It's been a while.

I have to thank the garden for hours of joyous work throughout the past weeks. Everything else has been neglected in my desire to get my hands in the dirt each morning. My exercise routine has become spotty. Walks have all but disappeared from daily life. Housework? What's that? Meals are planned for their easy preparation. The gardens trump all. 

So, today, with the last of my seedlings now in the ground and the temperature cool, I was pretty pleased with myself with the decision to head down for my waterfront walk. As physical as my gardening has been, my muscles weren't overly happy to walk this distance.

When I arrived at the third pier, I decided to sit on the old iron post that ships would once have tied their lines to (I preferred to think of this as my reflection time instead of a rest). I assume I have the seagulls to thank for the mess on the top of the post but saw enough clear space for my toosh and settled down for my ruminations.

A random wipe of my rear as I rose again brought a rude awakening. I unwittingly sat on some of the poop.

My first thought was curiosity: 'Does sitting on it bring as much luck as we are said to receive when it lands on us directly from the sky?'

My next thought was 'Oh, no. Apparently, the old toosh takes up more space than it once did!' This walk had better be the first of many more.

I soon forgot my widening rear though as, returning along the path, I frightened a mother duck. Out of the corner of my eye, I sensed more than saw as she swept a smaller duck off the path back to the water. I watched as Mother led the way, swimming in and around a myriad of stones, steering a surprising seven babies through this circuitous route out to safety in the water. 

It was a delightful scene. Like all toddlers, they dipsy-doodled after Mother, around these same stones, butting into each other, eventually making it out to clear water. As I watched, the last baby, clearly impatient and fearless, took a different approach. It jumped onto a stone and twaddled atop each one until it reached the last  stone where it jumped into the water and joined the family.

What would a family be without a little rebellion?

Mothers

"Her mama's no more than a little bitty story in her life now, something from way, way back when, and that's the way my mama is for me. You can tell the story in five minutes flat. You can blink and miss it.

But you can't make it go away. Your mama's inside you. You can feel her moving and breathing and sometimes you can hear her talking to you, saying the same things over and over, like watch out now, be careful, be good, now don't get yourself hurt."

Cora-Mae (p. 257)

The Stone Diaries

Carol Shields

I've just finished re-reading this book. My children gave the book to me as a Mother's Day gift in 1993 and reading it began my pleasurable journey into this Canadian author's work. 

Mother's Day again this Sunday. While I long ago thankfully ceded whatever control I might once have thought I had in my children's' lives, I know I continue to be more than just a cautionary voice in their heads. The years, though, have afforded me the luxury of sitting back; watching and admiring each of them as they apply their own personalities to parenting.

My own mother lives across the country, inaccessible to me (during COVID) but, thankfully, close to my sisters. My conversations with her often make me feel like I'm grabbing for fireflies but the memories of her voice in my ear throughout my life are as strong as ever. 

On this Mother's Day, I acknowledge all of the matriarchs in my life. Whatever my age, I have much to learn from their wisdom. 

Life Changes

It's difficult to deny the many small ways our lives have changed over the past year. Some of these will remain with us forever, I suspect. Others, I hope, will disappear the minute our vaccines free up our lives a little more.

I was reminded of these changes while recently trying to FaceTime with my six-year old granddaughter. We were experiencing some connection issues and I thought it was hilarious when she said "You're glitching - I'll call you back." This is an example of one change that is here to stay. The very youngest amongst us has become far too familiar with technology and the terminology to describe its inherent frustrations.

During our next FaceTime date, this same granddaughter said, "I have a new friend. Would you like to meet her?" She waltzed the phone outside to introduce me to this newest friend. Kneeling down to grass level, she pointed the camera at a single dandelion in full bloom and said, "Meet Jamie". As you can imagine, I was surprised but I've learned not to react with this creative girl. My immediate response was "Dandelions tend to have larger families." She then marched over to show me a stack of dandelions inside a bucket explaining she had rescued Jamie from the same fate as all of her brothers and sisters. 

