Wednesday This and That . . .

 

Yesterday was the first day in what seems like forever that we were able to leave the heat off in the house for almost the whole day.   There are some years when this happens earlier in the season, and there are some years when it happens later . . . yesterday was sunny and whilst not really warm (there was a cold biting wind) at least it was dry.  Mitzie is enjoying these drier days for we allow her to go back onto the grassed area of our back garden, which is closed off with a fence and gate from the patio part.

We don't like her to go over there when it is wet because she gets muddy and dirty . . . but once it has dried we open the gate and she goes flying through it and down the length of the garden like the wind . . . and then she works her way back up sniffing the whole way.  We may not be able to tell what's been our way . . . but she can.   She's a very good sniffer.  Those annoying cats that visit us all got a huge surprise yesterday as she was sitting out there for most of the day just waiting for them to arrive so she could run them off!!  A job well done!

These are the in-between days . . . the days when my world somehow cannot make up it's mind if it is Winter or it is Spring . . . Winter tries to clutch and hang on . . . but Spring is kicking it's arse . . . and we begin to notice the difference.



The seasons may change, but new life is always coming.   I don't like to look backward.   We may mourn each rose as it fades and it's petals drop . . . but once pruned . . . another rose will appear in it's place.  It's sad when the lilacs across the way begin to turn brown and wilt . . . but that is a sadness soon forgotten when the peonies burst open in a glorious riot of rosy red and deep pink, like country maids spreading their double frilled skirts . . .  that life goes on, however different . . . is a certainty.

We have a huge Camellia bush which sits by our front door . . . in Spring it is covered with beautiful dark pink blossoms which cheer the heart and eye . . . but it isn't long before they are falling as well . . . turning brown . . . but they are soon replaced by wildly blooming hydrangea, which grow in abundance, flanking our front drive all the way down . . . then too, there comes the daily surprise of something new which appears . . . Violets, Forget-Me-Nots . . . Poppies, Snap Dragons . . . Lupins.   It is difficult to mourn the loss one for long as a new one takes it's place.



That is the circle of life . . . abundant joy and beauty and birth, tempered by loss and a goodly portion of death.  For the young . . .  death is  somewhat of a distant thing, hovering someplace without the periphery of their vision, unless directly impacted . . . but as you get older, it's possibility becomes somewhat harder to ignore.  Each day, each happening . . . each new experience, bad or good . . . becomes a blessing of sorts and you learn to appreciate them all the more, for the gift that they are.

I am not a wise woman . . . I do not know why I am still here, and yet others are not.  I know not why I still smell the faint sweet tang of the apple leaf and the soft damp odor of  the earth as I turn it with my fingers . . . and yet, those far younger than myself are no longer here to smell and to feel and to see all that I smell, feel and see . . .

 

What I know for sure is this.   There is something in the world of new beauty, loveliness and grace each day.   There is a meaning far deeper which lays beneath the external, something which goes beyond the deep ways of time.   All things are eternal . . . an eternity which is made tangible in the purple bloom of the first cool crocus which bursts sturdily from the cold dark earth amidst the melting snow, in the deepening red blush of the strawberries as they come to life and bear fruit beneath their dark green cover . . . and in the slow dance of the first golden leaf  which falls . . . against the brushing breast of the autumn wind.

It is these things which speak to my heart of the presence of my God.    We, created in His image . . .  each have a  beautiful meaning and purpose in being here . . .  even if we cannot fully understand the why.  We are loved with a deeper love, which goes beyond understanding . . . a love which we cannot fathom for we are finite beings and he is . . . infinite.  Not being able to understand the depth and breadth of it doesn't make it any less real or tangible . . . but it doesn't take a genius to know how much it matters, or the difference this sweet, sweet knowledge can make in a life, however short or long.

It is a sure sweet knowledge which underpins each day of my existence . . .  and all that I do, or say . . . or feel.   And so . . . while I am here, I enjoy deeply all that the each season brings, each day that I am given . . . trying not to mourn overly much the days and moments that pass away and that will never come again in this eternal round called life.   The best is yet to come . . .



We surely enjoyed having the Missionary lads for supper last night.  One is from Portugal and the other America.   It is always good so have their spirit in our home.   They left at the end of our time together feeling well fed . . . and we were left feeling well nourished from their having been here.

A thought to carry with you through today . . .

"Those who want much, are always much in need."
~Horace



We had bananas and custard for dessert last night, which I served accompanied with these delicious Oatmeal Butterscotch Cookies.   Nobody complained!

Many thanks to those of you who contacted me yesterday to get my mother's mailing address.  I know she will be greatly encouraged and uplifted by your cards and notes!  You are all so kind and your kindness is very much appreciated.

Have a great Wednesday!