Autumn - a time to slow down and notice all of the elements of the Great Composer's works:

Yesterday, as I headed off on my walk down to the river, I slowed my pace and began to take note of all the little wonders around me.  I hadn't put on my 'little boots' in quite a while and it proved very rewarding.   I took deep breaths and filled my lungs with the smells of Autumn; ripening crops, grasses and flowers  ... and fish?    Coming down the path towards me was  an unexpected  wonder - a young mink came barrelling up the path towards me and almost went head over heels making an abrupt stop; I could almost hear his "Whoa!!"    Apparently, he was a regular customer or should I say, recycler, checking out the discarded fish left by fishermen along the bank.    He took a detour around me down the length of the riverbank, stopping every once in awhile to sit up and check me out, and I took time out to just stand and watch him.  I was filled with a special feeling of joy in being noticed by this free spirit.

As I neared our street on the way home, my little boots must still have been showing; coming down the street towards me were three young boys on bicycles, and as they passed me they each in turn held up a hand for a 'high five!'   They were playing a game to see how many of the people they encountered would respond to their invitation.   Once more, I felt a special joy in being included in the play of these free spirits!

Autumn's Call To Rest

The great Conductor

Takes up his baton,

A silence fills the air;

He calls for a rest,

Which is sometimes the best

Of all sounds to a hopeful ear;

Autumn stands at attention,

Mother Nature takes her cue,

As the Great Composer's work takes form,

In colours of every hue,

He begins with a gentle adagio,

Setting the perfect pace,

Stepping up to lead the others,

As the players take their place;

Each element of life comes in

At their appointed time,

Adding their sweet harmony,

To a song of wordless rhyme;

From andante to allegro,

The symphony builds and grows,

In colours and sounds and sights profound,

To crescendo as Nature glows!

And we with our gifts, our colours,

Are invited to take our place,

To stand at attention and listen,

Then to sing with strength and  grace,

And to heed the request,

To wait for the best,

The song is not finished,

But merely at rest.

Nice Ta Meetcha!   - The Power Of A Biscuit!

That's it!  I've Had it!   Time to bake biscuits!

Enough of all of these doom and gloom forecasts, whether political or weather-related;  It's time to bake  some love into some biscuits. Whatever form your biscuits take, whatever your 'knead' may be - let's sit down with a nice cup of tea and take a healing time-out  - calories be darned!

Each time that I recreate my mother-in-law, Joan's wonderful shortbread biscuit recipe, I find myself adding something extra to the mix that might make it even more delicious.  So far the ingredients are coming from Toronto, B.C., Ontario, Quebec, Indonesia, and the U.S.   How exotic is that! 

As I lovingly work the ingredients into small crumbs, on their way to the final mix, I am aware of the dependence of each of them on the others in order to form. These ingredients had never met before today - stayed in their separate cupboards, but once introduced and the more I let them combine and work together, the finer they have become.  My trained ear is hearing them as they compliment each other at great length, with 'Nice ta meetchas' happening all around!

I have now come full circle, contemplating world issues again, but through the lens of a biscuit baker.  We are all part of this wonderful recipe called mankind, and whether we admit it or not, we are all dependent on each other in order to get from crumb to delicious biscuit, to reach our full potential;

 We each have something to offer that no one else can give, but we can't find out what that something is until we start coming out of our cupboards and offering our 'nice ta meetcha's.

 Ah, the zen of the biscuit - may its force be with you!

Home For Remembrance Day

Home for Remembrance Day!

Sometimes our eyes speak louder than our mouths - the ultimate body language.  As I stared into two soft eyes in a picture frame, the voice of a young soldier spoke loud enough that I finally paid attention,  "Please, it is time - I want to go home."

 While visiting an antique shop, years ago, I had purchased a photograph of a very young WWII soldier, beautifully preserved in a handsome oval frame, protected by convex glass.  Not paying so much attention to the picture as to the frame, which I thought I might re-purpose to enhance one of my own oil paintings, I brought it home - and there it stood at the back of a shelf, with a growing assortment of other picture frames.

  It came with us as we moved from our farm in Osgoode to our new home in Prescott six years ago; still just another lovely potential picture border, until a couple of weeks ago.  That's when I decided to stop being so stubbornly selfish, and to start purging some of the 'treasures' that I had squirreled away in my art closet.  I was thinking of passing it along to a local charity sale with some of the other frames, until my husband thankfully intervened and pulled it out of my donation pile.   There I stood once again, staring into brave eyes that were patiently waiting;  I carefully removed the picture from the oval, and there on the back was the name of the soldier: Mr. Alf Root, Lansdowne, Ont. with what I assumed was his war tag number written at the top: 2310.

