Thursday, 18 February 2016
Raindrops on Roses . . .
These are a few of my favourite things . . .
Snowflakes that fall on my nose and eyelashes . . . We don't really get much snow over here, at least not up here in Chester. I suppose that is good in a way because when we do get it, we are enthralled. Okay . . . maybe not we. "I" am enthralled. I have always loved snow and always gotten really excited when I see it beginning to fall. It is not something which has ever really bothered me. I love how the world is "Silent" in the aftermath of a snowfall . . . how pristine it is, untouched . . . save for perhaps the tiny footprints of our feathered friends and the like . . . before it gets messed up by all and sundry.
I am remembering this morning a day back in the 1980's when I wouldn't have been very old, maybe my late 20's young 30's. It was before my youngest son was born. We were living in Greenwood, Nova Scotia and we got a huge snow storm and I just felt the need to go out into it and walk around . . . to be by myself. I bundled myself up in whatever I could find. With so many kids and not so much money I didn't really have dedicated winter clothing . . . that was saved for the children. Anyways, I ended up looking like the Micheline Tire Man, but I went out anyways and wandered about in the wonder of it all. I stuck my tongue out and tasted the snow . . . felt the magic of it falling on my nose and eye lashes . . . plopped over and made a snow angel or two or three. I did not know that thirty or so years later I would be looking back on that moment with a warm feeling in my heart. I was building a memory to stash away in my mental scrapbook. Wunnerful . . . wunnerful . . . as Lawrence would say.
Bumble Bees. I love these hearty little stalwarts . . . harbingers of Spring. In North America you get the robin . . . over here you get the Bumble Bee. When they start to bumble about your garden you know Spring is well and truly on it's way. They are amazing to me. They look awkward and well . . . bumbling . . . like little furry Columbo's bobbing here and there from budding blossom to budding blossom. When you look at them you just have to wonder . . . how is it they can fly. They have these huge bodies and these tiny little wings . . . wings which are delicate and don't look strong enough to be able to lift those enormous furry bodies into space . . . and yet they do. It is amazing to me . . .
Scientists have learned that a flying bumblebee flaps its wings 160 times per second and consumes the equivalent of 180 candy bars per hour! A flying bee uses the same amount of oxygen for its body weight as a flying bird or a bat. However, unlike birds, the bumblebee uses no more oxygen when hovering than when flying. This is only one of the discoveries that contradict scientists' theories. In fact, the director of the latest studies on bumblebee flight admits that they still have no idea how the bumblebee stays in the air. He warns other scientists to stop using the current theories on the subject because they are far too simple.
The Science of it doesn't really matter to me . . . I find them to be tiny creatures of wonder and evidence of a Great Creator who has orchestrated all things. I love to watch them bumble about and weave and bob, as awkward as they seem to be . . .
The birds in our garden. They are mostly only sparrows, but they are a source of endless entertainment for me. I spent little pockets of time throughout the day looking out the back window at them and watching them. I love it when they are nesting. We put out little bits for them at that time, and it always gets uses. Hair from the hairbrush . . . bits of string . . . straw from packaging . . . they use it all to weave their little homes. I love it a bit later on when the fledglings come . . . you can tell them from the others by their behaviour . . . it's fledling-like . . . the low crouching and flapping of wings . . . my heart never fails to soften at the sight. We used to get a lot more birds when we were down south. I think one time Todd clocked over 18 different types in the garden on an National garden bird watch . . . we had nut hatches, wood peckers, and all sorts. Here we have sparrows, with the odd tit and robin thrown in . . . cheeky little chaps . . . oh and this guy . . .
Mr Wood Pigeon. Rain or shine . . . he is a faithful garden visitor. Sitting on the shed roof . . . waiting for the big stuff to come out. A crust of bread . . . a stale roll. Bits of cereal. Sometimes he brings a friend. I think it's a lady friend. They are walking out together. I love it.
She is my faithful companion . . . my constant companion. Always alert to every move and nuance and mood. She is the first living thing to greet me each morning with wagging tail and nuzzling head butt. Those are her hugs. When I am cooking in the kitchen . . . she is always interested . . . standing at a bit of a distance away but sitting in wait . . . just in case I drop a crumb I suppose. Best taste tester ever. I took this photo just the other day as I was photographing something I had cooked in front of the back window (which has the best light). She was watching me. I am sure that she must think me a strange creature . . . this human being who has to take a photograph of everything before she eats it . . . like a rite of passage. She loves me anyways. Despite my foibles and shortcomings and mysterious ways. And I love her right back.
Sunshine in February. It holds such promise . . . oh yes. You know that Spring is just around the corner . . . you see it in the swelling buds on the branches of the fruit trees and rose bushes . . . the hydrangea. It is such a miracle to me . . this shedding of the leaves and then their miraculous return each year. I love how the garden can look like a pile of mud one week . . . and then the next be filled with green shoots pushing their way up through the muddy clumps reaching for the sunshine which is beginning to hold some warmth in it's rays. The magic when I begin to recognise the shoots for what they will eventually be . . .
Life. I love life. The good. The bad. The beautiful. The ugly . . . and everything in between. I love life. I don't want to die . . . not just yet. I have so many things I yet want to accomplish. I have i's to dot and t's to cross. Relationships I want to heal. I hope that I have enough time left to do that. When I think of dying, I don't think of me not being here anymore. Let's face it, none of us is getting out of here alive. I think of the sadness of passing over before I've had the chance to mend my fences . . . to heal the hearts that need healing. That is what causes me the most anguish. Just saying. I don't know how to fix it. I wish I did.
A thought to carry with you through today . . .
We come from the earth.
We return to the earth.
and in between,
In The Kitchen today . . . Fried Spaghetti. A delicious use of leftovers. A family tradition.
Have a great Thursday. I am off to the Dentist this morning. I hate going to the Dentist. It hurts. It hurts more as I get older. Sigh . . . nevermind. Wherever you go and whatever you do, don't forget!
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And I do too! Happy Day!