Tuesday, April 15, 2014

104. I Love ... Rocks

I didn't used to.
That sounds funny.
But I didn't.

I didn't give them any thought,
one way or another.

Then Newfoundland came into our lives.
The Rock.
It is.

And it's absolutely fascinating -
the formations,
the different colours,
the artfulness.

The first rock I fell for in Newfoundland
was on the site of 'Random Passage'
in New Bonaventure.

It was a long walk in,
too long for Brian so he waited patiently
at the car for me.
Along the way I spied a cool rock.
I didn't want to lug it around all that time
so I set it aside
with the intention of picking it up on the way back;
sure that I would remember
where I put it.
I wasn't leaving without it 
and spent far too long locating it again,
but I did.

And now,
every time I go to Callahan Cove
I return with a rock.
A little boy out there once questioned me
with great concern
'WHY do you have ROCKS in your kitchen?'

Because I Love Rocks I told him.
He said I was weird.

Monday, April 14, 2014

103. I Love .... memorable meals.

They don't have to be fancy.
At all.

It can be the simplest thing,
but it can be etched
into my senses.

The smell, the taste, the sound,
the ambiance, the people.

I often remember a trip
or a time
by 'where we ate'.
It goes like ...
'THAT was the time we ate at ....
or 'had the ....'

I was amazed to learn that both Brian and I
have the same 
'Most Memorable Meal'.
We have eaten a LOT of meals
in the 43 years we've been together.
A lot of great meals.

It was in 1975
on a table set up in a lady's livingroom
in a tiny apartment that overlooked
the square in a tiny village in Jamacia.
I can't even remember the name of it,
but I can see it,
and I can smell it and taste it.

It was not a restaurant, it was her home.
We had to order our meal the day before
and she went to the market and bought the stuff
and cooked it up in her tiny kitchen.
The table was the size of a card table.
Her two little children,
about six and eight,
served the food.
I had flying fish
and never have I tasted or appreciated
anything better.

A memorable meal
does not have to be in a fancy restaurant,
with a fancy chef.
It just has to be

Sunday, April 13, 2014

102. I Love ... our little hollow.

Back when I spent a lot of time
in the Outside World,
which I actually don't anymore;
I used to have a
physically 'lightened' feeling
when I approached
our little hollow;
our little dip in the road.

It was as if every single thing
slowed down;
as if I was entering 
a zone.
As if I was a bird
flying into a nest.

It's as if the trees
that run the length of our property,
are a sentry
to the chaos and uncertainty 
of the world.

we create our own chaos
within this perimeter.
As in Life 
it is not always sunshine and roses,
but there is still a safety and comfort.
A spot to breathe.
A spot to hide
if need be.

When I am away,
whether it is for a few days or weeks
or even a few hours,
there is a 
when I enter
Home Zone.

Saturday, April 12, 2014

101. I Love ... a Hug

I'm a Hugger.
I can't help it.

It's just a natural reaction
to want to embrace someone
I care about.

I love 
to throw my arms around
a friend,
my grandbabes,
my children.

I love
when someone 
does the same to me.

A hug
is a language -

A transfer of
 without words.

Friday, April 11, 2014

100. I Love ... my Locket

It was a gift for our third anniversary,
a gold chain with 
a gold heart locket
that opens.

It is
without a doubt
my favourite piece of jewellery.

I wear it constantly.
It has seldom left my neck
in 37 years.
On the rare occasion that I have removed it
to wear something else because it 'goes',
I feel naked.

On our 25th Anniversary, 
Brian gave me a gold chain with a diamond,
and to be honest,
I thought ... why?
What a waste - I won't wear it - 
I only want my locket.
I lost the diamond and chain.
I think it was inevitable
because I needed to get my locket back 
where it belonged.

Every one of my children,
every one of my grandchildren ...
ten little people
whose eyes have gone directly to that spot
from the minute they could focus,
whose tiny hands have reached for it -
that is what that locket is to me.

The chain has been repaired more than once
because they use it as a handle,
they grab hold and pull.

And every one of them has asked me to
'Open It'.
And every one has been concerned 
that there is nothing in it.

I tell them -
'there IS'.