  With his picture now back in the frame, the hunt is on - I find myself offering to be the legs for this man: I'm walking about - on my computer, trying to find someone who can help identify his family.  So many times, I have gone on extended nostalgic journeys back in time whenever I pull out our own family pictures and albums and hear again our loved ones voices.  I believe that those who have touched our hearts and souls throughout our lives continue to communicate with us, that our spirits go on forever, fellow travellers on our homeward journey.
 Therefore, I will persevere with my walking fingers, and as those eyes keep entreating me, perhaps I can help return this one soldier home, to the arms of one of his own family members for Remembrance Day.   

Go forth - Be Brave, Be Kind.

It was just a bottle of ginger ale, but I keep the memory of it in a very special room in my mind - the one that holds my small acts of bravery.

My mother passed away a few years ago now; One day, as I was leaving the hospital room where she spent an unfortunate part of her last years, I listened to a conversation taking place between a male nurse and the patient in the bed next to Mom's.  That lady's illness had affected her personality and she had become very difficult to deal with.  She was demanding a drink of ginger ale, which the poor nurse did not have access to.  As I got into the elevator and headed downstairs, I heard that voice in my heart speaking up: "A ginger ale from the machine downstairs would make two people happy right now - that  distressed patient, and the nurse who was trying to cope with more patients than he should have had to handle."   I fought my way past the cowardly voice of 'It's not your problem, Edie', and for the minimal price of $1.00, I turned around and brought that struggling lady, and the surprised, grateful nurse a gift - a bright shiny bottle of ginger ale!

It takes courage to perform an act of kindness, even one as small as the gift of a bottle of ginger ale.   The rewards go far beyond the immediate action - I can still feel the effervescent bubbles that welled up inside of me, causing me to thank God for allowing me to help someone even in this small way.  They carried me, and made my footsteps a lot lighter than they had been when I left Mom's bedside - The real gift was actually given to me.

Borrowing a line from Cinderella's mother:  'Have courage and Be kind'!

Putting A Spring In My 'To Do' List!

The water on the cover of our pool is now ice-free and sparkling in the sunshine- I'm waiting for our yearly visit by the two mallard ducks who think it is some sort of an inviting pond!  I always look forward to them, as I do the neat, feathered little beacons of hope that visit our bird feeder - a compliment to our humble hospitality. 

 It's nice to feel that Spring sunshine pouring into my thoughts and jogging them into positive action.  Everything is starting to come alive again out there, in the great outdoors, and in here, in the 'struggling to be positive' indoors of my mind.  My inner to-do list was starting to grow out of control before Spring was even officially here, and now I am having yet another think about that list:

  Two of our good neighbours have just recently had to leave their homes and accept the reality of a very different life in hospital -  a reminder that changes in our lives can happen quite abruptly, mocking the to-do list still sitting on the tables of our mind.  If those good people had to re-write their lists, I'm sure that yard and housework would be moved down in priority by a huge drop, replaced by taking one more hour to sit outside under the trees and listen to the sounds of life happening around them; one more cup of tea or coffee with family and friends, another chance to choose their own music to listen to, and one more dance with a spouse, child, or grandchild.

I've written this wish list for them:

One more dance,

One more song,

Some happy steps,

On feet, still strong;

One more day,

One more hour

To hear a bird,

To smell a flower;

To find within,

A child's pure heart

To light my path

Before we part,

And please, dear Lord,

A friendly smile,

To take with me

On my last mile.

The Power Of A Quilt!

I know I wasn't feeling cold last night - perhaps it's the onset of Fall weather, and the promise of Winter, with all of its uncertainties, but I awoke at  3am, thinking about the multi-coloured crazy quilt that used to cover Mom & Dad's bed so many years ago.   I can remember sitting on that quilt with my sisters and playing travelling games on the beautiful landscape that we saw there; so many vibrant colours and textures - it fuelled our young imaginations!   I began wondering who had stitched that quilt - where all of the patches had originated - what clothing had been transformed.   As I wrapped myself in that warm memory, my older imagination kicked in and, lost in contemplation, I wrote the following poem:

My Crazy Quilt

Memories fade, and friends move on,

But in my heart they're bound;

I've pulled them into my crazy quilt

And stitched them all around.

