Some moments are so intense. One of those moments happened yesterday.
It is not uncommon for hummingbirds to fly into my kitchen, not any everyday occurence, but this happens several times a season.
When this does happen, I close as many of the six kitchen doors as I can, but leave the outside door open. Usually, the bird flutters about in a panic and then makes her way to a glass kitchen window where I gently cover her with my hand, holding her just tight enough to carry her to the side porch. I open my hand. With blesssed relief, the bird flies away in freedom.
Yesterday this was not the case. The bird continually flew up against the old brown tongue and groove ceiling. In time, she began to take breaks perching on hanging pots and pans or on the ledge above the window.
Before long she was off on an all about frantic flutter. I tried to guide her to the open door, with no success. She flew into an active cobweb beside the refrigerator and immediately stopped moving. She was in a very odd position. I couldn't believe she could be dead so soon.
I tore apart the web, as the large spider made her way toward the significant catch. I plucked out the bird with one hand and placed in my other opened hand. Carefully I removed as much of the sticky web from her feathers as I could. There was still no movement.
We went outside. She remained motionless. In time I set her down on the clear glass of a coffee table. There she stayed unmoving. She looked so cold and out of place on the glass, I once again picked her up and placed her in my cupped hand and started breathing softly on her. She moved slightly.
I stood up, opened my hand fully to the bright sunshine.
The hummingbird flew up high into her own future.
Tuesday 30 August 2011
Saturday 27 August 2011
Goodbye Jack Layton ; Social Democrat
Who'd have knew'd ? Those twinkling eyes and dapper mustache hinted at the strong good spirit of the man, but it was his true heart, people met, that drew their love and respect to him. Did anyone know how firmly he had taken root in so many hearts of the nation ?
No one has claimed him a saint. He was a good man who lived simply and worked for the good of the people and had fun doing it. What was most impressive to many is that he was who he was.
Love Hope Optimism
Safe journey Jack.
No one has claimed him a saint. He was a good man who lived simply and worked for the good of the people and had fun doing it. What was most impressive to many is that he was who he was.
Love Hope Optimism
Safe journey Jack.
Monday 22 August 2011
Storms of Craziness
Storm clouds have been a significant presence this summer. Those big dark clouds rumbling closer and closer from faraway. The time between sound and light becomes shorter and shorter.
There have been sunny days and endless days of drizzle, but there have been many thunderstorms. I sit on my porch, near the shore to watch the powerful weather, not present above me, but observed for its impressive power, beyond the brow of the mountain, moving slowly but surely above the valley.
To be honest I love thunderstorms. There is something both exhilerating and cathartic in their powerful nature. I have been in houses more than once that have been struck by lightning, but things not people seem most at risk.
It is the storms of trouble of humanity's creation that are creeping and crashing around the the earth that frighten me most. These are storms of craziness. Thank goodness for the sun that shines in hearts of some of humanity.
There have been sunny days and endless days of drizzle, but there have been many thunderstorms. I sit on my porch, near the shore to watch the powerful weather, not present above me, but observed for its impressive power, beyond the brow of the mountain, moving slowly but surely above the valley.
To be honest I love thunderstorms. There is something both exhilerating and cathartic in their powerful nature. I have been in houses more than once that have been struck by lightning, but things not people seem most at risk.
It is the storms of trouble of humanity's creation that are creeping and crashing around the the earth that frighten me most. These are storms of craziness. Thank goodness for the sun that shines in hearts of some of humanity.
Wednesday 17 August 2011
The end of Summer
It is several weeks before summer ends, but the feeling of summer ending fills my days.
In my childhood, The Canadian National Exhibition marked the transition of the summer life into real life: or was it the other way round. The CNE was the last gasp of another world. Candy floss, Shopsey's corned beef sandwiches, the filling of a large bag of free samples from the Pure Food Building. There were more people in that one building than I had seen all summer.
My mother remembering the fall outbreaks of polio, only years before, was always on alert for the dirty. She was always pro mud and mess in my daily adventures, but the Exhibition was something else. No bright red candy apples for me. She had no idea how the apples were washed before they were candied. What is more she would always say I had no idea where those man's hands could have been. She was right. I had no idea, but she certainly had a variety of possibilities that she didn't share with me.
When the Exhibition was over the end was nigh. There would be the last trip to the cottage for Labour Day Weekend. Then the brown oxfords were polished, the new green knee socks were laid out and some combination of a plaid skirt and white cotton blouse were set out at ready.
I didn't hate school, but there were a lot of places I would rather be. By three o'clock I transfixed by the hands of the solemn plain clock that hung beneath Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. The only hand that seemed to move was the second hand. Eventually, the big hand made it to the bottom of the clock. There was no homework in those days, with the exception of learning spelling words , so I was free until the next morning at nine o'clock.
