Who really cares?

You know, I was going to start this piece with a trite description of what the weather has been like over the past few days, but then the thought suddenly occurred to me, "who really cares?". Have you ever launched into a description of some event in your life, or a situation that you were dealing with, and have that thought suddenly pop into your mind even as you are mid sentence. And as your lips are still moving, and you look at the person that you are talking too, you feel an overwhelming desire to just quit talking, but you know that if you do that, while you may feel some momentary relief as a result of giving in to that urge, it will quickly be followed by the uncomfortable notion that some might think you are nuts, unless of course, you feel compelled to give an explanation in which case, you are only exchanging one long, winding explanation for another. Who really cares?
We fill up our days and our communications with the mundane, finding safety I suppose in these words that act like a screen to keep our souls safe from the curious eyes of the world. It is easier than talking about the things that touch us in the most intimate of ways, pain so exquisitely pointed at the core of our being, emotional hurts that we cannot bear to speak of, humilitiations, joys....our own private stories. Do we really want to tell our truths? And how do we decide whom to tell those truths to?

Or maybe I'm just tired.

Bonsai garden....

I've been laid low by a virus for the past couple days. Lack of sleep, periodic coughing spells and lack of interest in food have all combined to leave me just a bit worn out, even when I've just gotten up in the morning. But I'm on the mend I think and then I can start taking care of Don, because he is beginning to sound a little sniffly. We haven't had a cold/flu in so long, I guess we are due.

The morning has dawned, warm and golden. The sunshine streaming through the kitchen window feels pleasant and lights up the plants that I have on the window sill. Some people like African violets on the sill over the sink, a lovely array of pinks and purples, blues and lavenders. But I have little bonsai in training. Mind you, they aren't your typical junipers and japanese maples. These are plants that do well indoors and they are small size (called mame which is pronounced "mammy"). When we lived in BC, I had quite a nice little collection of great bonsai. As nice as some that I see on a bonsai website that I like to go to. But they ranged in size up to 2' high, quite large really and with correspondingly large pots. Unfortunately, when we moved, it wasn't possible to fit the big pots and all into the car so I donated them to the local bonsai club to be used as raffle prizes. I thought that when we arrived here in NS, I would give up the bonsai hobby. Too much work and maintenance. While I don't have the big ones anymore, I have started a few small cuttings with the intention of developing this very small size. In the event that we ever move again, particularly into an apartment one day when we are really old and rickety, I can take a few little plants with me.

I have a little fuschia and I'm developing a small flowered chrysanthemum, as well as a few Chinese elms. Chinese elms are actually interesting as a bonsai subject. They are a tree that will grow up to 50' tall, but you can maintain them in a size that will fit in the palm of your hand and as the small pot size restricts their growth, the leaves are correspondingly tiny. The pictures above are of the fuschia and chrysanthemum, part of my indoor garden.

When I Was a Child...

When I was a child I read voraciously. The printed word was the passion and I read books beyond my years, each of which carried me into another world where I could live the lives of people who's existence seemed far more exciting that the one I trudged through day after day. Instead of walking along the sidewalk on my way to school, I often found myself stepping through a woodland path, lined with the quiet blue of violets and touched by the sweet kisses of the warm summer sun, filtering through the lace canopy of trees that hung overhead. The sound of birds calling to one another was the music that followed me along that peaceful road. Hardly lifting my head as I stepped off the curb became an act of picking my way across the water-worn rocks that poked above the brook that forever found its way down to the sea. The blaring horns of city traffic were not worthy of notice in the face of the clarion calls of trumpets and the clash of armour and booming artillary or the whispered words of a lover scorned. These were the worlds that I moved about in, like a wraith that longs for what once was, lonely, haunted, and haunting.

Then my children were born, and the books were put away. The act of my sitting, whether to read or to write a letter, became a signal that I was available to be climbed on or simply cuddled with. Good purposes all, but not something that could be done at the same time that I was trying to find out what had happened in that other world. Printed words and far away places and times were set aside for the place in time that had become my new lot in life.

But now, the children are long grown and gone, and only one grandchild who tomorrow, will again be far away. Our big projects are winding down and the winter winds are on their way. My eyesight began to change a long time ago and I'm wondering how long it will be before the reading glasses from the pharmacy will meet the increasing limitations that I find myself struggling with, so the art that I used to fill the time with before is becoming less comfortable to do. I am turning back to the books that used to draw me in and allowing them to illuminate my world again. Paint their pictures with words carefully chosen. Giving back to me the worlds that I used to haunt

Sunset Years.

Now that the big chores are done, the list of projects diminished to where we can putter or put things off, I am finally facing retirement. What to do? Of course there are the day to day things to do, the things that keep our days moving forward, a moment at a time. But when I sit quietly, as I have learned to do of late, and just be, then I find myself wondering....is this all there is? I have no passion it seems, not like I used to. In a time long ago, I was passionate about my garden, my horses, my art, and found then that the day to day demands of life got in the way of those things. Now those things have joined the day to day things.

How do you rekindle a passion, or find a new passion or a meaning or a purpose? Is this all there is? How many decades are left to me to wonder these thoughts aloud and in the quiet of my mind? Is this all there is?

