Today when I awoke the words that floated in my head were these, -

Time is of the Essence, Time is of the Essence....

Of Course. Time is of the Essence!!!

When the clock of Life hovers between 11.30 and 11.45 P.M. what else would be "of the essence", and why would one not be in a quandry as to how to spend the last golden "minutes" when there is still half a day's desires to fulfil!!!

What a simple explanation for the options that whirl around my head, - The Simple Life - The Self Disciplined Life - The urge to relax into the Arms and run my stick along the fence....

Many years ago someone very dear to me gave me the poem about the purple dress, the red hat, and the lovely lanes and pathways open to the truly old. It hangs in my loom room. She didn't have the opportunity of growing truly old, but I think of her as I struggle with these choices.

I see the Baby Oldsters who have latched on to the Red Hat syndrome, and wonder if this is a substitute for the Royal Purple or the Eastern Star without the service aspect, or are they truly practising to be old and eccentric and free to ignore the mores and standards. In my mind I do not think they have faced the reality of being Truly Old, or tasted its bitter-sweet pleasures and disappointments. In embracing the freedoms that come with old age it seems they are merely indulging an appealing fancy and reality is yet to cuff them on the head.

Well, that is my opinion anyway.

I am still puzzled about the path I should follow, - perhaps I should take them chronologically, one day after another, and truly confuse people!!!! Monday I shall live the Simple Life, and take the laundry and a scrubbing board to the nearest stream. Tuesday, I shall be self disciplined and orderly, doing everything by precision and in accordance with the clock!

And Wednesday - ah Wednesday - I shall throw my hat into the air, take off my shoes, and walk barefoot in the garden...

Today in the Garden

Pictures caught between gusts of wind.....

Questions, Questions

Is it possible to achieve The Simple Life and still give credence to these questions that beset me??

Be Aware: This is an exercise in Navel Contemplation, and not liable to be of particular interest to the casual reader!



So - what shall I Weave - after I've woven the warp that's already on the Loom??

How does one wean oneself away from the computer and tuck away the projects that lie within its various programs until another day, another time.

Is there a way of allowing discipline to plan my days, rather than this wild, creative, intuitive spirit that moves me to do just exactly what I want to do? At last!!!

Is this what I want - a disciplined life??? How do I balance the satisfaction gained from doing what I am moved to do, with the dissatisfaction that arises as a result of a lack of self discipline?

What about the virtues of the Simple life? The philosophy of Simplicity appeals greatly, but can it be achieved without either inner peace, or adopting a habit of strict self discipline?

Oh, I am fraught with questions tonight!!!

All of them engendered by a frivolous May, - time spent frittering away the leisure hours doing FUN things, - making slideshow/movies, indulging in nostalgic pasttimes, (looking at pictures without any firm intention of cataloguing them....).

Even the garden, - who enjoys bending over, pulling weeds, tending new plants, admiring green growth and budding flowers? I do, - I do!!!

All of these questions arose from a feeling of guilt which engulfed me as I passed by the Loom Room and heard the faint plaintive cry of the neglected warp. Then lo, in the mail was the new issue of Handwoven. Hope lifted me, - perhaps I could find inspiration there that would solve all my problems and get me back on the straight and narrow path of achievement - that path that First Borns are so impelled to follow.

Alas, I found no project that moved me in that direction, - I found a Website for daily knitting that promised a free pattern for exotic Turkish style socks. I found Web Watch and two fabulous sites that promise me hours of enjoyment, reading other people's blogs (on weaving), a site with over 50,000 weaving drafts to set me dreaming, and even the promise of treasures for weavers on YouTube.

I will take my problem to bed with me, and perhaps the night will knit up all my cares and concerns, - or perhaps even weave them into a kaleidoscope of jewelled colours.

Accompanying me in my head will be the poem of Omar Khayyam which touched my awareness of time's swift flight as one grows older (older sounds better than OLD!) which I posted in my last blog.

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly - and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.




















And underlying it all will be the appeal of the Simple Life......and perhaps I will colour that bird gay and gaudy colours!!

The Darling Buds of May

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date."

- William Shakespeare

The darling buds of May have had their share of rough shakings this year, as the wind blows day and night, - night and day! Even as it was in Shakespeare's time, indeed!