While I welcome this granddaughter's creative thinking, I'm praying this change (creating friends from plants) will disappear the minute real children are once again routinely welcomed over to play.

Today, I realized when glancing at my shopping list that changes have happened in my own household as well.

Pinning down exactly when whipping cream crept onto my shopping list as a staple would be difficult. Yet, as I glance at the current list on the fridge, there it is - top of the dairy list. Since I have no pending recipes planned needing whipping cream (and no memory of writing it), it seems to have just taken its place naturally amongst the other staples.

I'm sure it began innocently enough. One recipe called for 1 cup so I sent Hubby out for a small package. The next time I needed more than one cup so asked for the larger size but, in the end, needed less than the 2 cups it contained.

None of us likes to waste food. Knowing that a container with 1/2 cup of whipping cream sat idly in the fridge would have increased my anxiety to mitigate wastage. I don't remember that first fateful step to use up the excess; I may have used it in making a cream soup when short on the half and half variety.

It's a slippery slope once you begin to look for ways to use whipping cream. I discovered a recipe for scones made with whipping cream in the mix and then using it to brush on top after baking. 

There really is no doubt that mashed potatoes are truly delectable with whipping cream rather than boring old milk.

No cream fraiche! No problem. Whisk a little whipping cream with a bit of buttermilk and - voila.

Goes without saying that cream sauces are superior when whipping cream is used. Tarragon sauce over chicken is raised up many levels with the natural thickening whipping cream brings to the dish. Move over plain old white sauce - your days are numbered.

I could go on and on envisioning each and every dish I've enhanced with the magic of whipping cream. But I won't. This is definitely one change that will soon disappear from our household. I'm going to show inner strength and suggest it might even occur before our vaccines take hold. That gives me four months to think this through ...

Big Sister's Role in the time of Big Brother

I may be a luddite (see earlier post) but I'm conscious enough of technology to understand that my online searches will result in ads, pinterest posts, etc. directly related to previous searches. Whether I use a search engine or Pinterest directly, I know that for the next day or two (and randomly forever after), I will see pop up ads or posts that fit that search.

This has annoyed me in the past, making me resent Big Brother. Who created Big Brother, by the way?  As the youngest of three girls, I only experienced the oversight of Big Sisters (sometimes with not the nicest intentions but generally looking out for my best interests). 

I begin to think of Big Sister's role in all of this. Where is she? Doesn't she have a role in technology, too?

I've never been one to buy into conspiracy theories but, today, in all honesty, my Spidey senses were humming. 

Yesterday I was thinking - I stress thinking - about asking a friend to make some scrunchies for my new COVID-long hair. 

There really is no reason on earth for me to search for scrunchies. I mean, come on, they're pretty basic hair items. Elastic wrapped in fabric! I don't even know if there is a way to jazz them up but why would I need to? They serve a purpose. If I am being really fussy, I might choose one that coordinates with my outfit of the day. Otherwise, a scrunchie is just a functional hair accessory. 

So my thoughts as I sat with Hubby this morning enjoying morning coffee and ready to begin my online meandering were far from scrunchies. 

This may be my favourite time of day; absolute quiet (one of the only times of the day without tv or news streaming); sun shining in the window; nothing but time ahead of us. On days when I feel bored by the online offerings, I bring out my current read and enjoy a book for a while.

Today, though, I was searching with purpose. My Pinterest travels this morning included a search for a chocolate mocha whipped ganache for a cake I plan to bake. In amongst the many delicious offerings, I began to see multiple postings with scrunchies!

Remember, I thought about asking my friend to make the scrunchies. I never typed it, wrote it or discussed it with anyone.

This, I think, is where Big Sister comes in. While Big Brother may be watching and tracking our online movements with a view to directing us to their paying advertisers, Big Sister is using her feminine intuition to guide us toward our wants and needs almost before we have thought of them ourselves. 