I tell them it is FULL.
It is my magic heart
with unending room for

Thursday, April 10, 2014

99. I Love ... an eloquently written book.

I am totally in awe
of what some heads and hearts
can do with the written word.

I love
to read words
that have been put together
so eloquently,
so gracefully,
it is like a musical instrument
is being played;
it is like a picture is being painted
where colour and texture
transforms a blank page.

I will read a line over
and wonder
how they were able to put
words together
like that.

It is often not the story
that grips me,
makes me value and appreciate
the novel or essay,
but the words themselves,
so finely crafted
that they etch their way into
my heart,
my soul,
my memory.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014

98. I Love ... an organized Studio

Oh man,
I make a mess when I'm creating.
I pull out everything.
Paints, tools, glue, fabric, wire, wood
needles, pencils, embellishments.
Everything I make takes a LOT of
and I get it ALL out at once.

My studio looks like,
as my Mother used to say -
'a cyclone hit it'.

Before I get into a new project,
I take a few hours and re-group.
I put everything back where it belongs.
And as I do, I say -
sometimes even out loud -
'a place for everything';
I don't need to say the rest ...
'and everything in its place'.

I am actually well organized
when I take the time to be.

As I put it all back
in its place;
I always, always
something unexpected,
something very cool,
something I had forgotten
all about.

most often becomes
 the catalyst,
the seed
that starts the next

Being able
to see what you have
can do that.

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

97. I Love ... finding money in my pocket.

How cool is it
to slip your hand into the pocket
of something that you haven't worn in awhile,
and find a bill.

Change is okay 
if it's some loonies or toonies,
but a Bill!

You slip your hand in and immediately know
that feel of folded money.
that's how I generally fold my bills,
although the new ones are 
more difficult to fold.
I don't have much experience with
finding them in my pocket 

I slip my hand into my pocket 
and feel it ....
What will it be?
If it's a twenty ... bonus!

Found money.
Love it!

Monday, April 7, 2014

96. I Love ... that I was born a Woman.

I've seen and heard and read
about so many places in the world
that being a woman
would be a difficult burden;
where girls are not valued
or cherished
or protected.
Where they have no rights,
no freedom,
no opportunity.

I am so blessed to be a

I am able,
to live the life that I choose.

There is still fussing about 
gender discrimination
and glass ceilings for women.
That is not in my world.

In my world
I am just a regular person
with the bonus
that I was able to
carry a child,
to give birth,
to have the latitude in society
to go out and work
or stay home.

Any obstacles to that,
in my world,
have been totally self imposed.

It is a wonderful thing to be a woman
in my world;
to come and go;
to plan and dream;
to create.

To create the world that I want.

Sunday, April 6, 2014

95. I Love ... the Sunday newspaper

I have a Sunday ritual that 
I love.

A friend of Brian's comes to pick him up
every Sunday morning.
It's their thing.
They do it Saturday too -
thier boyish 'missions'.

Sunday though,
he brings me the 
"Sunday Star".

I make a second cup of coffee
and I go through every page of that paper;
except for the Sports.

The Saturday Star is immense,
80% of it stuff that I have no interest in -
houses, cars, jobs, GTA, 
advertising for businesses in the big city,
the biggest honkin' paper
that can start the woodstove for a week.

Sunday though,
it's a more manageable.
Good reading.
Entertainment, book reveiws, world news,
well written articles,
the insert of the New York Times.

It's a major treat for me,
to take the time
with my coffee and paper.
Totally, totally
than screen time.

It's my Sunday thing to do.

Saturday, April 5, 2014

94. I Love ... aprons.

Funny that I've never worn one
considering the fact
I really do
love them.

When I see someone with an apron on,
I think of my Mom.
The absolute only time she was 
without one
was going to Church
or to town.
Around the house it was her 

It's a shame they went out of 
They can actually be
very creative, 
a personal fashion statement.

You can tell something about someone
by the colour and style.
A painter's apron,
a carpenter's apron,
a baker's apron.

Every once in a while
I think of it ...
that I should make me one.
And wear it.

I should.

Friday, April 4, 2014

93. I Love ... the first day you can open the windows.

If you've never lived
in a 4 seasons climate
you couldn't possible
how that feels.

Months and months
of being caged in.
No air movement.
Oil furnace.
Wood stove.

