A Cat's Tale about Patience

“She’s doing it again. 

Pacing. Talking to herself. 

Being quite cranky with me. 

Picking up those things she taps on ~ pushing them away rather roughly.

Pacing. Talking to herself.

I decided to just lie down and wait for it to pass ~ she hasn't given me supper yet.”

“Patience is not the ability to wait, 

but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.”

~ Joyce Meyer

In October

Beacon Hill Park 
October 30, 2012

A gray day

cool and pleasant

on the prairies

in October

but still

warrants a trip

to Vancouver Island

in October.

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.”

~ L.M.Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

 

In Awe

I stopped………

sun glowed leaf to golden leaf

wind held its breath

traffic hushed………..

“The world is full of magic things, 

patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

~ W.B.Yeats

 

Chapter Two, Episode 106 - A Day Trip to Beacon Hill Children’s Farm - Situationally Theirs

Both Photos at Beacon Hill Children's Farm

A Day Trip to 

Beacon Hill Children’s Farm

The Beaufort Estate seemed a quiet place. Yet, despite the pandemic, there had been two marriages, and a couple of relationships established. Only Giles, the chauffeur had seen it all happening. But there were at least two more. Abby Richardson, going on seven years old and her brother Ben, almost 12 years old. Where there are children, there are big ears. Abby and Ben, with their mother Joanie, lived a short way from the Estate manor. On Mondays and Wednesdays, they came to see Cook and their Grandma after school. “Mom has to stay late, again.” Abby, blond and blue eyed, would rather her mother came home. She was still needing her mom. But when she was told she could go to see her Grandma and Cook, she wasn’t so disappointed. Ben was boring. He’d grab a handful of cookies and do his homework. Abby would try to do her reading homework, but she would rather listen to the two older women. They talked about the parties Mrs. Crawford used to have when she was Mrs. Beaufort. She heard about how things changed with the pandemic. The stories about Miss Dez and her new boyfriend. Cook never said anything about Mr. Forrester, but Abby had seen them together.  

On the bus after school one day, she and her best friend, Laurie sat together as they always did. Abby always told her friend things about the Estate where her Grandma worked. Today it was about Cook and Mr. Forrester. “I may only be seven years old in two weeks, but I think they’re in love! Can you imagine! Two old people falling in love!” Her friend gasped “Really! In love! How can you tell?!” Abby giggled and whispered “I saw them kissing one time. And another time they were holding hands.”

Laurie looked puzzled “Did you think that when your Grandma married Mr. Digby? That it was kind of gross?” Abby got quiet. “That was different. Mr. Digby ~ I call him Papa James now ~  never said anything to Grandma for years and years ~ that’s what Grandma told Mom one day when they were talking ~ and then he just asked her to marry him. They weren’t secret about it like Cook and Mr. Forrester.”

As sudden as a gust of wind, their conversation changed. Laurie said “We’re going to my Grandma and Grandpa’s up island this weekend. We have to take a ferry to get to the island they live on. They have a boat so we’ll go fishing. Fishing is kind of boring. What are you doing?” Abby wanted to keep it a secret til school on Monday, but Laurie asked and she didn’t want to tell a lie so she told. “Grandma and Papa James are taking me and Ben to the Children’s farm in Victoria. We’ve only been there once before but that was before the pandemic and I was really little. That’s when Ben was still nice to me. Now that he’s almost a teenager, he just gets mad when Mom wants him to take care of me……..Like I need taking care of like I was a baby.”

The bus stopped at Laurie’s home. “Bye! See you on Monday. Message you from my computer this weekend…. If I’m allowed.” The bus driver frowned at her. “Get on home, young lady. I need to get the rest home before supper.” Laurie waved, shouldered her back pack and left the bus. Waving from her sidewalk, she turned and ran home.

~~~~~

“When are we going to get there, Grandma?”

Martha looked at James. He was grinning almost impishly, uncharacteristic for serious James Digby. “Have you kept count of how many times we heard that since we left?” Patient Martha was losing her calm with her granddaughter. Ben was drawing and had no time for his little sister.  “Abby, dear, we’ll be at the Children’s Farm in about ten minutes. Save your questions for the Farm, dear. Do you have your coins still in your pocket for the donation slot?”

Martha had given both her grandchildren loonies and toonies before leaving the Estate. She and her husband had decided on this day trip for the children to Victoria. Since school had started on the Island, she had seen little of the children. Their mother, Joanie, had at least a weekend’s work to catch up on. A teacher’s lot. The children were more than happy to get away from Hartley. Seeing their friends after their summer off and after the pandemic restrictions were altered, had been exciting. Chatterbox Abby, now almost seven, told everyone in the car about her new teacher, how many friends she had, her best friend Laurie was just the greatest, which boy she thought was the cutest and what her favourite class might be. Ben could have cared less. She was just an embarrassment at school. A quiet boy, he just wanted to learn what he could, get his homework done and to high school as soon as possible. His 12th birthday coming up, and only in his room, he was practicing being ‘cool’. Part of being cool was ignoring a little sister.

~~~~~

And there were many questions when they got to the farm. Ben just wandered on his own under the trees. He seemed especially interested in the pigs. He asked the farm workers about them, how old they were, what food they liked and did they stay on the farm all winter. Very studiously he asked “Do you think I could have one? We have a back yard. I’ve heard of pet pigs.” The farm worker talking with him said he’d have to ask his mother and do some research. “Find out if your backyard would be enough for a pet pig.” 

Abby loved the goats. “They’re called ‘kids’, dear.” But Abby didn’t hear. She had already found the brushes and was sitting on a stump brushing whatever goat came up to her. She had questions about all of the other animals - why do the chickens have such beautiful feathers, why are the llamas so tall, why do the sheep have been clumps of wool gone. But when it came to the little goats, she was quiet and very loving. 

~~~~~

“They’re both asleep, James. We’ve had a good day.” Martha continued in a whisper. “It does look like Ben is trying to stay awake - after all he is almost a teenager.” They smiled at each other and fell silent. Any more chatter and questions could wait for another day.

“When we are children we seldom think of the future. 

This innocence leaves us free to enjoy ourselves as few adults can. 

The day we fret about the future is the day we leave our childhood behind.”

~ Patrick Rothfuss,  The Name of the Wind

Leaves

 Their beauty never stops

 ~ the leaves ~

spring green 

soft against the sky

freshens the air

summer abundance ~

sun shade and shelter

for man, beast and bird

autumn crisps settle

on hills, filling curbs

and curling into rocks.

But what about winter?

~ Beneath the snow, their beauty 

   fills the soil with life. 

“The leaves are changing; I feel poetry in the air.”

~ Laura Jaworski

Grace

shyly tucked behind a tree

pale bright leaves

peer over the fence ~

grace for grey brown surround.

“Grace is a power that comes in and

 transforms a moment into something better.”

~ Carolyn Myss

Like a Child

Like a child

I stopped

ears tuned to distant honking

eyes lifted to the treetops

Where are they?

I can’t see!

head craned back

scanning through 

crisping golden leaves~

suddenly 

they appeared ~

geese arrowing  

from Wascana Lake

~ incredible migration in flight.

“I am a child who is getting on.”

~ Marc Chagall, author