She understands our hair appointments over the past year have been few and far between. She is aware we need new ways to manage this hair length. It's almost as though she's saying ... "Here, I recommend scrunchies. They're easy to use, inexpensive and can match your outfit." 

Thank you Big Sister. I appreciate you looking out for me.

The only other explanation is that our technology is now capable of reading our minds.

Not going there.

Rain - Glorious Rain

Sounds like the beginning of a Broadway hit. Appropriate maybe since my recent gardening efforts make me feel akin to a Broadway producer.

The greenhouse was completed two weeks ago and, with the warming weather, I moved in the seedlings planted earlier. Managing them had been work as I moved them around the house following sunlight at different times of day. Once they were placed in the greenhouse, they were set. 

Over the last two weeks, I've planted all of the remaining flowers and vegetables in their trays and moved them out to join the seniors already established.

It was while planting the remaining seeds that the image of Broadway came to mind. 

You might think a seed is a seed is a seed... Not so. Each player in this year's garden has its own requirements in order to germinate and then bring out its best performance. It might sound overwhelming to the non-Broadway producer but I like to think I'm getting the hang of this.

Forget-me-nots want complete darkness, Zinnias - extra warmth. Peppers are not great germinators so it's sometimes necessary to call in the stand-ins. Celery seeds do best in cool, damp conditions. Lazy Peas like to lie down between damp paper towels to speed germination before going directly into the ground. Beans like an overnight soak (picturing the star in the bubble bath here). Some stars need extra time to learn their lines and more space to move about (tomatoes) before they take their places on stage.

But, at last, the cast is in place. The dressing room (greenhouse) is monitored frequently to make sure their continuing needs are met as they develop in their roles - misting water on hot days, covers for warmth on cool nights.

The stage itself has been swept and set with needed props. Additional soil and compost have been added to ensure this year's cast is well fed. A new prop for this year's production is an arbour for the cucumbers to grow up, leaving room for other players to be planted beneath, maximizing the number of cast members the stage can accommodate.

As in Broadway (I imagine), it's only the stars who get the dressing-room. The walk-ons must start from the ground up with no rehearsal and no demands leading up to the production. Some walk-ons remained from last fall's production (carrots and garlic and, of course, the ever-reliable perennial flowers), returning to carry on with little prep and no script. They know their lines. 

The newest walk-on hires (beets, lettuce, chard, spinach) take their places quietly, looking for direction from the sun while leaving plenty of room for each star to arrive as their scene is called.

Back to why rain is glorious. The house is screaming "thank you" to the skies for sending me indoors with nothing but time for all of the chores put off while Broadway was calling my name.

Preparing for New Life

My husband was recently doing some minor work on our eavestrough. I say recently but that word is relative in retirement. There is a casualness to the 'To Do' list once you retire. Schedules go out the window. What doesn't get done today ... well, there's always tomorrow (or next week or month).

Knowing the job wasn't complete, he left the ladder leaning against the wall of the house to be there once he decides to complete the repairs.

Today I looked out to find two doves diligently building a nest on the top of the ladder. I will assume they had scoped out this location for some time and, seeing no movement to this unusual roost, decided it was a prime perch for their homestead.

It is a good spot, in a corner of the house, just under the eaves. They will have privacy and perfect sight lines to any threats that may appear.

The biggest challenge seems to be filling the three holes on the flat top of the ladder. Eggs could easily drop through those holes so they fly in and out carrying and depositing sticks in a manner (I'm sure) they hope will fill them. I've checked in several times over the past two hours and they're still at it but I see one hole remains open.

As I watch them puttering about the gardens, choosing what they hope will be perfect pieces of flotsam, I realize I, too, shouldn't be hasty in my spring cleanup. In my anxiousness to get soil raked and cleaned up and ready to plant, I may be removing ideal pieces for nest building. I think I'll apply a little of the retirement schedule to the task and go a little slower. My back will thank me so it's all good.

