112 I Love ... sound eyes closed

Outside sound.

As I sit here with my eyes closed,

I can hear the world.

You can hear so much better

with your eyes closed.

I am hearing what must be 

a pigeon.

Cooing. Cooing.

Non-stop.

I will make it a Turtle Dove.

That sounds so much more

pleasing 

than a 

pigeon.

It's cooing sometimes changes

in intensity

where I might think it is a 

tiny, miniature cow.

Mooing.

Not cooing.

Sometimes it sounds 

like it is in labour.

Coo softly

pigeon or cow.

Coo

like a

turtle dove.

I hear the wind.

It sounds like I am at

the sea.

It is tide-like;

rythmically

swishing through the tree tops.

I hear wings flapping.

Like a helicopter.

I have to open my eyes

to see 

what makes such a noise.

Crows.

No - ravens.

That sounds more

pleasing.

111 I Love .... summer evenings on the Farm

Of all the days 

that I have spent on our farm,

it is those

early summer evenings

when I wander around

or just sit on

the back porch

that are engrained
deeply
in my memory.

110 I Love ... the sun on my face in Springtime.

Closing my eyes,

face towards the sun

and looking at my eyelids.

Head back.

Face turned upward.

Sunset red
through my eyelids.

Warmth on my skin.

A gentle breeze

softly sweeping any heat away

and just keeping me

warm.

A warmth

that travels through me,

making me grateful

for

another spring.

109 I Love ... sitting in some weirdly random place

I have sat this day
in the sunshine in a spot that I have never sat in the almost two dozen years
that we have lived here ...
 behind the barn on the cement pad,
 right beside a big pile of accumulated winter manure.

Yes. Donkey Exrement.

Yes. It's a tad bizarre.
For sure.

But the sun is beating down on me
 and it feels glorious.

And I dont mind the smell of donkey poop at all.
It's ab earthy, homey,
 almost comforting fragrance to me.

 I realize that I may basically alone in that observation.

 But that's okay.

 And so is sitting
 in a completely weird and random place. 

It works.

It's Good Friday.
It's ususally gray and suitably dismal this day;
 like the world is in mourning.
And so it should be.

This day is new life.
 And so I chose to spend my quietly,
 beginning this with great gratitude 

for my simple ability to
 Love.

108 I Love ... baby animals at play

Watching baby animals play.

Kittens

rolling and chasing,

hiding and pouncing.

Pupplies

running after children.

And 

their tail.

Baby donkeys

running

and

running.

Bouncing like Tigger.

Calves

and

lambs

and

baby goats.

Now, baby goats -

they know how to play.

Standing on their back legs,

running at each other,

heads sideways

then

WHAM.

And do it again.

It's wonderful to see the

life,

the energy,

the sheer joy

of movement.

Of play.

Not the 

slow trod,

the limp,

the plodding 

of us

old dogs.

107 I Love ... Ransom laying

It's April 30th, 2012.

I have once again gone in a search of 

a warm spot

on a chilly day.

A breezy spring afternoon where 

it's only reach 9 degrees.

I have discovered that behind the barn 

right next to the old stone wall,

the sun beats best.

I brough my creative journal and this one,

and have written,

letting Ransom has his freedom to 

graze away from the rest of the herd.

He's my special friend.

The sun made me sleepy.

I didn't want to cut Ransom's grazing time short,

so I just laid down where I was.

I shut my eyes.

I heard a noise close by.

There he was
laying
close to me.

I felt a great trust and comfort
with my faithful old friend.

106 I Love ... sultry nights

The kind where the air

just hangs.

It's confirmation to me

that I have a 

Southern soul.

I envsion lie oaks

with moss dripping from the branches.

Still, heavy air 

that wraps you up 

like a blanket.

It makes me want to stay up

all night

and sit on the back porch.

There is a hush

over the world on those nights.

It speaks to me of quiet.

Stillness.

It somehow speaks more to me 

of the past

than the present.

I think of our summer nights 

at the racetrack in the States.

No need ever for a sweater.

That is my favourite kind of

summer night.

One that I wish

would last so much longer.

Nights like that are a gift.

Few and far between

some years.

105 I Love ...Bees

I'm not afraid of them,

like my sister is.

She gets downright
panicky.

I just want to capture them 

with my camera.

The first one of the year just flew by -

hmmmmm.....

'flew' sounds too ambitious for a bee.

He buzzed 

slowly,

haltingly,

fat and heavy.

It's only April 20th but some dandelions are out.

That's what brought the bee to me.