That first day 
when you can open the windows
and let the fresh air in...

And get out all the cleaning stuff
and happily remove
that layer of
winter grime.

Clean windows.
Clean everything.

I love it.

Thursday, April 3, 2014

92. I Love ... dragonflies.

You wouldn't think I would.
You wouldn't think anyone would,

They're ugly.
And they're kind of scarey.

in Newfoundland they call them
Horse Stingers.
They really are afraid of them.

They look menacing
but they really aren't.

They don't swarm at you
like irritating bugs.
They are difficult to catch,

Close up,
they are so complex
that the ugliness is not,
it is actually fascinating.

One of my most memorable mornings
was breakfast at the lighthouse
on Ship Island.
Dozens and dozens of dragonflies -
more than I had ever seen in my life ...
doing what?
They don't flit like a butterfly,
they don't buzz like a bee,
they don't zoom or zip.
Flying sounds too common, too straight
 for what they actually do.
that's the word I suppose,
even though it's not a word.

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

91. I Love ... the smell of fresh cut hay.

It takes me back.
to my childhood.

It takes me back
to the farm,
to the horses,
to my Dad.

It takes me back
to our kitchen;
figuring out after lunch
whether it would be dry enough 
to bale.

Standing on the hay wagon,
trying to keep my balance,
grabbing and dragging
heavy, prickly bales.
Pretending at twelve years old,
that I was strong to lift them.
I was.
Only for the first three rows.

And then I'd drive the tractor,
having to stand up
with all my weight,
to get the clutch in.

Riding the bumpy, squeaking wagon - 
bouncing on the hard wood on the way there,
riding high on the load on the way back.

When I drive by a field now
and smell fresh cut hay,
it all comes back -
a whiff of the past.

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

90. I Love ... jackets.

I am a jacket person.
Always have been.

I have no idea
whether they are in or out
of style.
They are MY style.

I just don't feel 
unless I slip on a jacket.

It's hard for me to get rid of them
even if they are 
shouting out the date
that they came to live with me.

Styles change and I will buy new ones,
but I have a tough time 
letting go
of the other guys.

I still have my pink, blocky jacket that
I bought at Macy's in New York City in
Seriously, I do.

A dozen times I have put it in the
discard bag,
and for some strange and unknown reason
I pull it out again.

I have no delusions that it will ever come back
into style.
And it's too tired and faded anyway,
but I can't let it go.

Monday, March 31, 2014

89. I Love ... the Hand Sewn.

I have things
that have been stitched 
by the hands of 
my mother,
my grandmother,
my children's great-great-great grandmother
and my adopted Nan from Newfoundland.

I hold them.
I touch them.

I wonder what they were thinking about
as they sat and worked away.
I wonder where they were sitting.
I wonder whether they enjoyed doing it
as much as I do.
Whether it was a respite from the 
hard work of the day
or something to fill vacant hours.

I cherish
that every single stitch
exists because of 
their hands.

I envision them,
sitting quietly,
infusing that creation
with their hours,
their energy,
their spirit
and their enduring love.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

88. I Love .... hand sewing.

It can actually get me
out of bed,
early and enthusiastically,
to think that I have some
hand sewing
waiting for me.

I find it 
relaxing, meditative.

You can quietly accomplish something,
with so little.
So little materials and tools,
so little fuss and mess,
so little movement and activity.

I sit quietly
with music
or my books
or my thoughts.

I work away
and stitch by single stitch,
something is

Saturday, March 29, 2014

87. I Love ... camping

I used to not.

Love it, that is - or even Like it.

I loved it as a teenager.

We bought a tent for our
honeymoon to British Columbia,
wanting the adventure
and to save money.

We used it twice.

I think it was then
that I decided that a
pre-made bed -
up off the ground,
was preferable to the
primitive alternative.

The appeal of camping
dissipated with age.

'The Harbour Castle'
would be my answer if
someone asked where I liked to camp.

I bought a tent trailer
when the kids were young,
determined to give them the experience
of camping.
Although I had to do it alone,
as Brian liked it even less than I did.

I was up off the ground,
that was a bonus.

When they grew up and left,
I never camped again.

Until now.
I have come once again to
love it.

I still do prefer to be 
up off the ground.