Maximum Dog, Mad Max....

I don't think that I've introduced you all to our new dog and just by saying that, I think that I've put Don and I squarely in the arena of old folks who dote on their little mutts with an intensity usually reserved for first time parents. A couple days ago, Don called me upstairs to his office. He had come across some old videos that we'd made several years ago, of Casey, Lucy and Diesel. We stood there watching and remembering Casey and Lucy, remembering how Lucy would come when called and then drop flat to the floor to be petted or how Casey would prance over to be petted and then be so nervous that she could only take it for a moment or two. Right now Don is sitting on the couch with Diesel sleeping in his arms, unable to do anything because "it will disturb the dog". I tell you, they have us wrapped firmly around their hairy little paws!

Anyway, this new little guy is named Max and is also a Chihuahua although I do think there might be a little something else mixed in there. But he is a little guy, only about five pounds. Where Diesel is short legged and solid and chunky and moves like an ancient dog, Max is long and very lean and active and athletic. They are polar opposites. Max loves to play and wrestle and tries to antagonize Diesel into getting involved but he really has to work at it. More often than not, Diesel just stands there and takes the abuse and as you can see in one of the above pictures, often seeks refuge in the dog kennel when he just can't take it any more.

We sure love these little dogs. They make us smile constantly. Diesel with his tongue peeking out and Max, always wagging his tightly curled little tail. Because winters are harsh here, we remodelled our bathroom that is downstairs. There was a shower in it and we replaced it with just a little tiled lip and then tile a foot up the two walls. I filled it with gravel and on the wall hangs a hand held shower. That is the puppy potty. They can lift their leg against the tiled wall and then we rinse it down right away. It is perfect and they are learning to use it quite easily. Mind you, you can teach a dog to do just about anything with love and a treat.

What We Did On Our Holidays....

We've had a good day, lots to do and lots done. It was good. It was very warm although the sky was overcast and drizzly. So I spent some time cleaning up the workbench in the barn, trying a couple of new recipes from the super, terrific Vegan cookbook that Holly suggested when she was here, and I made another jacket for Max, our other little dog. I don't think I've introduced him have I? Well, I'll have to take a picture of him and do that in the next couple days.

So Holly and Sean were here for two weeks and it was fantastic having them here. We cooked together, rode horses together and just happily hung out. We went up to Cape Breton for three or four days, staying in Sydney for the nights. We went to the fort at Louisebourg and that is amazing. It was an active, thriving French fort in the 17th century with about 10,000 people who lived and worked there, at its height. As it was well past tourist season, when we were there, the dramatic enactments of life there were pretty much over, but we still enjoyed strolling around and imagining what life might have been like there four hundred years ago. Then we spent a day driving the Cabot Trail and that is where some of the pictures that you will see in the link that I will include here, come from. The wild rocky coastline is gorgeous and a counterpoint to the glowing gold and red of the maples and birches that blanket the hillsides.

Another day was spent on PEI and Holly lost her heart to that little island province. It's pastoral beauty was too much for her! That day was also lovely with blue skies and no wind to cool the air. We had lunch in Charlottetown before heading home across the Confederation Bridge. The bridge is far more interesting to look at from a distance. But the sides are closed in so that you can't see anything unless of course, you are in a truck and sit higher than our car.

By the way, those pictures of the red hills, rimmed with colorful maples were the blueberry fields up behind our house. Holly and I rode up there and the color was spectacular! The last couple days of their visit, were spent just chillin' at home, riding the hills. No urgency to go here or there, just time spent together. It was so nice and came to an end far to soon. If you want to see some pictures that Don took, here is a link that you can click on. A picture is worth a thousand words and words will never be as beautiful as the pictures, so take a minute and a tour of Nova Scotia....

http://gallery.me.com/coolslug#gallery

The Summer is gone....

The days have flown by since we first arrived, summer into fall into winter into spring into summer and now the autumn again. And through it all I have felt immersed in a whirlwind of activity with deadlines around every corner. But the light shines at the end of the tunnel for us now and we plan on being finished with the garage by the end of the week and then there is little do save the usual year end things. Raking leaves, raking leaves, and then there is raking leaves. The garden patch which we had started in the summer was left to languish and the weeds started in again and I hope to finish turning that over and pull them out yet before the snow flies but we shall see. The fall has been beautiful, clear blue skies, little rain, warm days and with the inevitable cold that lies ahead, I am reluctant to spend these precious hours inside at some sewing that I have waiting, so outside I go, just one more day.

Holly and Sean were here for two weeks that seemed far too short, and now they are gone once again. We had such a good time and in my next post I will post some pictures and talk more about our visit. Just to let them know, we miss their faces and the pitty pat of their little feet.

My marigolds froze last night, the miniature roses still look lovely (they like the coolness I suppose) and the leaves are almost off the trees and it is getting cold enough outside at night that the dogs are quick to do their business and come back in to the warmth of the wood stove. But now I will leave you. My bread must be popped in the oven and the pot of soup stirred so that the hungry pit upstairs can be fed some supper. Til next time my loves....