I averted my eyes

for just the briefest second and he was

gone.

One his presence was evident without even seeing him.

Then gone.

They are farily slow

but hard to capture.

Irish bees.

Newfoundland bees.

Avonbank bees.

I want to caputre more.

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.

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

memorable.

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.

Granted,

we create our own chaos

within this perimeter.

As in Life 

anywhere,

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 

lifting

when I enter

Home Zone.

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 -

gentle, 

caring;

happy,

sympathetic,

welcoming,

silly,

fun,

energy.

A transfer of

Love

 without words.

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.

'But...'

I tell them -

'there IS'.

I tell them it is FULL.

It is my magic heart

FULL of LOVE

with unending room for

More.

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.

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

Stuff,

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

discover

something unexpected,

something very cool,

something I had forgotten

all about.

That,

most often becomes

 the catalyst,

the seed

that starts the next

creation.

Being able

to see what you have

can do that.








another one ...
It's never been perfect;
it never will be
even though
I totally understand the
rhyme and reason
behind
'a place for everything'

I just move too fast
to keep that action.

Not that I don't want to
and most certainly
love it when I do.

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.

Quarters,

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 

yet.

I slip my hand into my pocket 

and feel it ....

Money!

What will it be?

If it's a twenty ... bonus!

Found money.

Love it!

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

Woman.

Here.

Now.

I am able,

encouraged

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.

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.

Early.

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

different

than screen time.

It's my Sunday thing to do.

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 

uniform.

It's a shame they went out of 

vogue.

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.

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

imagine

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...

ahhhhh.

And get out all the cleaning stuff

and happily remove

that layer of

winter grime.

Clean windows.

Clean everything.

I love it.

92. I Love ... dragonflies.

You wouldn't think I would.

You wouldn't think anyone would,

really.

They're ugly.

And they're kind of scarey.

Actually,

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,

illusive.

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.

Helicoperting,

that's the word I suppose,

even though it's not a word.

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.

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 

finished

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

1991.

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.

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.

88. I Love .... hand sewing.

Finger sewing,
my friend in Newfoundland calls it.

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

born.

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.

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
quiet;
wrapped in a blanket,
reading by a soft light.

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

Welcome company.

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

backwards,

sideways,

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.

Remembering.

Instilling those memories,

 and that feeling

deep into my heart

and soul.

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

or

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.

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.

Musilage.

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

Something.

I think that's why I have always

'seen' things

in the discarded.

'Necessity is the Mother of Invention';

I became an 

Inventor.

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.

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,

gone.

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.

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.

Puppies.

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

than

them to see me.

80. I Love ... Laughter

Some people do it so easily,

so readily;

so out and out

joyfully.

I love to see that;

to hear that,

to be part of it.

I love the

lightness,

the silliness

that can cause

that laughter.

That uncontrollable,

spasmatic

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.

Amen.

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

suspended,

between those two worlds.

Caught.

Not quite awake.

Not quite asleep.

The drifting.

It's delicious.

There is no control over it.

It happens or it doesn't.

Precarious.

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.

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

fancy.

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.

Knowing,

even way back then

that I had to carefully file that moment.

Knowing 

that it wouldn't last.

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;

treasures

that I have collected

over a Lifeime.

Stuff

that holds

the energy and the memories

of times and people

past.

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.

76. I Love ... Going Somewhere

I love

the Planning of it;

the Visualizing;

the Unknown

or 

the Familiar.

It's really not even all that important

Where

I go.

Or How

I go.

Plane. Train. Automobile.

Bicycle.

Feet.

I just love to

Go

Somewhere,

Anywhere.

And

I love 

to Stay.

75. I Love ... Ireland

I'm Irish Heritage

all the way.

Maternal, Paternal ...

all four sides.

When I learned that

Ireland

is much like

Newfoundland,

I had to go.

And now,

I yearn to go back.

The beauty,

the history,

the people ...

breathtaking.

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,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 

Unknown.

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.

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.

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

I was almost twelve years old

before

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

Friends.

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

together.

The crazy, silly, embarrassing

things we did.

It was so good to have a

Friend

back then

and to still have her 

now.

Happy Birthday Nellie.

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

undoubtedly

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

friends

and

memories.

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

creation,

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 

saying

"NO! This Stoooooooooooove Soup"

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,

mezmerizing 

me

with their movement.

The original twinkle lights

I suppose.

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 

Internet.

I want to inhale it,

deeply

as a potion

for sleep.

I want to make it

into stuff -

sachets,

soap,

tea.

But most of all,

I want to

grow it.