As I said, they are diligent in their efforts. Pieces are continually falling through the holes but they just fly out to find replacements. They are nothing if not determined. Watching them reminds me of the squirrel nests built high in our trees. Throughout the winter, I've watched these frail-looking nests sway dramatically in some pretty vigorous winds and, yet, stay in tact. The builders seem to understand the challenges nature can inflict and compensate in their home construction. Makes me wonder if there are lessons here for we humans in our nest-building.

The doves (and their impending family) remind me of the news we received recently. My husband and I have another grandchild on the way but they live far away. Until we are both vaccinated, visiting is not possible. 

I try not to dwell on the many events and experiences we've missed out on because of COVID. While usually it might bring comfort to remember that others are in the same boat as you, in this case, I just feel sadness for all of us. There is a magnitude present in all that everyone is missing that makes complaining about our situation weak. Complaining rarely helps anyway.

Back to the doves. For now, I'll watch the progress of new life outside my window and settle with checking in with family on FaceTime.

Living in the Moment

I began this post with the idea of writing about spring coming - my favourite season in the year. Spring is the awakening of the outside world again after months of slow, indoor living. During spring, I walk my gardens daily, marveling at the changes each day brings.

Definitely my favourite time of the year. But wait. If asked in July which season was my favourite, I would say Summer! If you ask in September, I’ll say it’s Fall.

How it is that I can think of several seasons (let's leave winter out of this discussion) as my favourite. Am I shallow? Fickle? Incapable of having an opinion?

The more I consider this, the clearer it becomes. I’m not fickle: I'm living in the moment. I love the growth that takes place in spring but summer is such a ripe and relaxing time. Autumn brings the cooler temps, sweaters and candles I love just as I am ready for them.

I remember other 'living in the moment' times.

Many years ago, one of my employers had a tradition of sharing a cake to celebrate birthdays and leavings. It wasn’t until we were enjoying the chocolate cake for my final day in the office that I was told I had said with each and every one: “This is the best cake we've had.”

Luckily my co-workers didn’t think me a flake. They seemed to grasp that, to me, each and every cake truly was the best. I enjoyed every one as though none had measured up until that moment. Of course, each and every best cake experience likely had more to do with the employees we were celebrating or what we were sharing in that moment than the quality of the cake.

But I wasn’t born living in the moment.

As a child, I remember excitedly building up in my mind what was to come. So much in fact that I often felt disappointed when what was to come came and went. All those weeks of waiting and, bam, it was over (whatever ‘it’ was).

I was in my teens before I realized that the expectation I had for each and every ‘something’ was taking away any joy that might have accompanied the moments that led up to it. I literally lost that time before each highly anticipated something in my excitement for the future. I began to understand that I was creating the disappointment I felt when something came and went. What could possibly measure up to such anticipation?

I began to put each thing I was excited about into its place; to await its time. In doing so (taking each day as it came), I discovered that the time before presented much to be enjoyed as well. When the something does arrive, I’m certain I don’t enjoy it any less than I would have had it been on my mind for days or weeks leading up to it. 

The extra benefit of dealing with life this way is that I have space for unexpected pleasure in little things that were not anticipated.

Funny thing is, during my middle years, I bought into the talk about the need to live in the moment and how essential it is to cultivate to help us truly get the most from our busy lives. It didn't occur to me at the time that I was already doing it.

In my attempt to adopt the practice du jour, I practised yoga; attempted meditation; read self-help books; and listened to many wizards with advice on how to live in the moment. None of it stuck, I thought. 

Now I see clearly. Putting a title to it and making it something we all should strive for made it seem more elusive, and more complicated, than it is. We all live in the moment when we use our senses to appreciate the world around us, the people in it and the sensations our body is feeling.

I (and you) live in the moment.

Makes me feel like Dorothy. Excuse me while I click my heels together. “There’s no time like this moment.”