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Saturday, August 21, 2021

As the Grass Grows

Ordinarily, I find a quotation after I write my blog post. This time, it was a quotation that inspired this essay. Why have I flipped things around? I have mentioned from time to time a writing project of mine. Some that know me may have heard about many different writing projects I have undertaken. There’s a story that became an ‘under the bed’ story. A story that seemed full of promise. A promise that faded away. Then there was a addictions nursing manual - too clinical! Little bits of poetry I’ve struggled with. And of course, Situationally Theirs, my pandemic story with Dez and Emelina. How and when will that wrap up? (I can’t bear to say the word ‘end’.) I’m not certain my present project will be any different. Except, there is a personal difference in the content.

As I sift through memories, or gaps in memories, I am astounded by the moment I am in. By the speed of the moments that have passed. A friend once said to me, and it was in jest, that my life ‘was as interesting as watching the grass grow’. At the time it sounded like I didn’t have enough details in my life. Actually I still don’t have anything on a global scale. I’ve not been an astronaut, a scientist that has discovered the cure for any disease or disorder, or a magnificent concert pianist. Those all sound too grand for me anyway. 


In the past weeks, my belief in what I write had begun to fade. Time and money spent on writing and the tools of the trade. I could spend time and money on golfing, or quilting, or some other activity. Golfing has never interested me for long, quilting I enjoy doing but have never immersed myself in it. I love baking bread but find I tend to eat anything I make. Then I just blossom. In the midst of any activity, words and ideas trip over themselves in my mind. Characters show up uninvited. Scenes form from nothing, while I paint, or bake, or walk. And so I write my story, the one that is ‘as interesting as watching the grass grow’.


“Story is the narrative thread of our experience - 

not literally what happens, 

but what we make out of what happens, 

what we tell each other and what we remember.” 

~ Christina Baldwin,  Storycatcher:

 Making Sense of our Lives through the Power and Practice of Story

Friday, August 20, 2021

A Different Kind of Relief

Life has tossed me a couple of curve balls lately. Caught them both and have managed nicely. The only downside was the ever growing to-do pile on my desk/kitchen table. So today I made one more list. It always includes the writing project I’ve been working on for………well, you don’t need to know that detail. Exercises - that’s another one. I did manage to get some of that in. The rest of the list was long - scribbled on the margins; a separate list for ongoing projects. Regardless, I whittled them down to an easily manageable size. May not get it all done tonight, but that’s ok. 


Getting the pesky, paperwork stuff done no matter how important is just too easy to set aside. But tax guys don’t like to be neglected and paying bills is kind of important. It’s not like a pile of dirty dishes, or having an empty underwear drawer. 


What I do know for sure is that when the pesky, paperwork stuff is done, I feel relieved. A different kind of relief than housework. I always know the demands of taxes, renewals, and bills come around only annually or monthly. In between there is space for the laughter, enjoyment of family, reading, writing, and yes…….the work that is my home.


“It’s a relief to finally do it and get over with.”

~ Candace Parker

Thursday, August 19, 2021

Chapter Two, Episode Forty-Six - A Dinner Evening - Situationally Theirs

A Dinner Evening


It had been a while. With all the Zooming and emails, there had been no need for the Storyteller to get out that way. She wondered if the Estate's name would be changed from the Beaufort Estate to the Crawford Estate. She strolled the grounds while Mrs. Beaufort chatted about the life’s newest changes. And now she was Mrs. Crawford, always smiling and cheerful. No, probably not. The Beaufort Estate would always be the name on the old gate - the old wrought iron gates that were seldom closed anymore. 


Sitting by the small duck pond at the back of the Digby’s cottage, the Storyteller stared into the dark water. How would it all play out? Invited for dinner, she had arrived early at their cottage. It was her opportunity. An opportunity to see what the couple’s plans were. From afar, the Storyteller had heard about their marriage, the Crawford’s marriage and now Martha told her Brigitte would be leaving. Martha was a veritable fountain of knowledge when it came to the Estate’s comings and goings. James Digby, her husband had developed more interest in the finances for the estate. Hired originally as the butler, his position had morphed and changed over the years. Longterm employees, the Digby’s had good instincts about the little community. Cook knew her kitchen and all the nuances of what each person preferred. Samuel could be found out in the garden, in the tool shed or somewhere else on the grounds. He knew and cared for every inch of the land, even the old orchard and the much newer apiary that Dez Eliot had established. 


