Saturday Nice . . .

 

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I slept on a balsam pillow

And dreamed of woods and streams

And heard the meadow lark's clear call

Piping through my dreams,

And the muted sound of water leaping

Ran like gay music through my sleeping.

I slept on a balsam pillow

And the northern woods were mine

And I felt the wind in my tired heart,

Blowing o'er fir and pine,

And the smell of the wild was sweet to the taste

Of brown clean waters and marshy waste.

I slept on a balsam pillow

Far from the haunts of men

And the smoke from a camp fire drifted by

Sweet in my face again.

And I heard the hoot-owl's mournful cry

And the wings of wild geese going by.

I slept on a balsam pillow

And the smell of the earth was sweet,

Needles of pine like a Persian rug

Spongy beneath my feet.

The taste of resin and sage and brier,

Ashes blown from a woodland fire.

Edna Jacques, Balsam Pillow

Roses in December, 1944

I cannot begin to tell you why I love the poetry of Edna Jacques so much. I have loved her words since I was a very young girl and could barely read. Our mother had a slim green volume of Edna's poetry that was kept in our bookcase called Fireside Poems, the dust jacket long having since evaporated into nothingness.  There was a poem in it, "I Think of Mother," that she particularly liked. She said it reminded her of her mother and of the old farmstead on the mountain. Her love of this book created a love of it in me and I read through the poetry on it's pages often through the years. When I went to move out West to be married, she gave it to me because I loved it so. In later years, she did not remember the book, or loving it as she had done when she was young. When I mentioned it to her, it was as if she was knowing it for the very first time. How odd memory is.  How we capture and keep some things and yet throw away others.  And, I know I have told you how I came to love Edna's words before . . . but I do so love to remind myself of this lost connection between my mother and I.  I miss her every day. 

 And somehow remembering these connections keeps her alive in my memory.  I was worried when she passed that I would one day forget the sound of her voice, but I can hear it still in my mind's eye, as clear as clear can be, and I am grateful for that.

Mom always looked like a princess to me.  She was never sloppy or unkempt.  I love this photograph of her. It speaks volumes to me.  That dress was a very pretty blue color of a satin fabric overlaid with stiff netting that had been gathered, with a full crinoline beneath.  It rustled when she walked. I can smell her perfume.  Ma Griffe. She always wore it when they were going out. She had fallen in love with it when they lived in Germany. I was so blessed to be able to buy her a bottle in later years. 

I can see my sister in her face and parts of my nieces Crystal and Maggie, my sister's daughters. All beautiful women. I did not inherit any of my mother's looks unfortunately.

I love the starched lace doily on the coffee table holding a porcelain dog figurine.  The ashtrays.  

Mom liked to have her photograph taken when she was ready to go out.(Unlike me who hates to have my picture taken.) And she always wanted her picture taken the night before her birthday . . . She wanted to capture the younger year before the age of the older year caught up with her.

This is a photograph of my very young father holding me as a baby. You cannot really see my face, but I love the look on my father's face. He looks very handsome and proud. I can remember mom telling me one time that she had never really wanted to have children, but our father did and so she had us to please him. I think that this photograph must have been taken in Lawrencetown at our grandparent's home. I recognize the big elms that are no longer there. They were taken down when Dutch Elm disease ravaged all of the elm trees in Nova Scotia. Dad was so slim and young in this photograph and I think I can see him wearing his wedding band, something I do not remember him ever wearing in later years.

 

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I cooked Eileen and I a ham dinner yesterday.  It was a pajama day for us both. Oh yes, we were so lazy neither one of us got dressed all day.  It was a very full day. Full of happenings.  

I wanted to bake us a cake for the weekend and decided to bake a Lazy Daisy Cake. I needed to refill my sugar jar though. I knew I had a bag of sugar in the bathroom closet so went to get it out and a glass jar of pesto fell out and shattered on the ceramic floor.

Oh boy.

I think the only thing that might be worse would be to drop a jar of honey and have it shatter. 

Oily pesto and shattered glass. It took me quite some time to clean that mess up. I got there in the end, and the cake did get baked. But the sugar wasn't in that closet. It was on a shelf in the spare room.

Then once the cake was in the oven and baking, there was a large commotion outside. I could hear sirens. I said to Eileen, "Somebody is having a really bad day." And then we noticed that a fire truck was rolling down our street, lights flashing.  It stopped two doors down to the left of me. 

That was quite a lot of excitement for this street. We are used to ambulances visiting from time to time, but this was the first fire truck I have seen. 

They were not there for very long and did not pull out the hose, so I suspect it was not a serious fire, perhaps just a stove fire. I would like to call Sheila next door to ask, because I know that if anyone would know what was going on, she would, but I don't want to seem like a nosy parker. I am just grateful it wasn't anything serious.

Then I finished getting our dinner ready and Cindy arrived.  She messaged me from the car to shut my bedroom doors so she could see the cats. They always disappear when she comes in (not wanting their nails clipped). She had been up the mountain and picked me up a fresh loaf of Oatmeal Brown bread from the chicken farm. She had also bought some carrot cake cookies and two of them had Eileen's and my names on them.

We only had time for a short visit as she had to pick up Dad at Tim Horton's and bring him home.  But it was so nice to see her.  I remember when I lived in the U.K. I used to dream of living in a place where family could just drop by.  Dreams do come true. I am living proof of that fact.