I often had to take a second try going down the school stairs to show I could walk without running. I was always anxious to grasp every moment of liberation. Then boom, I was outside in the fresh air and sunshine collecting the shiny chestnuts that had fallen from the school trees.
Summer became a far off past memory and lay so faraway in the future that was somehow unreal. Halloween and Christmas called to children as the days got colder. But the magic of endless summer days disappeared.
I don't think I am any better at transitions than I was all those years ago. For some reason Gala Days doesn't have the same power as a seasonal demarcation.
In my childhood, The Canadian National Exhibition marked the transition of the summer life into real life: or was it the other way round. The CNE was the last gasp of another world. Candy floss, Shopsey's corned beef sandwiches, the filling of a large bag of free samples from the Pure Food Building. There were more people in that one building than I had seen all summer.
My mother remembering the fall outbreaks of polio, only years before, was always on alert for the dirty. She was always pro mud and mess in my daily adventures, but the Exhibition was something else. No bright red candy apples for me. She had no idea how the apples were washed before they were candied. What is more she would always say I had no idea where those man's hands could have been. She was right. I had no idea, but she certainly had a variety of possibilities that she didn't share with me.
When the Exhibition was over the end was nigh. There would be the last trip to the cottage for Labour Day Weekend. Then the brown oxfords were polished, the new green knee socks were laid out and some combination of a plaid skirt and white cotton blouse were set out at ready.
I didn't hate school, but there were a lot of places I would rather be. By three o'clock I transfixed by the hands of the solemn plain clock that hung beneath Queen Elizabeth and Prince Phillip. The only hand that seemed to move was the second hand. Eventually, the big hand made it to the bottom of the clock. There was no homework in those days, with the exception of learning spelling words , so I was free until the next morning at nine o'clock.
I often had to take a second try going down the school stairs to show I could walk without running. I was always anxious to grasp every moment of liberation. Then boom, I was outside in the fresh air and sunshine collecting the shiny chestnuts that had fallen from the school trees.
Summer became a far off past memory and lay so faraway in the future that was somehow unreal. Halloween and Christmas called to children as the days got colder. But the magic of endless summer days disappeared.
I don't think I am any better at transitions than I was all those years ago. For some reason Gala Days doesn't have the same power as a seasonal demarcation.
Thursday 11 August 2011
New Spider in Residence
A new spider has decided to take up residence in a kitchen window. Perhaps she was first drawn by the solar powered tastefully waving hand of the figure of Her Majesty the Queen, my daughter gave me for my last birthday. The queen waves while the sun shines on her significant purse, that conceals her power source.
More likely the spot was chosen by the closeness of the window to the side door that remains open to the side porch in good weather.
Insects are nothing new to the kitchen. They disappear into the mysterious webs by the ceiling that I only see when I search for them with my glasses on, when I am expecting visiting dignitaries or visits from my children. Fruit fly season is coming up so word must have spread of the choice spot. Early spider gets the fly.
As an aside, I have already had two hummingbirds and a goldfinch visit me in my kitchen this summer.
I have always loved spiders. If there is anything more beautiful than webs weighed with sparkling dew drops in the early morning greenness of summer sunshine, I don't know of it. I think it was the fairies in childhood that first awakened my appreciation for such things.
I read the same fairy stories and poems to my daughters as children, but for some reason spiders didn't take. It may have had something to do with that prissy Miss Muffet or the movie Arachnophobia. In fact my younger daughter became quite disgusted with me as hundreds of tiny spiders dropped joyfully from an egg sac that had gone unnoticed on a flourescent light, over the food preparation area mere days ago. I can be very annoying.
I remember reading Charlotte's Web for the first time when I was pregnant. I cried my eyes out, although that was at the same time I couldn't hold tears back in the somewhat sappy series of Bell Telephone commercials. Anthropomorphizing insects wasn't and isn't difficult for me.
I was happy to learn one of my favourite poets, Mary Oliver, has the same fondness and tolerance for the species.
I am trying not to show too much interest in the goings on. I know mothers-to-be can become a little irritated with too much interest in such things.
More likely the spot was chosen by the closeness of the window to the side door that remains open to the side porch in good weather.
Insects are nothing new to the kitchen. They disappear into the mysterious webs by the ceiling that I only see when I search for them with my glasses on, when I am expecting visiting dignitaries or visits from my children. Fruit fly season is coming up so word must have spread of the choice spot. Early spider gets the fly.
As an aside, I have already had two hummingbirds and a goldfinch visit me in my kitchen this summer.
