It sometimes feels like a marathon . . .

We as human beings carry out some very strange rituals in the name of preserving tradition, even though these practices may leave us spent, tired and craving some alone time after they have passed for another year. How I love Christmas and the lead up to the days of family gatherings, friends, food and laughter as we catch up with one another in person from our various homes, nearby and provinces away! I revel in making our home a welcoming place by cleaning, re-arranging and decorating its rooms for the yuletide times so that Jules comes home from work each night in December wondering what else I have strewn with lights, boughs and baubles. She smilingly approves and tells me how nice it looks, and I know she is sincere, for it is not this part of the celebrations that either of us find taxing.


Where things get tricky is the part where we are invited out or we invite others in. Is it my age or am I just becoming less inclined to socialize? The cast of characters remains pretty stable - old friends, neighbours, siblings, cousins and children. Jules is not a big fan of crowds and noise. She loves these people but in small doses, and if there's something about Christmas that is troublesome to her, it would be large, loud gatherings with voices raised above music, hockey games, and calling from one room (or storey, for that matter) to another to round up the crew to get going. This is why either one of us gets a "by" if we need it on occasion. We have an agreement that she or I can be excused from play if we have simply had our fill. How I love the way this works! Now and then, we both send our regrets because we are double-booked, or just want to stay home, on our own in our comfortable nest that time.


We are such creatures of habit within our own domain, all of us. For the first time this year, our home was occupied not just by us, but for a couple of days and nights by our son, his partner and three awesome young people. The other 357 (give or take!) days of the year, we are free to walk around in our pjs and not lock the bathroom door. Now there are seven people wanting the shower . . . Add to it Christmas gifts for four more people, two adorable and well-behaved Golden Retrievers, meals, snacks and drinks at all hours, and there is disruption however brief. We not only survived, but had a wonderful time together!

Some miraculous transformation has come over me in the past few years around this time of holiday joy. Where I once would have stressed and fretted about every tiny detail, I am now much more sanguine and relaxed. Not very single dog hair needs to be removed from every surface. Dogs live here. There are three varieties of cookies, not eight. Adjust. The tree has blue and silver and hot pink shatterproof ornaments and a kitten sleeping in it. Yaaaaay!


I loved the hive of activity at our home from the 23rd to 25th with the arrival of our little family from The Passage. My heart was so full when after dinner on the night they came, all of us were tucked into our beds for the night, under this roof where my own parents made so many wonderful Christmas memories for us. Christmas Eve was so nice with friends and family at our open house for gentle snowfall and the brass band and carolers. We broke tradition and opened our presents after the guests had left, leaving stockings for morning and then brunch before they had to leave for home and other celebrations.

Blended families have some extra pressure to share time with the former spouses and other families and we're not alone in this, as that same scenario plays out in our siblings' homes as well. Somehow we manage all the roadtrips and dinners and get the precious hours together with those we love. Christmas dinner and gifts in Upper Granville, Boxing Day at brother Number One's, the following night at Susie P's, New Year's Day at TNTZ's. Hugs and kisses. Peals of laughter. Go, go, go.

Give me the noise, confusion and people time every year - full on. We are very blessed. Sometimes the holidays are like a marathon, but it is so worth it!

"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."

Albert Camus had a great point. Besides the colours of the hardwood trees, September has always felt like a beginning to me rather than an ending. From age five until age 54, with one exception, the end of August meant starting back to school for me . . . elementary, junior high and high school, university . . . and then a career in teaching for over thirty years. New pens and paper, cooler nights for sleeping, a mist over the fields as the sun burned off the dew or frost are all things that make autumn my favorite. 

Don't mistake me here. I love summer days with the warm sun on my face as I work outside in the yard or drive over the highways and byways with the top down on the car. I treasure the evenings when darkness doesn't fall until almost ten, when we can sit on the patio with friends and wine in that most contented peace that summertime gatherings bring. 