But a stroll in the garden tonight revealed their sturdiness, and finds us on the edge of great and glorious bloom.

The delphinium, the lupine, the coreopsis, the shasta daisies and the peonies, - all in bud, - but the roses are showing faint shades of colour, and are preparing to bust out all over.... I know, I know, - it's June that busts out all over, but somehow I think a few more warm, sunny days will bring the calendar forward and by the first of June the garden will be a riot of colour and bloom.


Here are the Lambs' Ears, soon to be decorated by a mass of small lavender flowerettes.
















And the Oriental Poppy, pregnant with the scarlet beauty of delicate paper thin petals.














The Lupines will soon stretch their cones into salmon pink and purple torches, before the ubiquitous aphids assail them, - which they do every year.....














Already the pretty Prairie Princess Rose bush has had it's first bath with Safer's Soapy Spray to rid it of the dreaded white fly. It would appear that nature has no favourites, but she has endowed the rose bushes with the promise of endearing bloom.














The Philadelphia Orange which No. 3 Son so kindly and carefully transported from the Lost Garden is preparing its fragrant white bloom to delight as one brushes past.














An early Borage, blooming with tiny, heavenly clear blue blossoms, while I frantically thin the thousands of little plants that spring up around its base.














Even the unrepentant Yarrow, which is also being so thoroughly thinned, prepares to blossom and bloom and make its way underground to the next host plant it feels inclined to set up housekeeping with......















The pink climber by the house is gaining on its battle with the gravelly soil and we think it will take to climbing the trellis and fulfil our dreams of a rose covered cottage....















Husband is not too fond of Hollyhocks, but for me the plant evokes many happy memories of childhood, as they grew along the side of the house I grew up in. I do not enclose a picture, as he has not yet noticed the enormity of the buds, and they may blossom and capture his heart before he does.......















The pinks, which intertwine with the silvery grey growth of the artemis will soon lend their spicy fragrance to the evening air.

The lavender is reaching long silvery stalks into the air - the delphinium, reaching even farther, shows blue, pink, lavender and white blossoms about to open. The Coreopsis , the peonies and the Shasta Daisies are still tightly budded, but the weigelias are tentatively opening their carmine and pink blossoms.

There is something quite sexual about May in the garden, - it corresponds to youth, and the sweet discovery of the joys of love It is no wonder it is referred to as the "lusty" month by many of the early English Poets, - perhaps even more directly by the Later Poets? Certainly by the ancient Persians.....

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.
- Omar Khayyám

Everything is blooming most recklessly;
if it were voices instead of colors, there would
be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.
- Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke

Spring is God's way of saying,
"One more time!"
- Robert Orben

Nostalgia - a malady that prevents progress on the current picture project; main symptom is a raising of the melancholy level, counteracted by an excess of tender smiles and endearing memories. The condition can be brought on by surrendering to sentimentality OR by a realization that one is getting quite antique, and still the pictures of a lifetime remain in numerous boxes, unsorted, unmarked and in no condition to be left behind when we catch the Express to the next destination.

It may occur to the patient suffering Nostalgia brought on by this last condition that all could be remedied by intensive sorting, marking, scanning, filing, and distribution to those interested.

However, to those of creative bent this sounds like a very mundane and tiresome task. How much more exciting to hand these pictures down in the form of a slide show, a power point presentation, or wait! Why not a movie!!!!

Marvelous idea - but the reality is that to accomplish this creative cure one must still undertake the intensive sorting, the marking, the scanning, the filing before starting on the fun part of this creation. The actual movie, - which I have discovered needs constant revision, editing, and is better tackled in Reels - can also bring on re-occuring attacks of the very condition it is supposed to cure.

So here I am this evening, wallowing in Nostalgia, smiling tenderly at pictures of children and grandchildren, New Year's Eves spent with dear friends, trips, anniversaries, birthday celebrations, even Husband's semi coming around the bend on a snowy day, - pets long gone, and dear ones who we will never see again, - places we will never re-visit, activities which were once so much part of our lives.

Is this a case of the cure being as bad as the malady itself. I ask myself.....

