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.

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

58. l Love ... watching my husband work when he loves what he's doing.

I love the way he attacks a mission
with such focus.
Such intensity.

I love to see that
drive and passion.

I love it when he has something
that excites him,
that he is please to tackle.

He walks with such purpose.
A lively step.
A young step.

He doesn't waver from the task 
at hand.

He'll get up at the break of day.
He'll work long into the night.

He will ignore 
any and all distractions.
Including eating.

He will accomplish a great deal.
Perhaps something that is only important
to him,
but he feels good about it.

I love to see him 
of what he has done.

I love that look on his face
that makes him seem
like a
little boy.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

57. I Love ... when an new idea comes to me.

"I love to see you with a mission."
my husband said to me one day,
"You walk with a spring in your step."

I do.

I have a spring in my
as well.

I get downright
all kinds of possibilities.

I have no space,
no time,
to carry

They are instantly
replaced with
visions and plans
to create

Monday, February 24, 2014

56. I Love ... a fragrance in Newfoundland that I cannot describe or identify.

The first time I smelled it
I stopped dead in my tracks.

The first thing that came to me is
'this is what Heaven smells like'.

It was totally heavenly;
beyond description.

I couldn't find a way to describe it.

It came in wafts.
It was not constant.
The breeze was blowing it fro somewhere.

I sniffed at all the plants
like an old hound.

It was so fleeting.
I was desperate to get it back
so I'd know that it wasn't
a fragment of my imagination.

I asked 80 year old Harvey,
whose land I had been walking on.
'What is that smell up there?'
'Can't say.'
he replied.

'Can't say.'
because he doesn't know
or it's too big of a

Sunday, February 23, 2014

55. I Love ... a Dog at My Feet

when they lay their head
on your foot
or lean their whol body
up against your leg,
being ever-so 
but saying -
"Don't think you're going to
sneak way 
without me.
I'll notice."

Head between the paws;
so patient.
On guard.

A noise and it's
head's up!

Oh - it's nothing - 
back down
with a thump
and a groan.

My friend,
my loyal,
patient friend;
it's so good,
so good
to have you.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

54. I Love ... being lulled to sleep by my husband's voice.

I don't sleep well
it takes me hours to fall asleep.

sleep never comes all night.

And so to me those
rare moments
when I can actually
feel myself
between the two worlds;
drifting off
ever so gently
is a gift.

I am usually just
then asleep.
Or not.

My favourite transition
is to hear Brian's voice -
talking, telling me something
that he probably thinks is important
but I think is lulling.

That itself is rare
considering ninety-nine percent of the time
he is fast asleep for hours
before I make my way to bed.

Friday, February 21, 2014

53. I Love ... the Golden Hour

I Love the
of the sun
as it bids
to another day.


That is the perfect 
name for it.


The intensity of the day,
set aside;
the darkness of the night
has not yet arrived.

For the briefest of time there is a 
perfect light
cast over the world.

Shadows are softer;
birdsong is softer.

There is a
in the transition.
A calmness,
a beauty.

It is a gentle light,
our Golden Hour.

Thursday, February 20, 2014

52. I Love ...Cursive Writing

There is something,
at times,
meditative about it.

Letters joined;
words running from one to another,

A fine hand can be an art.
At the very least,
it is a personality.

I can pick up something
and immediately 
identify the writer
by the handwriting.

That is something that is going to be lost.
And what a sad loss that will be.

All we will have is the printed word;
harsh, blocky letters.
Press PRINT.

Not the paper ...
the choice of which itself is signature;
paper where someone's hand
has run over it,
line after line,
letter by letter,
putting their essence and spirit
on to that page
the pen.

Wednesday, February 19, 2014

51. I Love ... A Clean House

The process of getting it there,
not so much.

But the result,
yes I do -
when things

When everything is
in its place.

I love the smell
of clean.

I love walking into a
freshly cleaned room
and feeling 
such a sense of

I love the fact that
I am done.