Friday, March 28, 2014

86. I Love ... the crackling and popping.

Not the crackling and popping
of Rice Krispies.
That's what people from my era
think of when they hear
snap, crackle, pop.

I love the
crackling and popping
of the wood stove in the kitchen.

Especially in the evening
when I am alone in the
wrapped in a blanket,
reading by a soft light.

She is company,
that old stove;
with her voice
being fueled by the intake
of the wind.

Welcome company.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

85. I Love ...remembering the feel of my Dad's hair.

When I was a child,
I'd sit on his knee
and pull the little ten cent
black comb
from his shirt pocket.

I'd comb his hair
over his eyes.

He'd make silly noises
and I'd giggle.

His hair was so fine,
like silken threads;
a shiny mixture
of silver and copper.

So fine.

As he lay in 
final years,
I would sit beside him and
ever so gently,
I would run my fingers through that
fine hair.


Instilling those memories,
 and that feeling
deep into my heart
and soul.

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

84. I Love ... the Magic Bridge

Behind our barn,
on the neigbhouring property,
there is a plain, old concrete bridge
over a little brook
that goes by our house and winds its way
into the Avon River.

It is for the farm equipment to access the fields.

It dips down enough that you think that
you are alone,
secluded in the woods, faraway.

There is a huge old willow
weeping over the brook.

In the spring, or after a huge rain,
the water tumbles over the rocks,
sometimes rushing like a 
great and mighty falls.

Other times it is more like 
a trickle.

There is always some movement,
some sound -
roaring and rushing
quiet and melodic.

My children,
and now my grandchildren,
have always been drawn to that bridge.

It is
a secret place
far enough away
but close enough to home
to feel
safety and freedom and adventure.

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

83. I Love ... turning Nothing into Something

I was born doing that.

Perhaps because 
art stores and craft departments
weren't accessible everywhere.
Nor was money
it seemed.

A new pack of crayons
in your Christmas stocking
was exciting.
I don't believe I ever even owned
thin pointed coloured markers,
just that huge, smelly 
Black Magic Marker.

That bottle with the red rubber tip
that was only nice when it was new;
crusted and dried out so quickly.

I couldn't use the 'good' 
Scotch Tape
because it was "too expensive".

But what I could and did use was 
my imagination.

A twig stuck into a little green apple became
a person;
a toothpaste lid became a chair;
everything I could get my hands on became

I think that's why I have always
'seen' things
in the discarded.
'Necessity is the Mother of Invention';
I became an 

I derive far more pleasure,
more gratification in
re-purposing, re-birthing
than I do from starting from scratch.

There is a greater challenge in that
than simply going and buying
fresh and new supplies.

And more satisfaction for me in
breathing new life
into Something,
sending it on a new journey,
giving it a new story.

Monday, March 24, 2014

82. I Love ... when my adult children have time to talk.

For the entire year
before my eldest went off to college,
I grieved.

I would often lay in bed
and listen to the 
noises of the house.

Four teenagers;
the days of them being in bed before us,

I'd listen to those voices
bouncing noisily within our walls
and try to 
soak it in;
try to make it last,
knowing that all too soon
it would be quiet.
Too quiet.
The house would never, ever be
as full and alive and vibrant
as it was at that very moment.

And it wasn't.

They went away,
one by one.

But when they came home,
they didn't rush to their rooms
and immerse themselves into their own world
as they had.

They brought coffee
or sat over a cup of tea
and talked.

We talked more than we did
when the lived here.

I cherish those moments,
one on one with them;
when I get to hear of their world
outside the walls
of this house.

Sunday, March 23, 2014

81. I Love ... when my grandbabes come running to me.

That is such a
true joy
that I wish I could capture it and 
bring it out at will.

It's such a short, short time
in their lives -
just between getting their running legs
and when they become too mature
to run with unbridled enthusiasm.
Minutes it seems.

That's what they are.
If they had a tail, it would be wagging.

"Hi Nana! Hi Nana!! HI NANA!!!"

Legs running, arms outstretched ...
such a tiny moment in time.
Such a blessed moment in time.

Last summer,
such a moment is frozen in my memory
and in my heart forever.
I so wish I had a video,
I'd play it over & over & over.

