Today's Bright Spot ~ A Child's View

Sitting on my lap, my precious girl faced me working to find what I could not on my cell phone. The party was winding down and the room was quieter. 

Great grandma:  “I must be a pretty poor grandma to not be able to find Peppa Pig on my phone.

Without hesitation:

Three Year old: “No you’re not.”

“Nothing you do for children is ever wasted.”

~ Garrison Keillor, Leaving Home

Long Enough

“A lifetime isn’t long enough….”

Yet one day is long enough 

to make my bed, wash my dishes, 

slip my sandals on for an outing

to take care of my errands.

Along the way, I talk to crows on 

the sidewalk, marvel at ancient bark 

on trees, look in awe at blue sky 

with its busy clouds.

When the lifetime is over 

there may be an unmade bed,

a sink full of dishes and 

my sandals neatly under my bed.

the beauty of the world will be 

waiting for other eyes to see;

life’s responsibilities remain 

for someone else.

“A lifetime isn’t long enough for the beauty 

of this world and the responsibilities of your life.”

~ Mary Oliver, Flare

Sepia Shadows

Sinking into sleep, 

where all ambient noise 

ambles away 

where sepia shadows 

ease into dreamland,

body and mind flow gently

into the softness of sleep.

“Sleep’s what we need. It produces an emptiness in us 

into which sooner or later energies flow.”

~  John Cage, M: Writings ’67 - ‘72

"The Gift of Walking"

Walking tells me I am alive.

To know it as a gift makes it 

all the more precious. 

Stiffening with age and a crooked back, 

walking asks me to focus, 

to never stop walking.

Each day, I am given the gift of walking

tied with ribbons of muscle and sinew

to be oiled and polished with stretch and bend

To breathe the air; to smell the rain

To feel the sun on my face

To feel the wind in my hair.

To know where my feet are planted

To feel the strength in my legs

To stride out with purpose

Walking tells me I am alive.

To know it as a gift makes it 

all the more precious. 

“To walk like a person who will never forget the gift of walking.”

~ Andrea Gibson, poet

(Aug13, 1975 ~ July 14, 2025)

On the Street Where We Lived

I could almost hear my kids coming home from school, the front door bursting open, our dog greeting the boys, ready for a walk. The elm trees are 50 years older and looking quite grand. Our house at the end of the street, belongs to some other family now, is getting a new roof today. This street where we lived seems like a grand old lady who has seen a lot of life come and go. Some new houses, some looking more than their age, some have been spruced up and look quite comfortable. On this street where we lived, the memories come with me as I walk, growing distant as I step out from the street where we lived.

“Everything in the street today seems soft focus.”

~ Irvine Welsh, novelist

Home to Home in the Rain

I could have taken a taxi 

I could have canceled 

my appointment  

My blue umbrella was more important, with the green rain jacket I bought on the ferry;

a walk in the rain felt just right. 

Not completely unlike 

a Victoria rain with rain drops 

a bit fuller, my umbrella that sheltered me on walks along Dallas Road 

shelters me on the prairies

Such rainy days gently remind me of the home and life that I built in Victoria.

“Where we love is home ~ home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”

~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Weekend

They say 

that when you’re retired 

there are no days off because 

every day is a Saturday. 

I humbly disagree with that statement. 

Maybe it’s my desire to be obtuse, 

but I take Saturday’s and Sunday’s off. 

As a nurse, there was no such thing. 

Now, I ‘make it so’~

as Captain Jean Luc Picard said to his crew.

Topsy turvy is the order of each day 

and I fly into the open space of the weekend.

That doesn’t mean I don’t get the laundry done.

“I have to be alone very often. I’d be quite happy if I spent 

from Saturday night until Monday morning 

alone in my apartment. That’s how I refuel.”

~ Audrey Hepburn: Many-Sided Charmer, 

LIFE Magazine, December 7, 1953