Ah well, if so, it is a pleasant way to while away a few hours, and surely the Express is not leaving all that soon, - there will be other evenings to scan and sort and mark and drift into another attack of blue, blue Nostalgia.

This comment has the Hallmark of Procrastination, but that is another underlying cause of the Nostalgia that now assails us!!!

Sigh.......

Ever Changing - Ever Beautiful

While in the garden this afternoon, intent upon cramming just a few more heart's desire plants into the little moon shaped crescent that contains a few plants from the Lost Garden, but more and more that travel home from the local plantland, in guilty secrecy.....

Of course the plants we so lovingly dug in last year have increased in beautiful green girth and height. Where I put pots to fill in empty spaces the trailing perennials have escaped into the garden and provide a groundcover in the most unexpected places.

And I am neither speaking to, or about the Yarrow in case we should get too familiar and it will affect the devastating action I am going to have to inflict on them. Yarrow is lovely, and the beautiful muted shades of rose and creams and yellows are pleasing, but it is a naughty plant and doesn't know its place!! Which is definitely not in amongst the peonies, the iris, the shastas, and in the midst of any other plant that takes its fancy. Or along the edge of the path, where last year's alyssum are bravely trying to volunteer.

Every day in the garden is different.

The gorgeous pink tulips gradually spread their petals into heart catching maturity, but they have faded now and it is the turn of the iris to provide the spectacular spots.













The little baby peony tree was a vision for a few days, but has settled down now to making roots and growing a good strong trunk and limbs.

Everywhere small plants are opening small blooms, and big plants are spreading and showing off green muscle - twice as big as they were last year. The little clump of Lambs Ear has expanded into a large soft grey mound, pushing at the peony bush planted next to it. Our landscaping grandson looks askance at the crowded conditions, shakes his head and gives advice that unfortunately is a year too late.

I think that this garden will fulfil its loveliness by being a "sharing" garden - in the meantime it gives me great joy to see this wonderful symbiotic relationship we have with each other....

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in His heaven—
All's right with the world



These words of Robert Browning echo the feeling in my heart and my spirit is lifted this morning, beyond belief!!

Some mornings are like that - I suppose you have to be a morning person to experience this euphoria, but some mornings are just filled with the rightness of things, and the joy of living, and I give thanks for the blessings that daybreak brings.

Mother o’ Mine

If I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o’ mine, 0 mother o’ mine!

by Rudyard Kipling


I am going back a long way with this one,
- a long, long way back!!

For a number of years while I was growing
up and attending St. Faith's Anglican Church
in Edmonton, this was the poem that depicted
Mothers' Day!

THE CANON (the Reverend Canon C.F.A. Clough)
was the rector at St. Faith's.  He was
one of a number of Church of England
Ministers who came to serve in Canada
in the early twenties, and went on to
fill many posts as a Padre in the
Second World War, a leader and organizer
of the Western Division of the Boy Scouts,
and a rector who cared passionately about
his congregation, and nurtured them through
the years of the depression with a generous and
sharing
spirit.

Was he a good preacher?  That I do not know,
but when he married Husband and I on the 12th
of May, 1945, his only words of advice were
"Bear and Forebear" and they have served us well
all these many years.  Short enough to be
remembered and practical enough to be applied
to any situation!

I remember him and Mrs. Clough for many tender
and loving reasons, - I remember his
frown as he turned during his sermon to
quieten the choir behind him.

And I remember him for his unfailing recitation
of this poem, year and after year,
when Mother's Day rolled around.

It seemed like a very dramatic thing for
a mother to have to do, and spoke to
the probable rascality of her wayward son.
But it also spoke to the unfailing
love of a mother for her children -
a love that dwells deep in the heart and is
not easily ousted.

Realities of the Bedtime Hour


After a friendly game of Kings in the Corner, (which I have to tell you we play according to our own rules) around about eleven o'clock, we stack up the cards and go leisurely about the business of retiring for the night.

Husband turns on his computer and brings up the National Post News which he reads with only the occasional comment, but it is bound to be a pithy one with biting overtones.

