Friday: A Changeable Day in May

 

This morning I walked to the library to exchange books. A few blocks along I realized I'd forgotten to tuck a mask into my pocket, so I returned home. While there I also changed my jacket for the wind was sharp and chill. On the way home I took a slight detour along the Bog - a wonderful park area in the midst of suburbia. Those dramatic skies held their water until I got home and then let loose with hail and lashing rain. 

The song of Redwing Blackbirds filled the air. Bright flashes of red show when the birds fly, and they always seem to elude my camera. This one was on the path just in front of me and stayed long enough for me to get this shot. 

After the rain and hail the sun came out, diffusing warm light in the garden. Wild violets are somewhat invasive, but they have restricted themselves to just one area of the garden so far, so I let them be. 

This weekend I'm looking forward to spending some time with this magazine. After my long walk this morning (about 4 miles in all), I sewed during the afternoon, working on projects that need to be finished before I begin others. I have a couple of lap quilts to get to the long-arm quilter, a baby quilt to bind by hand, and a small doll quilt to quilt and bind by hand. I enjoy the hand stitching and don't find it at all tiresome. 

We've been enjoying the fresh salads from the garden with spinach, radishes, and herbs. A squeeze of lemon juice, a drizzle of olive oil, and some salt and pepper are all that is needed to dress this produce. 

This weekend is Mother's Day - Covid-style once again. Contact with family will be minimal at best. Tim and I are planning a walk around Butchart Gardens on Sunday. I am so thankful for my own mother, and for all she is to me and the rest of her family. From her I learned to keep house, cook, sew, and love. She's a perfectionist and what she does is very well done. There have been many challenges in her life, especially early on, but she has demonstrated grace and faith throughout. 

Happy Mother's Day to those who will celebrate this weekend. 

Things Beautiful and Practical

View from the breakfast table. The fig tree is sprouting leaves and I think that they look like enormous butterflies ready to lift off and fly away. 

They stretch eagerly towards the light. This corner of the world, and our garden in particular, is full of life and the promise of things to come. Some days, especially when the sky is blue and the sun warm on my back, I ache with the beauty of it.

The friendly wisteria vine that grew in through the hedge from the neighbour's garden is thriving. 

It has latched onto the garden shed and we're training it to go where we want it, across the front of the roof. So far it's cooperating beautifully. The slightest stirring of air sends sweet fragrance through the garden. 

How do you store your food containers? I kept mine in a set of double lower cabinets, but found that I only used the ones in the front because reaching to the back was such a chore. Some day we'll redo our cabinets, but for now, Tim installed drawers behind the cabinet doors. It took a couple of evenings and he had most of the supplies already in his shop. I'm loving the ease of access and how organized it all is. A great gift!  

Today was Mother's Day. We celebrated with a brunch after church. This bunch of tiny creamy roses was one gift, and 

a succulent in a French-inspired pot along with some chocolates another. There's also a hanging pot of fuschias on the front porch.

Miss A made this delightful pipe-cleaner portrait of her Nana, from Nana's favourite colour, blue (also Miss A's favourite). It makes me giggle to look at it. So very cute.

Linking with Mosaic Monday, hosted by Maggie of Normandy Life. 

A Ramble Through My Mazy Mind

I once read an essay that categorized essays as rambles through an author's mazy mind. Hence the title of my post. Many essayists manage to wander around and yet arrive at some clear conclusion. This post is less of an essay and more of a ramble.

This evening I took a walk through the neighbourhood. Delightful smells of freshly cut grass mingled with sweet lilacs. Rain is in the forecast and I think everyone is cutting their lawns beforehand. We did ours last night. Tim does the trimming and I mow until he's finished trimming, by which time I'm happy to relinquish the mower as I will have arrived at the steepest part of the back lawn. 

I'm listening to the sounds of Tim retrofitting drawers into a set of kitchen cabinets. Some day we'll redo the kitchen, but I get so frustrated with the storage of small containers. I've tried baskets, but one can only reach so far into bottom cabinets without crouching right down and crawling halfway in. I'm thankful for a talented and hard-working husband. 

I'm also thankful for good friends, and a lovely Sunday afternoon of boating. We gathered at the boat launch and set our heading to Salt Spring Island for a late lunch. Being out on the water tends to make us forget about life on land for a few hours. We sleep very well after a boating trip, except that I tend to feel the motion of the boat when I close my eyes. The room seems to be going back and forth, just a little. 

I'm thinking about Mother's Day this Sunday. Did you know that Anna Jarvis, the originator of this day to honour mothers, regretted ever coming up with the idea? She was horrified at the way a simple celebration had been hijacked by the floral and card industries. 

Be that as it may, I'm very thankful for my mother and her love, guidance, and example. My mother-in-law is also wonderful. I'm thankful for the opportunity I've had to become a mother, and now a grandmother.

But I know of many women for whom this day is agony. Some have longed for children and have not been given any. Others wait in cycles of hope and disappointment. In the past couple of years, our eldest daughter and her husband have lost four little heartbeats, now safe in heaven. It's hard. We are all thankful for the little girl they do have, but the loss of the others aches still and there are times when I am overwhelmed with grief. 

We will celebrate Mother's Day with joy. Our three grandchildren will fill our gathering with exuberant delight. I am overjoyed when I spend time with them. But I will also be conscious of those for whom this day is difficult, and my thoughts will be filled with tenderness for them.

I'm looking at this bouquet of flowers, picked from my garden last night. Cornflowers, a few last tulips, Bluebells, Candy Tuft, and Lemon Balm.

I'm planning to pick some rhubarb tomorrow. Shall I make a rhubarb cheesecake bars, or just stew it to serve over ice cream? Decisions, decisions. Which would you choose?    

What do the flowers say?

Early on a Sunday morning in May, a small boy climbs the hill behind his house. His mission: to collect a bouquet of bluebells for his mother. The small boy grew to be a young man and every year he gathered bluebells for his mother on Mother's Day. That young man became my son-in-law. This custom of his has always touched me.

The bluebells are long gone this year, as are the daffodils and tulips. Lilacs are on the wane and the first peony is opening in my garden. The hydrangea bush received 12 years ago on my first Mother's Day back in Canada is forming tight buds, but it will be awhile before it blooms.

Still there will be flowers for Mother's Day, whether gathered in the wild, picked from a garden, purchased at a florist shop, or sent virtually in a card or email.

What do the flowers say? I love you. You are precious to me. I value your role in my life. You gave me life and taught me how to live. 

For some, becoming a mother was easy, for others an arduous process of years of hope, tears, and longing. For some, the longing is never fulfilled. My daughter wrote eloquently about her own mothering journey and at the end of her post urges kindness in the midst of celebration. I can only echo her words, as I, too, struggled with becoming a mother. 

Celebration. Love. Thoughtfulness. Gratitude. Kindness. Good concepts that mothers teach their children. Let's not forget the lessons. Give flowers that speak without words, deep from the heart.