 

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This weekend is the Spring General Conference of my church.  There will be two, two hour sessions, today and two tomorrow.  I am really looking forward to hearing the talks. I always get so much from them. Earlier this week it was announced that they were changing the Sunday School/Relief Society format on Sundays.  Usually we had a one hour Sacrament meeting, followed by an hour fr either Sunday School, or Priesthood/Relief Society, alternating weeks for each.  Beginning in September the second hour will be 25 minutes of Sunday School and twenty five minutes of Priesthood/Relief Society with five minutes between each class to change over. People will really have to hustle and stop all of their chitchatting if they are to get to the classes on time.  I am sure there is a good reason for the change. Lessons will need to be greatly condensed. 

I also was told that, in Europe anyways, that all chapel entrances are now to be guarded by security guards during the meetings.  I am not sure if this is a reaction to the incidents earlier this year at chapels in the U.S. or not, but it seems highly likely that it is to safeguard the congregations. I cannot remember who told me this. It could just be a rumor.

In any case I am really looking forward to hearing all of the talks.

I was trying to remember yesterday how long I have been blogging.  I have been doing this in one way or another for a very long time now.  I think since about 2003'ish.  I started off on Micro-soft, I think it was called My Space, and then I hopped over to AOL Journals, where I stayed for quite a while (and made a LOT of friends) and then I ended up on Blogger.  In between times I tried out other platforms like WordPress, but in all honesty, I kept coming back to Blogger because to me, it was the easiest to use.  Or in other words, the most user-friendly.  Oh, and it was free, which was really important to me because I didn't then, and don't have now,  much money to play with.  Free is good. 

When I first started writing it was because I saw it as a form of communicating with family, but in a fun way, a way of keeping them up to date with the things that were going on in my life.  It became so much more than that however.  In fact, for the most part, my family wasn't, and isn't interested in reading my blog, fair enough . . .  but it wasn't long before I discovered that other people were, and that there were other people out there doing the same thing that I was.  Really interesting people. People I made connections with and loved reading back.  That was the best thing about blogging, those connections I made with other people.  It is like a huge network of Pen pals, except that the communication is pretty much instant, or at least as often as the others choose to post, comment, etc. 

I confess I am often a bit slow with regards to responding to comments. I am trying to get better at it. I do read them all and appreciate that and I need to respond in a more timely manner.

 

No One Cares What You Had For Lunch

I guess I had been blogging for a few years, and was still trying to find my niche when I stumbled onto this book by Margaret Mason, and so . . .  I bought it.  Turns out she was wrong, lots of people cared about what I had for lunch . . .  and breakfast, and dinner for that matter!!  It didn't take long for me to discover that when I wrote about what I was cooking and eating, even more people were interested in what I had to say, so . . . .  for years and years and years, I combined the two things . . .  my daily thoughts with my daily eats.  After a while though, I wanted to separate the two and I decided to write a food blog.  The English Kitchen wasn't the first one.  Marie Eats Britain was the first one, but then I decided to create The English Kitchen and I got rid of the first one and stuck with the latter.  I've been doing that one for about 16 years or so now and I love it.  Its had several transformations, but I am pretty happy with where its at now. 

This blog has had several transformations also.  It began as A Year From Oak Cottage and was hugely popular as that, but once I left the Manor, and was no longer living in the cottage I decided to switch it to this, and this incarnation is where I have stayed.   This is home.  This, to me, is like sitting down with a good friend and just chatting about whatever comes up.  

And I am still amazed that anyone comes to

read this prattle at all, but I am

also very grateful that

they do.

We get to hang out together.  You is my "crew."  I care about you all, I really do.  You are very much an important part of my life, integral really.  I'm not sure how long I will do this . . .  this penning down of my daily thoughts and eats.  I suppose for as long as I have the breath and the will and the desire in me to do so.   But one day it will stop, and that thought kind of makes me sad in a way, and I find myself wondering . . . will any of the words I have penned live on?  Or will they eventually disappear too, and when I think about that, I panic a tiny bit, because there is still a huge part of me that hopes that one day my kids will want to know my thoughts, or my grandkids . . . . and if this disappears, then there is nothing tangible left . . .  and then I think to myself, I shoulda put it into a book, but its kind of late now. 

 

I have a life which is filled with abundance and beauty.  I have been blessed with the ability to bloom . . .  even in the cracks of life.  Others are not so lucky. I am able to see a crack in the sidewalk of my life as an opportunity for growth. This is a great blessing. May it ever be thus  . . . 

A thought to carry with you  . . . 

☾ ° ★° * 。  

• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

*When the Japanese mend broken objects,

they aggrandize the damage by

filling the cracks with gold, because

they believe that when something has

suffered damage, and has a history,

it becomes more beautiful. •。★★ 。* 。

 

In The English Kitchen today, Air Fryer Lime & Honey Ham Steaks for two.  These were delicious. I highly recommend! They could also be done in a skillet or an oven as well I believe.

Have a beautiful weekend. Happy Easter. Be happy. Be blessed. I hope your weekend is filled with enough of all you need and want. Don't forget!

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⊰✿░G░O░D⊰✿⊰L░O░V░E░S⊰✿⊰░Y░O░U░⊰✿

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And I do too!