I turn on the kitchen light, and at that moment the cat and the dog come instantly awake. Treat time!!! Treat time!!! Treat time happens after all the going to bed chores are accomplished, and it enables me to get down the hall and into the bedroom while the cat is still busy, daintily picking at her small biccies. Otherwise she passes me on my way, in lightening fashion, and bounds from the doorway, up on to the bed, under a pillow or down between the sheets.

Requires fast work on the part of an old lady! At this ancient age I have learned to hustle!

Once the bedroom is mine alone, mine alone, I do the ablutions, brush the hair and climb into bed with my bedside book. The time it takes me to fall asleep is not in direct relation to the interest I have in the book, but in the time it takes my eyes to unfocus and the lines of print to blur into each other. Then the eyes close, the book slips down, and when Husband arrives a short time later, (having finished his analysis of the news, made appropriate comment on said analysis, and played a number of games of Free Cell) he removes the book, turns off the light, settles himself for the night, and all is quiet!!

It was not always this way......


When we were young and full of vigour, and life was bounding in endless chores, endless projects and eternal plans, the nightime chores were more numerous. Bedtime was different in many happy ways, but the final descent into sleep was preceded by a litany of thanks for what the day had brought in the way of blessings and eager plans for the following day. With six children, a farm, ties to a myriad of organizations and our fingers into many delicious and varied pies, life seemed to be lived on a continual high.

Now we have mellowed out, - the days blend into each other. My plans are for a week, - not a day - (it takes me a week to accomplish what once I did in a day, alas). All that remains the same is the silent litany of thanks for the chance to live life just exactly as we have, with no regrets.



This week-end we celebrated 62 years of marriage, Husband and I.














Enduring Devotion!! --- Devoted Endurance!!




















What a wonderful mixed bag of tricks it has been!!!

Here is the Man with the Machine that he cherishes - the one practical link he has to the busy years that preceded this Golden Age of Retirement.

Happy is the man who can retain even a small portion of that part of the past to which he has had such an affinity.

Can you see the smirky grin he has on his face!!


And here is the crop of Golden Dandelions he is in the midst of reaping. A beautiful stretch of sunny pasture that we have enjoyed for a few days, but it is time now to store the picture away in memory before it changes into a waving field of white seeds flying hither and yon, spreading this golden glory all over the countryside.

It causes one to ponder about what distinguishes a "weed" (I hesitate to call Dandelions noxious) from the flowers we nurture in our gardens, and if somewhere Someone is scratching His head at our ingratitude for the beauty that abounds in the wild places of the earth.


Tomorrow when we go to Penticton I will take pictures of the Balsom Root (Sun Flowers) which are so beautiful on the mountainside, but which harbour the pestilent tick that is so dangerously persistent when it invades our bodies.

Off to have a game of cards with the happy reaper!

Walk in the Garden in May

Drifting along a new and adventuresome path, - learning as I go.

Click on the title and hopefully something will happen????

After the Rain




Husband went out and took pictures of the thirst quenched valley, green and refreshed after a day of intermittent rain. Not just showers, - honest to goodness rain!!! April's parting gift to May....



He was a little premature in thinking that the precipitation had moved on. Soon the clouds gathered again, and we had another hour of rain in the valley and snow on the surrounding hills.

A little clear sky emerged to make way for a gentle sunset, reflected in a puddle in the back yard.








And in the sky a blue backdrop for sunlit feathery clouds.














The orchards and the green, green grass present a picture of spring beauty as daylight fades in the west, and the clouds gather once again in the east.















The forecast for tomorrow is for more showers, and one wonders how the river fares....

A Potpourri of Thoughts and Comments on this, the first day of May!






I woke this morning, conscious that this was the first day of May. Not only that it was May Day, but also as I awakened further I remembered from my childhood that if you spoke certain words on the first day of the month, before you said anything else - you would be favoured with pleasant days and good fortune all during the month.

Unfortunately I couldn't remember what the words were! My sister enlightened me (she is younger than I am, and hasn't had quite as much time to forget....) The words are WHITE RABBIT WHITE RABBIT. I caution you all to remember these words, and this practice, - we need all the pleasant days and good luck that we can accumulate in this frosty old world, by fair means or foul....

