She holds a little shrub with tender care
Dead looking, leafless, packed in peat and moss,
She bought it at the five and ten today,
The people notice her and smile across
The crowded car . . . at her old shopping bag,
And little rosebush with its wooden tag.
They smile and nod because they understand
Just how she feels . . . and why it means so much
To carry home a little rooted tree,
And why her fingers have a loving touch,
Holding the little bush with special care,
Lest someone crush the tiny branches there.
She'll plant it where the morning sunlight falls
And watch the small green leaves uncurl and spread
Their little eager fingers to the light;
Add mulch and fertilizer to the bed,
Set up a lattice . . . train the tiny shoots,
Keep the soil clean and moist around the roots.
And when it blooms, no rose in all the world
Will be as lovely as her tiny one,
No fragrance half so sweet, no leaves so green,
And when it sways half opened in the sun
Something of her . . . the deep eternal part,
Will shed its beauty from the rose's heart.
~Edna Jacques, Rose Bush
Fireside Poems, 1950
On reading these words this morning, many thoughts came to mind . . . I thought of Oak Cottage and how the climbing roses, red and white, wound their way around the cottage door and along the whole North side of my home, so much so that the light from the windows on that side of the cottage, in the summer months, was filtered through green leaves and red and white petals. About the beautiful big pink roses that grew just outside the kitchen window. How I could stand at the sink and wash dishes with the window open and smell their beautiful fragrance as I labored. About how in wind and rainstorms those same branches that delighted me on sunny days rapped and knocked at the windowpanes as if begging to be let inside. About how the pavement would be strewn after such a storm with petals . . .
And when I think of petals I think of my first wedding and the flower girl who scattered rose petals as I walked down the aisle, full of dreams and hope.
She is in her fifties now, that little girl.
There were many rose bushes at my home in Chester. We had an arbor out back festooned with climbing yellow roses and a wild rose bush and many others. Along the sides of the front gardens bordering the drive, white and peach and red roses. I could not begin to tell you the names because, I am no gardener and I don't pay attention to names, I only know I love them.
A paramour sent me a dozen roses once. Beautiful big red roses and I dried them all carefully and had the blooms in a rose bowl to decorate my room for a very long time.
I love roses, and yet . . . they are not my favorite of flowers. My favorites are sweet peas. They look like little pastel butterflies waiting to take flight . . .
(source)
I have seen some beautiful and fascinating moths in my time. I remember once in the kitchen at the Manor, one had gotten in. A Hawkmoth and it was as large as my hand, with wings that resembled oak leaves. It flew out at me when I went to pull the toaster out one morning to make toast for the Mr. startling me beyond belief, but it was wonderful to see. It alighted on one of the copper pans that hung above the kitchen island. The Estate Manager came and caught it for me and took it outside.
Down there, as well, I was delighted one sunny Saturday afternoon to see my very first Hummingbird moth, as it flitted amongst the blooms of the honeysuckle vines which had wound themselves in the hedge which ran across the back of our cottage garden. I watched it for quite some time, thinking at first that I was watching an actual hummingbird. A miracle I thought, as hummingbirds do not fly to the U.K. or at least didn't at that time. It was not bright and color-filled, but a drab brown, but so fascinating to watch as it mimicked the hummingbird's ways perfectly.
Moths are such beautiful creatures. But then again, all of nature is beautiful in its own way.
(source)
Jesus loves the little children
All the children of the world
Red and yellow, black and white
They are precious in his sight
Jesus loves the little children of the world
Everything is beautiful in its own way
Like a starry summer night
On a snow-covered winter's day
And everybody's beautiful
in their own way
Under God's heaven
The world's gonna find the way
Now I'll be humming those songs all day. There are worse things . . .
(source)
I have been thinking this morning about the seasons of life and how they change as time goes on. About how WE change as time goes on. Life batters us about and through it all we are hopefully evolving and growing as we learn these lessons. I like to think that as people know better, they do better. I know that I am certainly not the same person sitting here today as I was fifty years ago. Life has taught me many lessons and through them I have evolved and become, hopefully, a much better person for all of my struggles.
I like to think that I am kinder and more caring. Oh, I probably was always kind and caring, but I practice a more mature kind and caring these days. Motherhood is a great leveler in life. Or at least it has been for me. I have learned so much through the gift of being a mother. Selflessness, and compassion. Joy. True and abundant joy. Pride in another's accomplishments. And love, a very special love.
Cindy and I were at the mall yesterday having dropped off Dad and his friend Maryann and we saw Doug and his wife leaving Dollarama so we honked at them in greeting. A short time later Doug caught up with me in Giant Tiger just to give me a hug. It was really nice. I love this gentle giant of a son, who is so kind and caring. We must have done something right. He is a good, good, man.
(source)
It is funny how you can bring up five children and they can all turn out to be so different from each other. Well, I was not allowed to finish bringing up my youngest one. I only had him in my care until he was 12 years old and then the stepmom took over. He has come out quite differently than all the others. But he was very spoiled, even when I had him in my care. The youngest usually is spoiled to a degree. He, and my youngest daughter have taught me the other side of motherhood, a side that has brought me pain I ever thought to experience. A pain that is deep rooted in my soul that I carry with me always, that I can do nothing about. It is no good to say let it go, because I cannot let it go . . . it is always there. Perhaps I am afraid to let it go because that is all I have left of those two individuals and if I let it go, then they are gone.
We hold onto what we can, and if at the end all we have to hold onto is the pain, then . . . I, for one, cannot let go of it because also caught up in the pain is the hope that it will not always be this way.
And because I am a mother. I love anyways . . . always and forever, no matter what.
(source)
Doug is coming to spend the morning with me today. I have been looking forward to it since yesterday when he told me. I don't know what we will get up to. Then he is taking me out for lunch today as well. He said to make up for Mother's Day. That will be nice also. I don't know where we will go. I would like to go to the Indian restaurant, but it is so expensive. I would also like some McNuggets. I know . . . so nasty, but I like them, and I never get to have them.
But, of course, the best part will be sharing whatever it is with him.
The other morning when they were loading their car back up to go to Camp, Midge from across the way shouted over her greetings and she said, I can tell he is your son as he looks like you. I do not know how true that is, but it made me feel proud.
And this has all been about family this morning. I apologize for that, but my heart is full at the moment and that is what it is full of. And with that I will bit you farewell for the weekend as I need to make ready for his arrival.
A thought to carry with you . . .
° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*.˛.If seeds in the black earth can
turn into such beautiful roses,
what might the heart of man become
in its long journey toward the stars.
~G. K. Chesterson •。★★ 。* 。
In The English Kitchen today . . . Coconut Lemon Slice. The perfect weekend bake. A moist and delicious coconut cake slathered in a lush lemon buttercream frosting, with a chef's kiss of lemon zest scattered over the top.
I hope you have a beautiful weekend filled with love and maybe even some cake. Don't forget!
═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ═══════════
⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿
═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ═══════════
And I do too!
═══════════ ღೋƸ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒღೋ ═══════════
And I do too!
.jpg "Chopped Green Salad")