My 'Salt & Pepper' team -
running together,
trying to outdo each other;
both yelling it at the top of their lungs...
'Hi Nana! Hi Nana!!! HI NANA!!!'
Then the youngest,
not even three yet,
has the creativity to up the ante with
'Here I am, Nana! HERE I AM!!!'

That tickled me so much.
Her confident knowledge
with the truth ...
it is a bigger joy for 
ME to see THEM
them to see me.

Saturday, March 22, 2014

80. I Love ... Laughter

Some people do it so easily,
so readily;
so out and out

I love to see that;
to hear that,
to be part of it.

I love the
the silliness
that can cause
that laughter.

That uncontrollable,
overflow of nonsense
that makes you gasp for air;
makes your belly hurt.

It cannot be manufactured.
It cannot be canned,
made-up, forced.

It is real and pure and so refreshing.

A good laugh and a long sleep.
are the two best cures.

Friday, March 21, 2014

79. I Love ... Drifting Off.

I sometimes think about
how many nights in my life that I have 
fallen asleep.

Every night at some point.
Thousands of them.

And so few,
so very few
am I aware 
of that moment 
when sleep overcomes me.

I am awake; then awake again.

Somewhere between those points
I have slept.
And dreamt.

There are rare days though,
that I can feel myself
between those two worlds.
Not quite awake.
Not quite asleep.

The drifting.
It's delicious.

There is no control over it.
It happens or it doesn't.

The smallest thing
jolts me back
into this world.

I think I don't let go enough.
I seem to be always hanging on
way too tight.
Hanging on
to the day, to consciousness.

Thursday, March 20, 2014

78. I Love ... my Dad's hat.

I have it -
my Dad's hat.

He wore it to church.
That's probably about the only place
because he didn't go anywhere else

Funny that I love that hat
so much when it really 
wasn't him.
It really wasn't who he was.

A work hat.
A driving helmet.

That's who he really was.

The man never went bare headed.
The last thing on out the door -
the first thing off in the door ...
a hat.

I see him with this hat ...
running around the rim with his fngers,
flipping it on his head with such ease.

I see me grabbing it with a giggle,
off his head and onto mine,
it falling over my eyes;
his patient laughter.

I see me in the backseat of the car at nighttime -
me in the middle.
Sister asleep on one side,
brother on the other,
mother's head against the window.
Me, awake - keeping vigil.
Staring at the image of my Dad
in his hat.
even way back then
that I had to carefully file that moment.
that it wouldn't last.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

77. I Love ... Staying Home.

I am so content
in my home.

Farm home, sea home;
each is a nest.
Each surrounds me
in comfort
with all the things
I value -
family - neighbours - friends;
that I have collected
over a Lifeime.
that holds
the energy and the memories
of times and people

Places to sit - 
lots of them.
To sit alone
and think and write and dream and plan;
to sit with folks
and do the same.

I am content
at home.

There is so little need or reason to
leave it.

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

76. I Love ... Going Somewhere

I love
the Planning of it;
the Visualizing;
the Unknown
the Familiar.

It's really not even all that important
I go.
Or How
I go.

Plane. Train. Automobile.

I just love to

I love 
to Stay.

Monday, March 17, 2014

75. I Love ... Ireland

I'm Irish Heritage
all the way.
Maternal, Paternal ...
all four sides.

When I learned that
is much like
I had to go.

And now,
I yearn to go back.

The beauty,
the history,
the people ...

It was like my heart and soul
caught up to somewhere
I really needed to be.

As I landed that day
I thought about the fact that I was the first
in my family line ...
great grandparents, parents, siblings
that stepped foot
back upon Homeland Soil.
The first to return
after generations.

Why so long?

I thought of my ancestors
leaving their home;
waiting at the wharf
for the ship to come to take them to the 

And those left behind,
never seeing their loved ones again.

There are people there
with my blood,
my ancestral heritage,
but I don't know them,
they don't know me.

We have Family in common.
And Ireland.

Sunday, March 16, 2014

74. I Love ... Simplicity

It's my word of year for 2014.

I crave it.
I want Everything to be that.
My surroundings,
my headspace,
my days,
my life.

It is is the City I want to move to
without moving.

I want to avert my eyes from
'Too Much'.