We went on to discuss another tradition from our childhood. We lived kitty corner from the Rectory when we were growing up, and the Rector and the Rector's wife were close friends. The Rector's wife informed us that if we were fortunate enough to catch the Rector asleep, and then to give him a small kiss on the cheek, he would be obliged to give the kisser a pair of gloves! No doubt this tradition has an English background, but my research hasn't revealed anything, so we just cherish this as one of the sweet remembrances of our childhood.



By the time I got to the breakfast table, and had caught a glimpse of the newspaper, and George Jonas's comments on the ridiculous aspects of present day politics, my musings had turned to what, in my simple mind, would be the Ideal Democracy.

In such a Democracy there would be two parties. The one, who through good ideas, honesty and trust-worthiness had won the most votes from the citizenry (who, I hasten to add, all voted) would be the governing party who would devise the minimum number of laws and regulations required to keep the country in good order.

The other party would exist to contribute constructive criticism, and harmony would prevail. Also politeness, consideration. honour and regard for each other.

After a decent interval the Parties would once again go to the polls, and if the constructive criticism seemed more reasonable than the laws and regulations of the governing party, then a contemplative and well informed citizenry might cast their ballots in favour of the parties changing sides.

One goes to the end with the sun in their faces. The other goes to the end with the wind at their backs. And the process of civilized governance begins again.

However, all this is innocent speculation, - perhaps even fatuous naivete. It appears to the discerning voter that Democracy has degenerated into the lust for power, - a race for the biggest piece of the cake, the biggest sphere of influence and that cooperation has given way to the desire for one side to hypocritically embarrass the other. It seems that even the most sensible of ruling parties can be drawn into a vortex of inane concepts, launched on a sea of silliness and maintained by what appears to be a pack of howling baboons, if one listens to Question Period from the House of Commons. Nothing more guaranteed to disillusion a voter with any sensibilities. The saddest thing of all is the lack of discerning voters!!!!

Luckily I had to go and prepare the porridge for breakfast, so these thoughts were replaced by mundane affairs of the kitchen.

Later in the morning we left to travel to a nearby town to go for lunch with a dear friend who is approaching his 100th birthday. Although I consider myself "aged" - and Husband is "aged" too, - neither of us is as aged, or has taken as good care of his health, as our good friend has. Nevertheless time is taking its toll and as we see him gradually fail we resolve to see him more often, and try to assuage some of the loneliness that comes to people who have lost most of their peers.

Apple Blossom Time

Almost the last day of April, and I go out into the cold april wind to capture the beauty of the valley in apple blossom time.

The sun is shining, and the sky is a benign shade of blue, but it is only April, up to her old tricks. The wind is sharp, and straight off the distant peaks where the snow has not yet submitted to the spring sunshine. The river runs fast and begins to turn murky, but it is saving its serious threats for when the weather turns warm and the streams from the high mountains race and tumble down into the rivers that descend into the valley.

That is the future - today the apple blossoms have passed the pink shade and are beginning to open into all their tender splendour and fragrance.

With them the dandelions spread a carpet of gold across the meadow, - beautiful in their own right, and so maligned. Poor Dandelions.

I'll Be With You in Apple Blossom Time - A song which Husband and I carried through the war years from the time we met until the May we were married - it could so easily have been I'll Be With You in Dandelion Time. But somehow it is not so redolent of romance.... Perhaps because the beautiful fragrance is lacking in the fields of dandelions, and even more because the apple blossom holds the promise of a bountiful fall harvest, whilst the dandelion can only promise a puffy white ball of seeds to blow away, and tell time by, according to ancient lore. Or if you are especially in tune with nature you might pick some tender new dandelion leaves for salad, for tea or for wine.

Pale little Dandelion/In her white shroud/Heareth the angel-breeze/Call from the cloud;
Tiny plumes fluttering/Make no delay;/Little winged Dandelion/Soareth away.

Helen Barron Bostwick [1826- ? ]

I digress here, - back to the fragrant tender apple blossom and its special meaning in our lives, - Husband's and mine.

The young are quick to believe and think positively, and it was my belief that we would be together in apple blossom time, although I'm sure Husband had many more minutes and hours of danger that might have caused him slight doubt. (an understatement)

Fate smiled upon us, and we were married in Apple Blossom Time, starting our lives together. Sixty two years later Apple Blossom Time is with us again, - still with its same magic.