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There's nothing lovelier in all the world
Than a late summer day -- when smoke is curled
In every quiet lane and small ravine,
When trees still hold a touch of summer green
Like happy guests loth to be on their way,
After the pleasures of a holiday.
There is a tranquil beauty in the air,
As if the whole world had forgotten care;
A fat old bee goes by with clumsy grace,
Looking as if he thought he owned the place;
A few late flowers staunchly hold their own.
Like stalwart soldiers who fight on alone.
A farmer pauses at the furrow's end,
To rest his team and watch his cattle wend
Their quiet way toward an old grey shed;
The sun goes down into a sea of red,
Coloring the sky from west to rosy east,
Like gypsy maidens at a harvest feast.
The children run and scamper in their play,
Sensing the fleeting beauty of the day,
As if some blessed saint had laid his hand
In lovely benediction on the land,
There is a golden texture in the air
Like a bright shawl that only queens wear.
~Edna Jacques, Late Summer Day
The Hills of Home, 1952
Each day brings change. It was almost imperceptible at first but there is no mistaking it now. The jays are hanging around the house squawking after a few quiet weeks of them being quietly absent. The hummingbirds have all but gone. I have not seen one in days now. The leaves in the trees across the way are looking a bit spent . . . traces of gold beginning to feather their tips. My petunias are looking very, very tired indeed. Summer is truly on the wane. Pinks and purples are about to change to ambers and golds.
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I was a bit miffed yesterday. This all-of-a-sudden trip into the city for Eileen, a two hour trip from the Valley, to be there by 8 in the morning was so that they could give her a pamphlet and explain to her about the operation. 😮 It was not the MRI. They told her she would be having the operation in Halifax and it would require an overnight stay. That's all I know for now. She couldn't really explain it to me, but said she would bring the booklet with her when she comes today.
Anyways, what will be will be. We will figure out the why's and wherefores' closer to the day.
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Training your glass to be half full. What if when discontentment tries to sneak in, we answer it with abundance. Naming not just what we don't like, but responding with what we love . . .
- I hate unkindness, in any way . . . but I love watching the sunrise and set, and all the special moments in between that make me feel whole and alive, like driving in the car with the windows down and letting the warmth of the breeze sweep through my hair.
- My old eyes hate fine print, but I do love the sound the dishwasher makes when it is full and my kitchen is clean, and the cats purring at my side and my head, and hugs from grandsons I don't get to see near often enough.
- Not kale, but I do love French macarons, all pretty and sweet, with pastel hues, and that faint crunch which gives way to soft melt in the mouth sweetness and little bursts of luxurious flavor . . . mango, pistachio, lavender, caramel . . . chocolate.
- Not being able to fall asleep when I need to, but I do love soft fluffy robes, and slippers that cradle my feet in luxury, a soft mattress that hugs me like a marshmallow, a book that I can't put down.
- I hate large crowds and noise, but I love to sit and listen to choir music, or the violin, piano, Spanish guitar. I like melodies that circle round me and land right here in the quiet.
- I don't like qualities like envy, and greed, and especially when I see them in myself, but I love pink roses and tulips, sunflowers, time spent with the ones I love, and Lindt truffles. Standing in the kitchen with my sister tasting butter tarts and comparing notes.
- I hate visits to the dentist, but I love visits with friends, and early mornings, the smell of coffee roasting, even if I don't drink it. Reading the scriptures and the smell of fresh-cut grass.
- I really hate confrontation, but I love handwritten notes and letters, getting out of the shower and slipping into a soft warm towel, the smell of a new bottle of shampoo, little soft fluffy ginger bodies willing me to stroke them.
- I hate driving on the motorway, but I love warm blankets on cold evenings, the feel of warm mittens hugging my fingertips, singing along to my favorite songs, even if I can't really sing. It makes me happy anyways.
- Dreaded appointments and phone calls, but I love the buttery smell of popcorn in the movies, and old black and white television shows, lingering sunsets at end of day.
For every one thing that I don't like, there are a whole lot more that I do.
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Oh how sweet it is that such a thing exists. Where would we be without it. Lost I fear.
Hope has been a prevailing presence in my life these past six years. It has helped to carry me forward and aloft on stormy waters . . . and carries me still.
Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul.
~Emily Dickenson
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My younger daughter reached out to Eileen, not just once, but again last night. That cheered my heart that she is doing the right thing. I had begun to despair that there was no good in her that I could see, but now, I am so pleased to see the spark of good that is there is rising to the top. I hope this is the beginning of a better relationship between the two. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, your parents are gone and all you have left of the past is the people that you shared it with, your siblings. Only they share in the common experience that were your growing up. There is nobody else on earth that understands it or knows it in the way that you do. Siblings are important.
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Can you tell this makes me happy? I am falling into my element. I have waited all summer for this. Some see the "ber" months as closure. I see them as the beginning of rest before rebirth. I could happily dwell in the "ber" months forever though, truth be told. I know that I am not alone in this.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o'er brimm'd their clammy cells.
~John Keats (1795-1821)
"It was a September evening and all the gaps and clearings in the woods were brimmed up with ruby sunset light." ~L.M. Montgomery, from Anne of Green Gables, 1908
"The autumn trees gleam in the yellow moonlight, in the light of harvest moons, the light which mellows the energy of labour, and smooths the stubble and brings the wave lapping blue to the shore. ~Virginia Woolf, from To the Lighthouse, 1927
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This is all I have time for this morning. I promised my son I would facetime with him early and then I am picking up Eileen to go to our friend Jacquie's for lunch. She is really looking forward to that. Me, i am content at home, but I would do anything to put a smile on my daughter's face and a song in her heart. And my friend's also.
A thought to carry with you . . .
☾ ° ★° * 。
• ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • •。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★
*The simplest toy, one
which even the youngest
child can operate, is
called a grandparent.
~Sam Levinson
In The English Kitchen today . . . Cinnamon Donut Puff for One. An old favorite downsized to make one incredible muffin treat. Soft, buttery, light and cinnamon sugar coated.
I hope you have an incredible weekend. I hope that the weather holds and that you get some sunshine and golden moments, and lots of joy and peace. 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!
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