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My driftwood fire burns and flows,
A hundred shades of jade and rose,
With tongues of red that softly turn
To roses in a copper urn;
And sheets of purest silver blaze
Against a shifting purple haze.
A chunk of cedar fills the air
With fragrance of the beaches bare.
Clean sand drips down upon the floor,
The salt damp smells of seas once more
Drifts through the room like a lost breath,
Of someone walking close to death.
A hundred pictures shift an blaze,
of far dim lands and other days;
Perchance that beam of sodden oak
Was once a swinging coolie's yoke;
It bears the shape of tired backs,
And breathes of dusty human tracks.
Perhaps that pole was once a mast,
Swung high to let the dawn go past,
Or gaping yardarms staunch and wide
A mocking servant of the tide,
It makes a cloven tongue of fire,
And fills my room with hot desire.
And then a stick of Douglas fir,
Perfumes the air with fragrant myrrh,
And I am home in quiet aisles
Of stately trees where sunlight smiles;
No vagrant dreams to stir my thought,
In little rooms that love had bought.
~Edna Jacques, Driftwood Fires
Beside Still Waters, 1952
It is funny to think that words penned so long ago are weaving magic in my mind now, some 72 years later. Older than I am, they are, these words. From the mind and pen of a woman long gone. And here we are all these years later still enjoying what she wrote all those many years ago.
Edna Jaques was a Canadian Poet who was born in Collingwood, Ontario in 1891. She was raised on a Saskatchewan homestead. Her poetry often depicted the harsh beauty and life of the prairies, but, more often than not, celebrated the daily experiences and pleasures of domestic life. They are not hard to read nor understand. They speak to the part of the human experience that is common to us all. I fell in love with her prose as a young child. A slim green cloth bound volume of her poetry sat in our family bookcase all the years of my childhood. I used to love to take it out and pour over the words, breathing them in along with the smell of the paper they were printed on.
We did not have a lot of books in our bookcase, which still sits in my sister's living room to this day. An encyclopedia, which was a great sacrifice on the part of our mother's budget to ensure her children were well informed . . . educated . . . and a few other books, including the book of poetry, Fireside Poems, published in 1950.
From my father I inherited my love of reading the written word. From my mother I inherited my love of writing the written word. Both loves have stood me well in my lifetime.
This was Nutmeg sitting next to me last night as we enjoyed the latest installment of Love is Blind Sweden. He is never very far. You can see Cinnamon perched in the old crow's next next to the window in the background. Sometimes they are both next to me. They have grown a great deal over the past 2 1/2 years. I cannot imagine a life without them in it.
Cinnamon mid-bath
(sorry Cinnamon)
I believe that pets are a very important part of any Senior's life, especially Senior's who live on their own. That way you are never quite alone. There is always a living breathing creature to share your life with you, someone to talk to, to cuddle and be cuddled by. They add a wonderful dimension to one's life.
I would have loved to get a dog, but I am unable to take a dog for the long walks that they require. Cats don't need walking. I do have to say though that old coconut is very true. Dogs do have Masters and Cats really do have Slaves.
I dote on them.
I know they wanted it clear before the shop opened and probably every other business in town did as well, so it was probably vital that they get to it early so they could all be done come nine a.m. I think the grocery stores open at 8 a.m. so they were probably done even earlier to meet the commitment.
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I was feeling quite cold this morning, so I have a lap quilt wrapped around my legs. I just checked the heat pump and I only had the temperature set at 18*C/64.4*F No wonder I was feeling cold. I have switched it up so I should feel/see and improvement soon.
Cindy and I were talking about this in the car yesterday. About how acclimatized we get to the heat in the summer months and then the cold in the winter months. It is funny how that goes. We are extraordinary creatures, we human beings.
I do feel for anyone who is homeless at this time of year. My brother and his wife are participating in a walkathon in Ottawa to help raise money for a homeless charity. The Coldest Night of the Year. So far I am the only person who has donated. I do hope they are able to reach their goal. It is such a worthwhile thing to help those less fortunate than ourselves.
I have given to the homeless community where I live also. I hope never to take the blessings I enjoy as a person with a home and the ability to support myself for granted. There, but for the Grace of God go I.
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I didn't sleep very well last night. I had one of those rare nights where I struggled to tick over into sleep, instead surfing along on the level of almost asleep, for most of the night, and when I did sleep it was very dream filled. I don't mind dreaming, but I would like a little bit of sleep in between the dreams thank you very much.
I am a very vivid dreamer and my dreams seem to last the whole night through. I keep dreaming a continuation of the same dream. Like a night long film, done in chapters.
I also dream in color. Do you?
My mother used to keep a Dream Book in her bedroom. It was a book that purported to be able to interpret and extract the meanings from our dreams. I am not sure that dreams hold all that much meaning. Sometimes I think that they have a lot more to do with the things we have experienced or seen in the hours prior to going to bed or that cheeky bit of cheese we enjoyed in the evening that we should have left alone. Other times I think they have a lot to do with our subconscious, our fears, our feelings.
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Sometimes I feel as if the weight of all my sorrows will crush me. I am only human. Most of the time I remain very positive about things. I do not have a lot to complain about, but there is always this underlying current of sadness. I am not sad about what happened in England any longer. (I feel in many ways, that that was the best thing that happened in my life in recent years.) It is mostly to do with my children which are estranged. Sometimes when I allow myself to think about it I feel as if I will go mad. I did not have perfect parents, but there is nothing that they could have done or did that would ever make me want to feel like cutting them out of my life, or to stop loving them. And then when I think of that I think to myself I must have been the worst mother ever, or they must at least feel like I was the worst mother ever and I start beating myself up with the guilty stick and wondering at what I could have done differently.
That is the worst thing to start thinking about. Intellectually I know that I was a good mother, or at least the best mother that I knew how to be. As with anyone, I am sure there are some things I could have improved upon, but I am only human and not perfect. I think this is more about them than it is about me.
I look at my ex husband and how all five of our children love and respect him, even the ones he was quite abusive to, even the one who isn't really his. And I wonder . . . what did I do to cause this? How can I fix it? Who knows what the answer is. I just lay it all at the Savior's feet and put my trust in Him. He knows and He cares.
"Weeping may remain for the night, but joy cometh in the morning." ~Psalm 30:5
This is a reminder to me of the hope we have in God’s promises that our sorrow and suffering will not last forever. It is a reminder that no matter how difficult or dark our circumstances may be, we can always find joy in the morning.
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I hear the plow out there scraping my driveway clean now. A reminder to me that I have been writing here for several hours now and must be on about my day. I am so grateful to live in a place that does all of this hard work for me. That cleans my driveway whenever it snows so that I don't have to. What a great blessing that is. And they cut the grass in the summer months also. It is the same where my father lives.
And I look at that bunny above and my heart feels warm at the sight of the pink lining in his ears. So cute . . . and I think that all is well within this little corner of the world, my little corner of the world. I am truly grateful for all of the things in my life, the joy filled and the sorrow filled. They are a part and parcel of what creates a life worth living. Of my life. And it is good. So very, very good.
A thought to carry with you . . .
° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*The intellect of the wise is like glass,
it admits the life of heaven and reflects it.
~Augustus Hare ° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
In The English Kitchen today . . . Date Filled Oat Cookies. Deliciously simple. A very old recipe.
I hope that you have a beautiful weekend Whatever you get up to be happy and be blessed. Don't forget!
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