Wednesday, October 31, 2012


"Behind a painted picket gate
There lived a quilter known as Kate
She had one son, a boy named John,
One daughter whom she doted on.
She had one husband and one house,
One dog, one cat, one little mouse...
And 14,287 pieces of fabric.”

author unknown, but don't you think there could be endless variations?

"Behind a door of weathered pine
There lived a carver known as Kline
He had one son, a boy named John,
One daughter whom he doted on.
He had one wife, one car, one house,
One dog, one cat, one little mouse....
And 14,287 pieces of wood"

Try one yourself.

Thursday, October 25, 2012


"Change comes bearing gifts."

Friday, October 19, 2012

to sing

We awoke to the song of a frog this morning.
In our backyard.
Such a loud voice for such a little creature.
I don't speak frog, but I got the message I think.
Winter is on the way.
It's inevitable.
But Spring will follow.
That's inevitable too.
If you are a frog, and your little frog butt is planted on the cold mud of October, the coming slumber of Winter and the warm breath of Spring are something to sing about indeed.

minor characters

I have been reading A Year With G.K.Chesterton. It is, as the title implies, a book of daily readings to last a whole year long, but I have been unable to put it down. I am not a philosopher and it will likely take me a year to figure out what he is saying at times, but I have found his words filling my thoughts, surrounding me and encouraging me. Single statements have felt like a thunderclap of revelation. His faith was strong and winsome. And what a way with words!

"We must certainly be in a novel;
What I like about the novelist is that he takes
such trouble with his minor characters."


"Everyone on this earth should believe, amid whatever madness or moral failure, that his life and temperament have some object on the earth. Every one on the earth should believe that he has something to give to the world which cannot otherwise be given. Every one should, for the good of men and the saving of his own soul, believe that it is possible, even if we are the enemies of the human race, to be the friends of God."

Tuesday, October 16, 2012


She is here at last.
Loved before seen.
Somehow familiar
but as mysterious as tomorrow.
My tiny granddaughter.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012


We went for an early morning stroll, disappearing into the mist, our vision opening up before us as we walked. The trees were festively strung with spider webs. the sidewalks adorned with leaf confetti. A maple tree, swathed in color and the glistening strands of a large web drew us for a closer look.
"The spider is hiding there." My husband pointed to a folded leaf edge. His finger grazed the web. Instantly, a pompous, paunchy spider rushed out and inspected the spot for damage and retreated just as quickly to its hunters blind.
Quick as a wink.
He looked well fed.
Don't be fooled by the ornaments of Autumn.
The trees are full of hunters.

early start

Early morning, and my daughter and son-in-law heard a little cry of dismay. There it was again followed by the soft sound of distant weeping.
My little grandson was soon discovered grieving a broken pencil lead.
The birthday pencil.
And just when he was going to start drawing too.
The morning before, explaining his early start to the day, he told his father, "I woke up and the sky was still orange and I just couldn't resist the urge to draw."

"I would like to recapture that freshness of vision which is characteristic of extreme youth when all the world is new to it." Henri Matisse

"When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college- that my job was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and said, "You mean they forget?" Howard Ikemoto

a little apathy

Once October settles like a mist, I grow a little apathetic about hanging baskets.
I tend to admire plants that flourish through a bit of benign neglect but the dryness of fall this year has put a strain on some of my plant relationships, ones that I have apparently taken for granted.
While dining last night, my bleary gaze settled on the fuchsia on our deck rail.
I frowned.
Did I hear a distant cough?
The leaves said it all.
Or possibly, "WATER!.....wa..ter...cough."
I was brought to my feet as though by an invisible hand and rushed to the tap.
Pity or guilt? No matter. The fuchsia won't question my motivation.
Perhaps it's true that the opposite of love isn't hate, but apathy.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

four winds

Cast your gaze to the four winds.

kind of music

 Today, heeding the siren call of the sea, I slid into the car and pointed it towards White Rock.
As I pulled onto 8th avenue I felt something strange, that feeling of compressed happiness, the fluttering wings of excitement. By the time I turned onto the shore road, I was smiling.
I hunted for beach glass and waded as the waves swirled and tugged at the beach. All around, gulls rose and settled, rose and settled, their shrill call the perfect background music.
The kind of music that fills the air, and blocks out everything but the sunshine.

happy thanksgiving

Saturday, October 6, 2012


We are waiting, waiting, waiting.

farm fresh

Although we live in town, we are surrounded by farmland. Such a variety of farms too; sprawling berry farms with their towering mansions, hobby farms, fields dotted with llamas and black faced sheep, and horse boarding stables. Of course there are also vineyards and nut groves and pumpkin patches and corn fields......
One of my favourite farms though, is Annie's Orchard. Back in the seventies, the owner worked for the Department of Agriculture in the U.S. When he and his wife moved north to Canada, they brought seedlings for an orchard with them. It was easier in those days to bring that sort of thing into the country. Now, more than three decades later, sturdy apple, pear and plum trees lean towards the sun, their arms entwined. Gravenstein, King, Northern Spy, Bramley, Cox Orange and Belle de Boskoop ripen in the sun.
Those old varieties are heady with scent, crisp, juicy and sweetly tart.
Farm fresh.

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

half the sky

The sky this morning had a split personality.
Half of it was denim blue and brooding and half was the color of a robins egg with frothy clouds. Somewhere, people glanced grimly upwards and clutched their sweater closer.
But not us.
We gazed up into the light of a golden October morning.
Clear and bright or dark and foreboding.
It just depended on which way we looked.
It always does.