Sunday, 14 April 2013

Sunday this and that . . .

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With each season that passes there is a sameness to the work it brings, a comforting familiarity which never changes . . .  the garden needs hoeing and weeding . . . turning the earth over carefully.  Jack Robin stands by closely watching, hoping for a fat worm or two . . . he's not afraid of us it seems.

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There are the flower beds to plan, and pots to plant . . . will we go with our old faithfuls this year . . . or try out something new.  Old faithful always wins . . . again it is that comfort in familiarity that keeps us held in it's warm embrace.

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The front drive must be weeded  . . . it is a constant reminder of that lovely phrase about "blooming where you are planted," . . . for lots of things migrate to it's cracks and crannies and take up home.   We are always surprised to see an errant sprig of lavendar or a poppy . . . or even a daisy springing up in the most unexpected places.   You almost hate to pull them out . . . but if we didn't before too long the whole drive would be a mass of hitchhikers . . . leaving no space to park.

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Seeds need to be sown . .  seedlings planted . . . there is a routine to follow . . . and it seldom changes, but the joy is ever new.  Wnter is over . . . we hope . . . and the garden is calling, calling . . . will we do a kitchen garden this year?  Or will we not??  Perhaps just a few herbs . . . and some lettuces and leaves . . . things we can use quickly and daily . . . we've not had much luck with other things.

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The lawn needs raking and mowing . . . that is the un-fun bit . . . edge trimming, fence mending . . . staking . . . but it is all part and parcel of the garden and adds to the enjoyment as a whole.  Oh that I could have a secret space . . . a secret garden, tended only by little fairies and sprites.   A small space tucked away at the end, hidden from worldly eyes . . . just for my own pleasure, as selfish as that may seem.

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A little world with mossy hidden alcoves and tiny doors . . . a few Chinese lanterns, of the natural kind, and fairy flowers, Forget Me Nots, and Lily of the Valley, purple Violets, and wild Daisies.  Oh how charming that would be . . . and how serene . . . I could quite happily lose my mind and spend my time tending such a place, couldn't you?

Remember that older fellow I was telling you about yesterday?

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Here is his photo.  A friend of mine had kept one.   Apparently she had been angry with him at some point because the picture has clearly been ripped into pieces and then taped back together!  I was not disappointed by this picture.  She had told me she had it and I was worried about seeing it, thinking I had made him handsomer in my mind or some such . . . I had not.   Although the photo is not so clear . . . it is not so bad either.    He told her his name was Jeff Welch.   He told me his name was Jeff Martin.   Clearly not a man to be trusted, but he did fuel a lot of teenage dreams and tears . . .

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Here is what I created yesterday afternoon in the solace of my craft room.  I quite like it I think.  Todd wants to frame it.   My dad commented on facebook yesterday that he thought I would be famous one day . . . oh daddy . . . he is my biggest fan.  I love him so.  He's always thought I was the smartest, prettiest, most talented etc.  the apple of his eye.  That is what he calls me, but then again . . . he probably says the same thing to my sister and my brother and that is as it should be.  I wish I could see him when I am home too . . . but he lives too far away and at almost 80 not able to drive down to Nova Scotia.   I wish he could . . .

Here is a thought to carry with you through this day . . .

"Aerodynamically, the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that, so it goes on flying anyway.
~Mary Kay Ash

Let us all be bumblebees and fly anyways!

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Baking in The English Kitchen today . . . Peanut Butter and Jam Croissants.   Deliciously different!

Enjoy your Sabbath!


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