Much is new around here. Our son is in a wonderful relationship and his happiness is palpable. His beloved has an adult offspring and two "mediums", as we refer to her 11 and 13 year-olds. Instant family and co-habitation all over the course of three months makes for major change, but it seems to be all positive and this is all I could ever want for him - his happiness. I could not have handpicked a more fitting partner for him, and I confess to loving the role of grandmother to two well-adjusted, intelligent, loving young people. Q is a hockey dad now - isn't that something? Rink runs, tryouts and practices are on his resume now! We look forward to their visits when they get here to our place; everyone was immediately at home after the first stayover. 

If hard work and determination make dreams come true, Q and M and family will be leaving Eastern Passage and moving to the Valley in just a couple of years. They do dream. Their ideal home would be on a small farm in the country with a few animals and crops on which to sustain their family healthily on whole foods and fresh air. Every country road we drive down now finds us looking at real estate signs for just such places! 


















And my wife and I have begun again as we make a forever home for little Isabella, our six-month old black and white rescue kitten as well. She came into our lives just when we needed her most, two weeks after Julie's beloved Maggie, age 23, crossed over. Our sense of loss was so great, especially Julie's. Maggie had been in her life all those years, just one year short of the brief time she had with her own dear mother who died tragically at age 54. Maggie, our dowager empress, "set the clock" for us each day with her routine -  kisses and licks and up at six for breakfast, waiting for Julie all day to come home and feed her at six in the evening, then escorting us to bed and her ten o'clock "bed lunch". She always slept on Julie's pillow, head cradled in a loving hand. The void left by her absence was unbearable. Things were off . . . it was so quiet. Our other three cats and the dogs seemed confused and depressed. 


It's strange how things happen. Some people say there are no coincidences. I'll leave this one to you. 


Saturday of Labour Day weekend found us in Halifax, at the Seaport Farmers' Market in the morning, then to lunch and later at the Halifax Shopping Centre where Julie wanted to go try on some running shoes at Coast Mountain Equipment. In we went, with the intention of looking there and getting on the road home. A few try-ons later, Jules was not satisfied that the shoes in stock were the exact right ones. She asked me if I wanted to go into the mall and just look around, and I replied with a half-hearted "Sure." 


We hadn't taken fifteen steps when we saw them. Kittens.


There was a kiosk there, one that organizations rent for charitable causes and fundraisers. A gaggle of young girls was gathered around while the volunteers let them pet the fluffy little bundles of cat . . . Awwww.

Then, simultaneously, we saw her. An elegant, slim young cat with a triangular head and big ears, as white as fine china with some black markings on her head and sides, and tail! Two perfect beauty spots on her small pink nose. She was in a little red harness on a long lead and she was prancing around as if that were her daily ritual, head up and curious. She walked on her lead into the closest shop (La Senza!) as if to say, "I'm just going to duck in here and pick up a few lacy things . . ." We were smitten.


Conversation with the lead volunteer, Marilyn, revealed that this was ca-r-ma.org, CAt Rescue MAritimes, a trap-neuter-return organization which finds foster homes and then permanent homes if possible for stray, abandoned, and feral cats in NS and NB. For a minimum donation of $100 to help them continue their work, we could be considered for a permanent placement for the beautiful Isabella, who was found with her three siblings in the Burnside Industrial Park. We knew the moment we saw her, touched her, interacted with her, that we loved her. But off we went to "talk about it" anyway. 


There was nothing to talk about beyond whether our other pets accept her. We could only bring her in and try things out, but would they let us breach protocol and take her home that very day? We had told them of our home with its menagerie and our veterinary connections. We could only hope that they would see how much we loved our pet family and allow her to return to the Valley with us. Within the hour, a small cat carrier with Isabella tucked inside was by my feet in the car and she was coming home!


Suffice it to say that our animal family has accepted her into their midst, if not 100% joyfully (Ronnie Moody has some (h)issues), then with benign disregard. Feebee thinks Izzy is her puppy and washes her, chases her and has won her over. Dickens loves her, too. Everyone else just seems to say, "Well, looks like she's staying," and carries on. Julie calls this sleek little package her heart medicine and sure enough, she has helped soothe the ache and fill our moments with chuckles and surprises of the best kind.