I have always loved spiders. If there is anything more beautiful than webs weighed with sparkling dew drops in the early morning greenness of summer sunshine, I don't know of it. I think it was the fairies in childhood that first awakened my appreciation for such things.
I read the same fairy stories and poems to my daughters as children, but for some reason spiders didn't take. It may have had something to do with that prissy Miss Muffet or the movie Arachnophobia. In fact my younger daughter became quite disgusted with me as hundreds of tiny spiders dropped joyfully from an egg sac that had gone unnoticed on a flourescent light, over the food preparation area mere days ago. I can be very annoying.
I remember reading Charlotte's Web for the first time when I was pregnant. I cried my eyes out, although that was at the same time I couldn't hold tears back in the somewhat sappy series of Bell Telephone commercials. Anthropomorphizing insects wasn't and isn't difficult for me.
I was happy to learn one of my favourite poets, Mary Oliver, has the same fondness and tolerance for the species.
I am trying not to show too much interest in the goings on. I know mothers-to-be can become a little irritated with too much interest in such things.
Grandchildren Visit Faraway Grandma
I've have often heard that it is so wonderful to have grandchildren arrive and how wonderful it is to see them go. This bit of common wisdom does not ring true in this old house.
How quiet it is. For two weeks the house was filled with the laughter of big and little girls. My younger daughter's tummy bulges with a little boy. His presence will be welcome. His daddy was caught in a world of whirling estrogen. He did himself proud, but I am sure the presence of a son will do something to even the scales.
What fun we had. No big puzzles were pieced. Hallmark Grandma barely made an appearance. Auntie made some cookies and pies. Mary down the road, by the turn of the river, seems to be always a source of all things good. But Kendie and baking sheets just don't seem to be a go. The adults on the porch watched endless performances on the front lawn. Toys from another time got a good play. The house was fully explored. Bowls were filled with raspberries.
The days were filled with adventures. We gathered scallop shells at the end of the harbour, we "discovered" two hundred pound huge sunfish trapped by the the weir, The little girls raced their hearts out on the low tide flats at Scott's Bay. We ate lunch at an out door market.
The biggest adventure of all was a hike up the nearby creek with bathing suits and lunches. A friend had cleared an old path along the water, up to a deep swimming hole. We sat down in the speckled light of ash, tamarack, maples and hemlock . A small falls chuckled down into the swimming spot as small falls are meant to do. The water was cold. I, as always, was a temperature wimp. Thankfully the true Nova Scotian bred and born are a stronger sort. They led the little girls into deep water. The kids squealed with the delight of overcoming something new and different and somewhat scary.
The cameras caught most of it, but the pictures that are most important are the ones that were captured in hearts and memories.
The house remains a little lonely. I miss the chaos of it all. Hallmark cards misses the more complicated, intense moments that are part of real family life.
Within days, maybe weeks a new little life will join the clan. As with all babies he will bring joy and chaos. He will be so welcome. We'll discover how a little boy changes our future adventures.
How quiet it is. For two weeks the house was filled with the laughter of big and little girls. My younger daughter's tummy bulges with a little boy. His presence will be welcome. His daddy was caught in a world of whirling estrogen. He did himself proud, but I am sure the presence of a son will do something to even the scales.
What fun we had. No big puzzles were pieced. Hallmark Grandma barely made an appearance. Auntie made some cookies and pies. Mary down the road, by the turn of the river, seems to be always a source of all things good. But Kendie and baking sheets just don't seem to be a go. The adults on the porch watched endless performances on the front lawn. Toys from another time got a good play. The house was fully explored. Bowls were filled with raspberries.
The days were filled with adventures. We gathered scallop shells at the end of the harbour, we "discovered" two hundred pound huge sunfish trapped by the the weir, The little girls raced their hearts out on the low tide flats at Scott's Bay. We ate lunch at an out door market.
The biggest adventure of all was a hike up the nearby creek with bathing suits and lunches. A friend had cleared an old path along the water, up to a deep swimming hole. We sat down in the speckled light of ash, tamarack, maples and hemlock . A small falls chuckled down into the swimming spot as small falls are meant to do. The water was cold. I, as always, was a temperature wimp. Thankfully the true Nova Scotian bred and born are a stronger sort. They led the little girls into deep water. The kids squealed with the delight of overcoming something new and different and somewhat scary.
The cameras caught most of it, but the pictures that are most important are the ones that were captured in hearts and memories.
The house remains a little lonely. I miss the chaos of it all. Hallmark cards misses the more complicated, intense moments that are part of real family life.
Within days, maybe weeks a new little life will join the clan. As with all babies he will bring joy and chaos. He will be so welcome. We'll discover how a little boy changes our future adventures.
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