I want clean lines,
open spaces,
non - accumulation,
fewer Things.

Big problem with it
is that I already have
Too Much.
And if I spend all my time
dealing with the act of
ridding myself
of it,
I have virtually destroyed
that which
I crave.

Catch 22.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

73. I Love ... having had a Childhood Friend.

I was almost twelve years old
I had a Real Friend,
a Daily Friend.

That's just the way it was.
I lived in the country
at a time when parents
didn't drive you to activities
and play dates;
didn't consider
that spending time socially with other children
outside of school
was beneficial or necessary.
That's just the way it was.

I still recall the excitement
when I found out
that a girl the same age as me
was moving in next door.
June 1965.

From that moment
to this very day,
we have been

We laugh
about the times we had,
the dressing the same,
the phoning each other
the minute we got in the house
even though we'd spent the entire day
The crazy, silly, embarrassing
things we did.

It was so good to have a
back then
and to still have her 

Happy Birthday Nellie.

Friday, March 14, 2014

73. I Love ... My Old Red Van

Sixteen years old
when I had to
release her,
which iwas done only because
of the uncertainty 
that she might fail me 
and leave me
stranded one day.
I doubt it she would have.
Friends don't do that.
And we were.

I never grew tired
of that old girl.
I never wanted to get
a fancy new replacement for her.

I always felt good 
walking up to her,
climbing in and heading off.

Even though other people
saw a dated, tired, old van,
I saw her as my trusty old friend.

I sometimes talked to her 
like she could hear me -
thanking her for starting after months of waiting,
telling her I missed her.
Because I did.

Weird, I know.
But perhaps she knew it.
She lasted way longer than most.

She was one of the good ones,
my Red Wagon -
almost 400 Thousand kilometers
we went together.

Filled with rusty bits 
and other treasures
from the sea;
filled with

Thursday, March 13, 2014

72. I Love ... Stove Soup.

In Avonbank or Salt Harbour
there is a certain joy
in building a pot of soup
on the woodstove.

It speaks of a 
quiet and unhurried day.

It is a rare occasion,
but it need not be.
The stove is often on
and all it would take is to 
think of it.
And do it.

When I do,
it is a long and loving
adding bits
of this and that,
here and there.

It is a process,
an offering of my time
and love - 
simmering, stirring - 
nourishment and goodness.

And memories
of days when I had children about,
who also thought of
Stove Soup
as a special treat.
Not really because it was a big deal,
for any other reason than I had
convinced them it was,
with the excited pronouncement that we were having
'Stoooooooooooove Soup'.

One time they invited a friend over to join us
in that special occasion.
When she sat at the table, she said 
"This is just soup."
and my dear children corrected her immediately 
"NO! This Stoooooooooooove Soup"

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

71. I Love ... Vintage Bubble Lights.

Those bubbling candle
Christmas lights,
I can still see them -
memories of my childhood.

A fragrant Scotch pine,
a real tree
adorned with many lights
and one single string
of bubbling candles.

Red and green bottoms,
amber pointed test tubes
bubbling & bubbling,
with their movement.
The original twinkle lights
I suppose.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

70. I Love ... Lavendar

I want to grow it.

Rows and rows;
fields and fields
of blue and pink
like the pictures
that go around the 

I want to inhale it,
as a potion
for sleep.

I want to make it
into stuff -

But most of all,
I want to
grow it.

Monday, March 10, 2014

69. I Love ... getting up in the middle of the night.

I should clarify.

I love a good night's sleep
for sure.

But on those inevitable nights
when it
doesn't come,
I love it 
when I can convince myself
to get 

I make myself
a cup of coffee,
light candles,
put on soft, relaxing music,
grab a blanket
and a book
to read 
or to write in,
I savour
the dark,
the quiet,
the solitude,
the fact
that the only other thing
that I could
or should
be doing is 

I'm not.
So rather than toss and turn and fuss,
I love it when
I just get up
and spend the hours
in pleasure,
and confidence
that I will sleep again
another time.

Sunday, March 9, 2014

68. I Love ... tea


The idea of it,
The making of it
The sharing of it
even more than the 
taste of it.

A chilly day,
wrapped in a blanket,
hands around
a mug
filled with steaming tea.

