Just for You

Page still blank

I’ve done the dishes

they're drying nicely

No sudsy inspiration tonight

So here’s summer roses ~

A smile just for you.

“For a moment at least, be a smile on someone else’s face.”

~ Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun

Soap and Water Focus

When the screen is blank, the page is too white, when imagination has gone missing or disjointed thoughts whirl out of control, I am lost, frustrated, annoyed ~

dishes in the sink always there for me to sink my hands into soapy hot water, one dish, pot or fork at a time slows my mind and words begin 

to shimmy and shiver into place

with each dish washed and set to dry

a piece of the puzzle not yet written

~ words set to dry on the page.

“My creative process is quite slow. I hear melodies in my head 

while I’m washing dishes and I allow my subconscious to do the work.”

~ Sinead O’Connor

At the Bus Stop ~ Icy Science

Science shaves beauty thinly

dividing hoar frost and rime frost. 

Hoar frost clings delicately 

until wind and sun cause its release. 

Rime frost willfully hangs on 

whether winds blow or sun shines. 

Science, come lately, has forgotten that 

both decorate the world in winter white lace.

“It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, 

the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.”

~ John Burroughs

Chapter Two, Episode 118 - A Second Home - Situationally Theirs

A Second Home 

Brigitte Smithson had been away at University on the mainland. Her first thought had been furthering her education for being a Lady’s Maid, but that hadn’t intrigued her. Her job at the Beaufort Estate had been looking after Mrs. Beaufort after her husband had died. Once her mistress recovered, her job had changed to Personal Secretary. Still not happy with always having to look up what she should be doing, she left that job for higher education in business management. She had always had good grades and that continued. But once more her interest in it flagged. On the mainland, with few friends and family back on the Island, she was feeling quite at loose ends. She took jobs waiting tables, being a nanny, cleaning houses and doing whatever she could to keep the bills paid. All the while wondering if this was to be her life. Then the letter arrived from her mother asking her to come home.

Dear Brigitte,

Your father is quite ill and I just can’t care for him by myself any longer. He insists that he should stay home and that I should take care of him. I’m not getting any rest - he’s awake all night, calling me to help him, sleeps all day…..and I’ll spare you anymore details. I just know I need help and he refuses any home care nurses. He’s never been this difficult before. Please come home and help me sort this out so I can at least get some sleep. Maybe you can get him to see the doctor again. 

Love, Mom

Not her usual newsy letters, Brigitte quit her jobs and boarded a bus for the ferry and on to Island. She had long ago given up her motorcycle and would probably be able to drive her parents car. Taking a shuttle into the city, she arrived at her parents home in time for dinner. Her mother looked exhausted, her father was sound asleep. After a couple of days getting her mother rested, she was able to take a trip to the Estate. 

~~~~~

“Brigitte!! Where did you come from?! It is so good to see you. Come in and tell us all about what you’ve been up to in the last year. Are you home for a visit? How long?” Martha had just looked up from the supply list she was working on when Brigitte came in the kitchen door. She looked a bit hesitant as if she no longer belonged there, even though she’d worked with Martha, Digby and Cook for over four years. They had been a second family for her. Her shoulders relaxed and she smiled. “Martha, it’s so good to be here. Where’s Cook? And Miss Em? Digby?” Martha stood and, hands on Brigitte’s shoulders, looked her up and down. “Well, you’ve not been eating enough. Cook’s just in the pantry. Elizabeth, come quick. Look who’s here! Come, sit down, what can I get you. Tea? Coffee? Water? Elizabeth’s been baking today and has scones, and cinnamon buns. She must have known you were coming. We’ve all missed you so much!” She took Brigitte by the hand and lead her to the table, her paperwork pushed aside like so much dust. “There’s not much to tell. I tried the University routine, we didn’t fit each other, so I’ve been working all kinds of other jobs just marking time.” Cook set the scones, butter, jam and cinnamon buns on the table, tea and coffee. Martha called James out of his office and they all sat down. Brigitte, still in her twenties, had been like a daughter to them. “So tell us, what brought you home.” Planning to keep quiet about her mother's dilemma until she could decide what to do was suddenly not a good plan. It all spilled out. She’d had no one to talk to about it. What she was afraid of, how she could manage it all and if it would consume her life. So for the next several hours, Martha and Elizabeth listened. James went back to his office, suspecting he wasn’t needed in this intimate moment with the women. “If I can help at all, Brigitte, please call on me.” Brigitte had also promised herself that she wouldn’t cry, but when this gentle man, extended his offer of help, tears spilled from her blue eyes. “Thank you, Digby. I will do just that.” Reaching out her hand she rested it on his arm. “Thanks.” Overwhelmed with the kindness that the three showed her, she felt tension slide from her shoulders. The back door opened again. “Cook, who’s here?”

“Miss Em, it’s Brigitte! She’s back on the Island for a while. Has some troubles, but nothing we can’t help her with.” Martha chimed in. “She needs to be fed. Hasn’t been eating properly and is skinny as a rail. We can fix that too.”

“Brigitte it is so good to see you.” Emelina’s calm voice was just what she needed to hear. As much as she loved Martha and Cook, they could get a bit much with all their good intentions. Especially Martha. She smiled to herself. “It’s good to see you too, Miss Em. I just about called you madam as in the old days! Habits hard to break. You look well, and very happy. Marriage must be good for you. I guess I still think of you as Mrs. Beaufort, but it’s Mrs. Crawford now, isn’t it?” 

The conversation turned to these happier times. Reliving the wedding and all excited planning around it. It was good to be home - this second home that had given her so much. “Well Brigitte, can you stay for supper? No? Well then I’ve got some stew in the freezer that you and your parents can have tonight.” Brigitte stood to go. While Cook was getting the stew for her, she said her good bye’s to Digby, hugged Martha and Miss Em, and put her coat on. “I’m grateful for the stew tonight, I hadn’t organized supper for us yet, so this is wonderful.” A hug to Cook, and Brigitte left the Estate, her face wet with tears.

“In the mind, in the heart, I was always home. 

I always imagined, really, going back home.”

~ Miriam Makeba

Another Time

’Twas another time ~ 

a time for umbrellas that sprouted like flowers, when each rainy day softened the world, when raindrops, like jewels, clung to branches and to flowers with sequins

’Twas another time ~ 

busy, fun, yet gentle when relationships budded and grew;

like raindrops nourished my being, 

succoured and taught me about living

softening rough and raw edges with their smiles.

“I have witnessed the softening of the hardest of hearts by a simple smile.”

~ Goldie Hawn

His Royal Cheekiness!

This cheeky fellow stood quietly by as I packed up all the bits, bobs and trinkets from the holidays. When I took them all down to storage, he still was quiet. Only when I returned, ready for a fresh cup of coffee, did I notice I had forgotten his little Christmas red scarf! Never said a thing, just grinned at me and telegraphed a big hug my way.

“Just because I’m cheeky, doesn’t mean I’m not serious.”

~ David Hockney

 

BitterSweet

Slowly, slowly over the past week, 

decorations have been taken down, 

stacked haphazardly awaiting proper packing ~ a long good night til next Christmas; breakables in separate boxes. 

pretty Christmas balls in cellophane tubes; books on the bottom shelves of book cases; embroidered linens folded and put away; lights unplugged, wedged into aging boxes; Christmas tree taken apart, stowed in a box. 

Christmas music faded in the distance 

but my living room returns! 

a bitter sweet return because 

all the magic of Christmas is a joy 

welcomed in my home again next year.

“Christmas magic is silent. You don’t hear it - 

You feel it. You know it. You believe it.”

~ Kevin Alan Milne