I've pricked my finger many times,

But I soon forget the pain,

For my crazy quilt is a wondrous quilt,

That can never be made again.

I pull it 'round me every night

And I feel the love that's there,

All stitched up in my crazy quilt,

Each friend, a colour rare.

I've  travelled tracks, this way and that,

All up and down my life,

Those crooked stitches, funny patches,

Daughter, mother, wife.

My fingers trace the criss-cross path

That joins each memory,

And I wonder at the landscape fair

That my life has come to be.

As I live each day, I'll find a way

To gather patches new,

I'll pull them into my crazy quilt,

And I'll stitch them carefully too.

When the world seems scary, dark and dim,

I won't despair or moan,

For I'll feel the warmth of my crazy quilt,

And know I'm not alone.

Drop That Rock!

Drop That Rock!

Why are you hanging on to that hard old rock? 

Why not jump into my beautiful canoe!

To be fear-bound is like being stranded on a hard, unforgiving, cold and dismal rock, in the middle of a beautiful sea.  Fish and birds are dipping and diving and singing all around, but you cannot join their voices or play because you are afraid to fall off of the rock.   Your fingers are cracked and bleeding from hanging on so tightly, your eyes are closed shut against the light, and your voice is non-existent - it has been crying out for help for so long that it no longer has any sound. 

So why not loosen your grip, one finger at a time, and let those fingers feel the water - The water is healing and warm, and hope begins to dawn.   There is a beautiful canoe a few feet from the rock - complete with paddles!  Hope grows a little stronger; the wind calms, and a light current pushes the canoe closer and closer - You step into the water and feel its energy surround you; the canoe is at your side - hope wins - as you step in.

In my little meditation, the rock and canoe represent our spirit's struggle to stay locked up or to go, to give up or to flow.
I love the following quote from one of my little 'Friendship' books (a very helpful paddle),   "It is true that there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea."(Vincent Van Gogh) 'You might have good days and bad but, just like the sea, you will always be you.  And that is wonderful.'

'Be brave, Humphrey!'  It's time to let go of that stress-o-matic clump of woe!  Grab your paddle, whether it's in the form of a good friend, a pen, dancing shoes, guitar, something that represents hope to you, and watch your ripples start to flow - step away from the rock and find your song! 

 

Little Building

 

When you die, "You can only take with you that which you give away."  This quote from the Catholic saint, St. Lawrence, popped into my head this week and gave me pause to reflect.  It seemed to strike a stronger chord as recent life events have taken loved ones from us, some prematurely, some beautifully fulfilled, and others violently. Giving takes courage; It is not always easy to put our loving intentions out there, and to risk being rejected by another - 'Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.' - or of being fed on by another.  It is much easier to put money into a donation box and then disappear into anonymity than to challenge our fears and commit to a face to face interaction with a fellow traveller in this life, who has fallen on hard times.

If I only have a little

But, I offer you a little

Of my little, then it’s bigger by one.

If we each take a little

Of the little that we have,

And share it with another who has none,

We would each have a little,

And that little would get bigger

Each time that it helps someone,

And little by little, we would all grow bigger,

Till our little building work is done.

 

The above poem that I wrote is entitled, 'Little Building' - one of a group of poems that will eventually make up my fourth children's book, "How To Patch A Puddle" .

Life is lived in little moments:  What a long, love-filled life this would be If we gave until we had nothing left to give, for the giver always receives something back in return.   I am not talking about material giving - that is certainly valuable, but it is not the best of what we have to offer;  Our most valuable resources are contained within our individual, private treasure chests - chests that hold our smiles, our kind words, our encouragement, the gifts of our precious moments. These are resources that we have in abundance and that have the potential to give us all a return of the true wealth that comes from building understanding and hope. 

 The instruction manual for opening that 'hope chest' reads:

1.  Click on the 'Courage' icon.

2.  Smile!

3.  Encourage others.

Best Before Date:  NOW!

 

You are the only 'you' there will ever be:

May you give as long as you live, and may love be in all of your giving,

May you feel great joy in your living, joy that will grow with each giving;

Don't  dwell on the size of the gift, just one little smile aids forgiving,

And may your bags weigh a great loving ton,

When your 'little building' work is done!