Emelina Crawford and Dez Eliot were sisters. Sisters that had been estranged for many years until the pandemic had been declared. This sudden, tragic turn of world events brought the two women back together. Neither of them guessed that they would become good, good friends. Dez still lived in her own apartment in the city, and preferred it that way. She had told the Storyteller that, as much as loved her sister and being out at the estate, she never felt completely comfortable, unless she was in the kitchen with Cook. While Emelina could often be found in the kitchen, it was usually only to give some instructions about meals, or to stop in at Digby’s office for staff issues. Otherwise she occupied herself with ………. The Storyteller heard her hosts coming across the Estate lawn, Martha chattering about her day while James answered with an “uh-huh”, “Yes, my dear”.


“There you are, dear! Come in the house, it’s getting cool out here. How long have you been waiting. James, dear, get the kettle on. We need to make this young lady some hot tea.” 


~~~~~


Dinner was a simple affair. Martha had two salads in the refrigerator - a potato salad dusted with dill weed and a green salad with radishes, tomatoes and celery. “Would you set the table please, dear. Plates are up in that cupboard over there. The cutlery in the drawer by the refrigerator. I’m just going to finish the cream cheese icing on the carrot cake while James cooks the lamb chops. He left them marinating this morning in garlic, rosemary from our garden, salt and pepper in olive oil.” James had hung his sweater and tied on his apron. Getting his best pan out he began to fry the lamb chops and soon the cottage kitchen full of the delicious aroma of cooking lamb. The Storyteller stepped outside, clipped wild flowers from beside the back porch and put her small bouquets in the vase Martha provided. Dinner was quiet. After dinner and over carrot cake, they talked about all the changes at the Estate. James was quiet about Miss Emelina’s inquiries about staff benefits and her many meetings with the accountant. She had no idea that he was aware that he spoke regularly to Mr. Winston. Martha talked about her plans for a very belated wedding reception for the Crawfords. She also mentioned that Brigitte would be leaving the Estate in a short time. The Storyteller did notice that James was unusually quiet and wondered if there was something else afoot. 


“Enough shop talk. Our guest didn’t come here to listen to all our plans and woes. And what have you been doing, dear? Writing away as usual I suppose. Are there any restaurants open? Movies?”


The Storyteller told them about her many writing projects. Stories of space travel, and stories for children, poetry, and walks in parks. Martha talked about the squirrels in their back yard, the wild flowers and her little garden. James washed up the dishes and listened as the two women talked. He smiled to himself because he suspected there were changes coming.


“Things change. And friends leave, Life doesn’t stop for anybody.”

~ Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Wednesday, August 18, 2021

A Cat Tale - At Supper Time


When I have meowed my most charming meow……

When I have curled and

curved my softness around her legs....


When I’ve yowled 

my most demanding yowl…….


When I've looked up at her with my beautiful green eyes.....


There is only one other thing to do.

Sit on the damn computer!


“Cats can work out mathematically the exact place 

to sit that will cause most inconvenience.”

~ Pam Brown (Goodreads contributor)

Tuesday, August 17, 2021

On my Morning Walk - Posed


Pigeons

bob and dart,

peck and waddle


Yet this pigeon

walked graciously

to the centre of this wooden path, 

to stand perfectly still,


The photo shoot over,

this gentle bird

walked on.




“You have to accept the fact that sometimes 

you are the pigeon, and sometimes you are the statue.”

~ Claude Chabrol

Monday, August 16, 2021

Fragments


a word, a phrase ~ here, there

slide past me on the stairs


flashing by in a blink ~

only a glittering comet tail…….


ideas balloon and pop

colours splash and rain……….


frayed flowers of poetry, of story

maybe even a stodgy old essay…..

take time and care to bloom.


“The beauty of a fragment is that it still supports 

the hope of brilliant completeness.”

~ Tobias Wolff

Sunday, August 15, 2021

Joy



There are many joys in anyone’s life. The largesse of family.  The
warmth and outreach of friends. A new baby’s gurgling laugh. The unintelligible chatter and fanciful busyness of a toddler. Trees that sway in the wind. The roll and frothing curl of the ocean’s wave. The soaring flight of a flock of geese or the dip and swerve of a flock of swallows.


Another joy not so obvious or grand is the new tiny new leaves a plant. When I returned home yesterday, I felt this tiny burst of joy. My Jade plant was threatened, by me, a couple of months ago. Sternly, I looked it square in its shrivelled, grey leaves and said: ‘Live and grow or join grass clippings on the compost heap’. I have been known to kill many a Jade plant, aloe plant or any other plant that is ‘easy’ to grow. Taking a risk, I poured an entire half cup of water on it. Soon its leaves began to fill out and turn from grey to green.


My tiny burst of joy yesterday? Tiny budding leaves peeking out on my thick and succulent Jade plant. They really are easy to grow! Let them be, water them sparingly and tell them they are truly a joy.


“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”

~ John Keats, Endymion: A Poetic Romance