Even the thought of that is

with a friend.
with just me.

Friday, March 7, 2014

67. I Love ... photocopiers


I wish I had one.

Not the weeny little printer kind.

The big, honkin' REAL photocopier kind.

The kind you can make 
wonderful quality
of everything and anything.

Colour copies.
39 cents each.

In reality,
that's way cheaper than I could ever
operate my own for.

I'll just love

Thursday, March 6, 2014

66. I Love ... our pond

I need to live by water.

I grew up by a creek
I grew up AT the creek.

Our years in Ellice tonship were dry.
out there in the middle of a flat field.
At the top of the agenda for moving
was that there had to be water
and some roll to the land.

The little brook
was a start.
Not enough though.
I needed more.

We put the pond in a spot
that looks like it has
been there.
It a natural thing.

Natural for all the things
that are drawn to it.
The birds.
The frogs.
The kids.

So much life in a tiny, tiny spot.

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

65. I Love ...Daisies

Fresh and crisp and simple.

White and yellow -
pretty in any colour vase.

A bouquet on a kitchen window sill
picked from the wild.

 were my wedding flower.
Not exotic.
Not high fashion.
Like me.

"He loves me .... He love me .... He loves me .... "
Forget the 'not'.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

64. I Love ... remembering my babies heads on my shoulder

Remembering the feel of my babies heads
upon my shoulder.

that I shall

A tiny, warm, sleeping
 wee head
tucked between
my shoulder and chin.

Closing my eyes;
trying to soak it in.
Willing it
to last
a little longer.

It didn't.
It doesn't.

They were there
sleeping so peacefully
just the other day.

Needing me.
just me.

And then they were

took them from my arms;
into the world.

But I can still feel them.
They are still there.

Monday, March 3, 2014

63. I Love ... Uploading

the convenience of on-line.

Ordering stuff.
Uploading stuff to Staples.

Fast & easy.
Cheaper than gas
and stamps.

Cheaper too
I'm not tempted 
by things I didn't know
I wanted
Things I don't.

They don't jump in my way
and trip me,
when I'm
easily distracted
by the next click
and I'm
on to the
next thing.

Sunday, March 2, 2014

62. I Love ... tiny vintage trailers

I want one.

It's been on my vision board
for years now.

A little Boler,
a little Trillium;
either will do.

I don't necessarily
want to drag it around anywhere.

I might.

But that's not the reason
for the obsession.

I'd be happy to park it
and just look at it.

I want to decorate it.

I want someone 
to open the door
and say
"Oh my!
How cute!"

I want to be able
to crawl into it
like a tiny little 
bubble of comfort
and possibility.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

61. I Love ... Trumpet Vines

I often wonder
how long
they've covered this old house.

I often wonder
who planted them.

Every year,
back again.


Curtaining the windows
from the outside.

New sprouts
on thick, ancient, gnarled

Deep red-orange blossoms

Heralding the humming birds:
"Come drink of our sweet nectar;
we have made it just for

Friday, February 28, 2014

60. I Love ... Willows

Especially the weeping ones
that bend over a river.
They are mysterious and
as if they are hiding something
or protecting

They are enhanted.

They are grand and huge and ancient.
They cast immense shade 
that gives refuge
from the heat
to a host of creatures.
Shelter for the spirit.

Willows say
to me.
They say picnics.
They say 'Sit by the river.'

When we moved to the farm there was 
in the field that barely stood taller than the grass.
Brian cut around it
and we watched it grow
into a tree.

For many years I wrapped it in plastic guards,
painted it with tar trying to save it
from the ravage of the donkeys.
It has grown inspite of them.

It's huge now,
happy that we gave it a pond.
Happy to shelter our

It's not weeping

Thursday, February 27, 2014

59. I Love ... the smell of poplar leaves rotting

It's starts just a touch before autumn.

They are the first leaf that comes down here.
They want to rush the summer 
out the door.

Before I am ready;
before I even have time to consider that 
autumn is approaching,
I catch a fleeting whiff.

An earthy musk with a touch of spice.

It hits me unsuspectingly.

It stops me in my tracks.
Stops me
 to breathe it in

I stop
 even if I'm rushing.

is too ugly a word.


Back to the Earth.