate a market garden or fruit trees. Alas, alas....

The objects of my affection...






Our new garden.........into August and holding up pretty well considering all the heat and the lack of rain. Today we had a short and gusty wind and rain shower, - the first in a number of months. The rain fell in horizontal sheets, and the flowers and trees bent down in thankfulness.





The rain has cleared the smoke from the Winthrop fire in Washington, but while it was here the hills in the valley were shades of blue, mysterious and beckoning.

We go on into August, and tonight when Casper and I went strolling there was just a hint of September in the air, - a welcome relief from the dog days of summer.

Musings on the work ethic of the depression generation

It is over a week since we have got together, blog and I. Does that mean I have had no thoughts, ideas and comments? Been comotose for days at a time? Oh, not at all - time is the culprit. Even now I am writing these few sentences before I go into the kitchen to start Sunday night supper, and the thoughts that pass through my mind are on the tasks that stay with us through our lifetime, both for husband and wife. Some we do through love or necessity - some we are driven to by our up-bringing.

More on this later, - in the meantime pork chops, baked potatoes and salad for supper - and pie from last night's party!

Well, making meals falls into the love and/or necessity box. Sometimes, when you are feeling especially affectionate or wifely the creation of a meal is a gift of love. Of course there are other times when necessity is the only thing that inspires you to cook - and still other times when you do it under protest and without any degree of inspiration. It is a good thing that peanut butter and honey sandwiches go down well with husband. I have heard that some partners make evil tasting coffee and burn the toast, but that has never been in my province. I did stop peeling his tomatoes during one period when life was bumpy.

Cleaning? Well, that's another story. Never having been one to gain a great deal of satisfaction from the process of cleaning house over doing something creative on the loom, in the garden, at the piano or the computer, I am not often driven by love to clean the bathroom or polish the kitchen sink. I think cleaning falls into the necessity folder, and requires a bit of ingenuity and professionalism to get it over with as quickly as possible.

But the thoughts I have been having lately about the work ethic versus retirement concern my husband, and the way he is driven to some kind of practical accomplishment each and every day. He is a child of the depression and he will die with a tool of some sort in his hand, even if he lives to be 102 as his father did.

He is a man full of stories. His gift for friendship and his life experiences have brought him into contact with a plethora of interesting people. He has stories of the war, during which he was a Lancaster Pilot. He has stories of his experiences in farming and in his interest and experience in making higher education available through the College system. He has stories of his logging and trucking years. Over time he has interviewed and taped many of the pioneers of this valley. He has now reached the age where he is one of the elders of the community and knows things that have never reached the ears of the younger generations and are of great value in remembering the history of this valley.

Nobody seems to be wandering the community, tape recorder in hand, looking for this information, so it behooves him to use his brand new computer for the purpose for which it was bought, - recording all the stories that lie fallow in his mind. Never mind the current Free Cell score and the challenge to the brain!!

However, it would seem in his mind that to use his hands to type these sentences and paragrahs and tales into the computer, - to print them, and assign them to history, is somehow secondary to the chores that drive him every morning to accomplish something practical. This quite patently puts these tasks into the "driven-to-by- up-bringing" class and I don't know how you learn to priorize this work - especially when it represent a moral and ethical standard. Old fashioned too!!!!

My next thought is in the form of a question - why do we procrastinate when it comes to doing the things we truly enjoy?????? I think this has something to do with that same work ethic, but I will go now and despair about this some more, while the tea towels I am weaving gather dust on the loom.

The Ego

Where does the Ego go to languish and brood after one has given it early retirement?

And what causes it to pop back into tentative activity at the least provocation? e.g. why do I feel that I can crochet 10 yards of filet lace for an altar cloth in the space of six summer weeks? Why does my husband, at 82, and only mobile in a scooter, feel that he must take the leaking hoses off the tractor he treasures and replace them - requiring him to take the whole of the top part of the tractor apart?

For that matter, why, in heaven's name, am I indulging my
self by writing a blog??

Am I in truth just saying to my Ego "Go and rest somewhere dearie - I'll call you when I need you"!

I have discovered in the last year that the only way to retire oneself from being the be all and end all (at least in one's own mind) is to live a life that is no longer ego-driven. That way lies happiness? Boredom? Nirvana ? (foreign concept to a cradle Anglican)

I will go and ponder this concept a bit as I tidy the kitchen.

Daybyday it is getting warmer and warmer. The weatherman seduces with promises of cooler days and sleepable nights, but I think he is taking lessons from Spring, who flirts so outrageously with us in March and April, - promising the delights of green grass and blossoms while she trails through the hills dispensing cold showers and raw winds.

When we were young and living on an orchard/sheep farm sometimes when we were picking apricots and peaches the thermometer would climb well over 110 degrees Fahrenheit. One year we went from June until October without any rain (this is semi desert country). We tried to keep the house cool with a sprinkler running on the flat roof, trickling down over the edges in a wonderful imitation of rain. Life went on! We watched the sky for heat engendered storms that could demolish the fruit in minutes if hail accompanied the thunder and lightening. There was nobody to terrorize us about climate change, - fifty years ago we accepted the fact that some years were hot, and some years were miserable and rainy, and that's just the way it has been for milleniums.

Now as we get more elderly we retire to the central air and find a good book, or an hour at the loom, and peer out at the weeds in the garden as they soak up the sun and reach for the sky. In the meantime the flowers and the newly planted trees wilt despondently. I think there is a rule regarding this, but it escapes me (as so many things do these days.......sigh)

I am reading Alexander Smith McCall's Espresso Tales, and wish it was as long as The Rebels of Ireland, which also sits on the bedside table. But it is much too big a book for bedtime reading, - it is the kind you have to devote the whole day to, and perhaps on into the night if your eyes hold out!

And I am weaving tea towels, and planning a silk scarf warp and enjoying these perfect days of leisure with he whom I love best!

New Beginnings

This day is coming to an end, and tomorrow starts a new week and a new experiment in expressing my day to day thoughts and experiences.

The weather is hot, and we wage a constant battle to keep the newly planted garden watered. I yearn for the old one and the mature trees that gave us shade and a feeling of permanence, but the new garden is pleasing and full of delight as we see it take shape. Only time will tell if we are still here when it has reached the stage where we can rest and relax. Perhaps you are supposed to do that right from the beginning if each day is to fulfil its promise!