And, in many ways, it feels like spring . . .

Summer is an "in the moment" time

It's so easy for me to neglect something like my blog when the days are sunny and my garden, friends, dogs and the road all beckon. Oh, I'm writing bits and parts of stories almost everyday, but nothing seems to compel me to just sit and write until the point where I can allow a piece to go public. Good thing I don't have deadlines, eh? Sure, there are plans -- out of town company coming some weekends, a party here, a music weekend in the cards, family gatherings, but somehow there's a flexibility about all those things in the summer as well . . .

Summertime is when I love to open my eyes to the cool white world that is our bedroom; I love white bedding in the sultry months of July and August. It always feels fresher to slide into white percale sheets and rest my head on an uncreased pillowcase of snowy smoothness.  White embroidered cotton lawn nightgowns of whisper fine weight give slumbers filled with gentle dreams. 


The breeze moves the curtains ever so softly and I turn over once or twice more before actually arising. My Best Beloved is out the door and off to work by 7:15 and the house is silent, with only the soft breathing of the dogs and cats, and happy birdsong outside the window to interrupt my reverie. If I'm very still, I can hear the burbling of the waterfall in our fish ponds as it tumbles down across the mossy granite lintels and swirls into the lower pond where the koi and goldfish swim gracefully in the morning cool.


Coffee tastes so much better on the front veranda with its vista of our lush front garden, and I relish the privacy afforded by the shrubs and vines we planted which conceal our little sitting area from the street. Baskets of begonias and fuchsia cascade from above my head in the shade there, and hosta, dogwood, Japanese maple, mock orange, magnolia, spirea, Arctic Kiwi vine and butterfly bushes share their myriad greens with me. I take a bite of the freshest raisin bread toast and sigh. A bowl of sliced crimson strawberries is warming slightly in the sun on the teak table. We are trying to eat a quart everyday during this season when they are local and at their delectable freshest. 


Summer days just feel timeless, and any work I undertake seems less like effort as the sun beams down and the breezes move the branches of the stately oaks, maples and pines that ring the back yard where we are so fortunate to live, side by side with good neighbours. Even weeding and mowing fill me with a sense of connectedness and care of the earth and of improving the aesthetic, however roughly. Nothing here, you see, is perfectly manicured, pruned and shaped, but rather placed by good luck and hope rather than following any gardening books or manuals to the letter. Bugs and slugs live cheek by jowl with raccoons and birds who will soon ravage the cherry trees for their red bounty, and have already chewed holes in some of Best Beloved's bok choy. The lawn has its share of weeds, but when mowed, it is green and healthy-looking. I can play in my gardens for hours on end and must be reminded to take water breaks and come in for lunch, much as it was, as I remember, playing outside as a child with our mom calling for us. We were pretty hesitant about missing much of our outdoors time for trivial things such as sustenance!


An afternoon nap? Well, that's never amiss either. Other matters can wait while I spread out a quilt under a tree, or curl back up on the rattan loveseat on the veranda with a magazine and pillow. Worries and plans can rest too, I have found. 


Meals are simple, cold and fresh -- meat or fish have an equal footing with all of the fresh July vegetables coming on now -- bunch carrots, new potatoes, sugar snap peas, Swiss chard, spinach and asparagus abound. Salads and light soups, berries and other easy dishes are put together thoughtfully, garnished with herbs from our own patch, and consumed with mindful gratitude for the earth's bounty. Is there anything better than Nova Scotia farms and gardens for summer's culinary delights?

As always, no matter where I am in this wonderful world, my favorite time of day is late afternoon and early evening as the sun is making its way back down toward the horizon, and the shadows lie long in the fields and forests. Summer days last way into the evening hours, and the world is a golden-hued embrace as the blue of the sky deepens and streaks of mauve, orange and pink appear over the western heavens. Nowhere is this better appreciated than along the Bay of Fundy shore from atop the rocks or on the beach, or from a brightly-coloured Adirondack on a cottage deck as the cool of evening chases away the swelter of the thirty degree day. 


Why would anyone rush through any day, let alone a perfect one in summer?