I'll sing for you -- songs of our native land
The little brook you waded as a child;
A morning in September crisp and chill
Mid summer storms with lightening breaking wild.
I'll sing for you -- of dreams remembered still
As frail and beautiful as autumn mist;
Cool scented heliatrope . . . the pearly sheen
Of golden pools shot through with amethyst.
I'll sing for you -- of mothers gay and young,
With laughter on their lips and love-filled eyes;
Of little homes new as an army pin,
Filling the needs of your small paradise.
I'll sing for you -- of peace at middle age,
Green lawns to cut, hedges to trim and shape;
A clump of hollyhocks by the garage,
An old back fence smothered with purple grape.
I'll sing for you -- of little humble homes
Gilded with gold as with a Midas touch;
And all my heart's eternal wonder spilt
That little common lives can hold so much.
~Edna Jacques, I'll Sing for You
Roses in December, 1944
Something happens when you pass a certain point in life, when more of it is stretching behind you than what lays before you . . . the mind goes back to little corners of your life . . . and if you are lucky they are happy times . . . and you begin to unwrap them like little gifts, holding them in your hands tenderly as you revisit them. Perhaps looking at them with new eyes, and maybe even with a tenderness you have withheld from them in the past. The sands of time having softened the sharp edges and trimmed away the dross. You realize that all you have ever done is the best that you knew how to do . . . in living this common life you were given. Mistakes, laid bare . . . a part of the shaping process. Now seen with a different view . . . one molded with the wisdom of time and experience. It was never really that bad. It was and is a part of the you that is you.
And, if you are like me,
you have finally come to love this beautiful creature
you have become, and would not be,
were it not for that and then.
She had one great day every year, when, every autumn, the dealer came to purchase the produce of her beehives. Then, in her pantry doorway, a large muslin bag was suspended to drain the honey from the broken pieces of comb into a large, red pan which stood beneath. while, on her doorstep, the end house children waited to see the 'honeyman' carry out and weigh the whole combs. One year -- one-never-to-be-forgotten year -- he had handed to each of them a rich, dripping fragrant of comb. He never did it again; but they always waited, for the hope was almost as sweet as the honey.
~Flora Thompson (1876-1947), From Lark Rise, 1939
Lark Rise was one of the favorite of all the television series I have ever watched. I still watch it again, from beginning to end, from time to time. Eileen loves it also. I had sent her the whole series on DVD from the U.K. so she could watch it as I knew she would enjoy it . . . and I was right, she did.
There is something so sweet about these series set in historical times and places. Little glimpses into a past that no longer exists, but is a part and parcel of who we have become. A history of a people as it were. We look at them through rose coloured glasses at times. Picking only the good things and glossing over the bad. These small villages were full of simple folk, living as close to poverty as you could get. Working hard from dawn to dusk and sometimes even longer, for just enough to survive . . . but there was a goodness in this drudgery as well, a healthy respect for hard work and it's enterprise. A love of family and old ways . . . of neighbour and of friend. Of nature and of custom. These things were all important. Community. People with names and faces and lives. You knew them. They knew you. You cared. Something sacred has been lost I believe. Oh, yes . . . we live richer, fuller lives . . . and have more leisure time than we know what to do with . . . but somewhere along the way . . . something sacred has gone astray.
Each day I look out the front at the dying petunias and geraniums and think to myself, I need to do something about those and I will. I need to cart them down to the compost bins at the end of the street and get rid as they are looking very bedraggled now, and my chore this weekend is to take down the hummingbird feeder, clean it up and pack it away for another year. It always makes me a bit sad to take it down. I enjoy them so much while they are here and I hate to see them gone. They are such tenacious little creatures and I gain so much pleasure from watching them flit to and fro . . . and to watch their little territorial battles being fought. Oh, I know they will be back in the spring. But still. I miss them when they are gone.
But it's time, to clean up the gardens and put them to bed for the coming winter months. Before it is too cold and too wet and too late.
I have a small rack in the bathroom that holds all my bath and kitchen linens. It can get messy at times, especially during the week when I am always reaching in and grabbing a clean tea towel or dish cloth, bath or hand towel, etc. This week only one of my cleaners came as the other one was sick with some type of bug. When she left I noticed that she had tidied up my rack. All the facecloths were neatly folded into quarters and stacked beautifully, same with the towels and other linens. It looked so nice. I was most impressed and have vowed to always keep it so, or at least try.
There is a kind of simple elegance in using and cleaning household linens. Clothes, sheets, towels, curtains and kitchen items always look better when they're well cared for. When I see them in homes I visit, fresh and neatly stored away, especially when they hold a certain age to them, I get the feeling there is a lot of love in that home.
It is not a bad goal to want to keep these things just so . . . a bit of time and some consistency. Oh yes, I can be lazy. I need to be more organized.
Household washing used to be done at the riverside, a community chore. A time for women to gather and share as they worked away. What was a chore of drudgery became almost holy in the sharing of it with each other. As they worked and scrubbed the dirt away, they talked and laughed and sometimes, yes even cried . . . together. Again . . . community. I think somehow the sharing of these chores made them a bit easier to bear.
Cindy and I took an impromptu trip up to Pelton's yesterday afternoon. Dad's friend Maryann has gone to Quebec with her daughter to visit family so the usual trip to the Mall was not on. She took Dad in town to Tim Hortons instead so while he was there we went up the mountain to Pelton's. I had been hoping that they would have some bread, but alas, there was none, but we did get eggs. And a few other bits. He was just bringing in freshly canned salsa so we each picked up a jar of that. Cindy had been wanting some ground beef, as had I, but they didn't have any. They always carry the best locally sourced grass fed ground beef. They are not sure if they are going to carry it any longer or not. It has gotten so expensive. We assured him that we did not mind paying more for something that was sustainable and of better quality. So much better than the supermarket ground beef. At least the one that they were selling came from only a few animals rather than thousands. I am hoping that they reconsider and get some more in. Their chicken is also really good. They are going to have fresh bread in today and we have asked them to set aside some for us (white and brown) so we will be going back to pick up that and I think I will get some chicken as well. It's always so good. Never tough.
Plus this is Cindy's weekend off from cooking so I will be cooking Sunday dinner for Eileen and myself and I think I might like some chicken. We will see what they have. Maybe even a nice roast chicken. We will see. It will be Canadian Thanksgiving two weeks from now so that will be a big roast dinner in and of itself. We will probably stay home as Eileen will be recovering from her operation.
I don't have a lot more to share this morning. I will be picking Eileen up about noon and we will make our little trip to the grocery store so she can get her snacks for movie night and some drinks. We haven't decided which movie we are going to watch yet. We have all day to figure it out.
So, in the meantime I will leave you with a thought for the day, to carry with you . . .
☾ ° ★° * 。
• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*I walk among the rows at dawn
The dew still clings, the world feels drawn.
Each leaf a prayer, each bloom a sign,
That peace can root in hands like mine.
~Thackery
I hope that you have a really nice weekend. Its cloudy here and I believe they are calling for rain. In any case whatever you get up to, I hope it brings you peace and joy. Don't forget!
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And I do too!