That niggling tasks
are not poking
at my eyeballs;
at my conscience;
are not
haranguing me:
"You can't sit down!
You have work to do!!
Get up!
No rest for you!!!!"

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

50. I Love ... Getting Letters

Getting a letter;
what a rare occasion that is
and getting rarer.

I have boxes of letters 
from the past.
Way back to when I was
twelve years old 
and I started every single letter with
"How are you. I am fine."

I treasure my letters,
thinking of the writer's hand on the paper,
their thoughts on me.

I have a letter from my grandmother.
I recognized her writing immediately
when I came across the 45 year old envelope.
I hadn't remembered it and was excited
to see what she had written to me;
a little piece of our relationship, preserved.
The entire letter -
a single line:
"Where is your mother? I can't get a hold of her."
Even that tells you something.

The day after we got engaged
Brian went away for the week.
I had been so excited to get a letter from him;
touched that he had been thinking of me,
pleased that he took the time,
delighted to have something
eloquent and romantic
as a keepsake.
Here it is, forty years later
 and I can recite the entire letter,
word for word:
"Having fun at the beach."

Some letters are so memorable
and touch your heart

Monday, February 17, 2014

49. I Love ... Writing Letters

I still do it.

In spite of
the convenience and ease of email -

I love to write
Real Letters.
By hand.

Paper and pen.

Not just zipping off
a quick note 
and pressing

I sit quietly, 
that I am talking
directly to that person.

But it's getting difficult
to find people
to write to.

I am in such constant contact
with all my friends,
through email and Facebook,
there is nothing left to say.
The three people I write to
are all in their late nineties.

Perhaps that's why
I have my journal -
'Letters to Dead People'.
I write to people that I can't
reach by email.
Even people I have 
never met
but have something to say to them.

Letters that never get sent.

Sunday, February 16, 2014

48. I Love .... Baby Raccoons

I can still smell the watery milk 
from the bottle
when I fed 'Tiny'-
the smell of wet fur
around his little mouth,
bony little hands 
kneading the botte.

I was 5 years old.

I suppose he was the very first thing
that I got to 
very first
living, breathing,
baby something.

There are people 
who declare raccoons
to be
dirty, destructive.
I know people
who's very first reaction
is to kill them.

I think they are 
intelligent, curious, entertaining,
filled with character.

And so, SO cute -
those little masked bandits.

Saturday, February 15, 2014

47. I Love ...Birch Trees.

And that is why
I planted them on
August 25th, 1991;
the first birthday
for my Dad
that I could not spend
with him.

I love
the white trunks,
especially when they are 
with floodlights.

I love the way the 
curls off.
It makes me think of my
writing messages;
the smooth, pristine side
of the bark.

I love the leaves;
how they turn a
beautiful yellow
in early autumn.

I love my four birch trees,
lit by the yard light.

They are the 
first thing I see every morning;
the last thing I see every night.

My Dad.

Friday, February 14, 2014

46. I Love ... Love

Real love.
Quiet love.
Simple Love.

Love is a verb
in my world.
It's an action.

An enwrapping
of one's soul
brings them 
joy and passion.

I can tell
people who

They don't have time
to grouse & grumble
and whine & complain
and judge.

They're too busy

We all have our moments
when the thorns of Life
irritate or stab us.
We naturally react
with all the emotions 
that are our human

We have to.
We'd be dead if we didn't.

when all is said and done,
and the heavy emotions
and when
is allowed to once again
rise to the top,
that is what I 

Thursday, February 13, 2014

45. I Love ... the back porch steps

I expect that of all the places
that I have spent time -
whiled away the hours
or 'produced';
the place that has seen the
most activity
is our back porch steps.

Sometimes I just sit here
and look -
survey -
the donkeys,
the brook,
the shop,
the barn,
the birds.

It's where I watch the day slip away.

I have used it more than I have used my studio.
Stuff spread out all around me
in the busiest, highest traffic area.


People having to step gingerally over and through and around
my mess.
Carving, painting, sculpting.

It works for me.
I can watch the sun.
And my donkeys.

It's kinda strange
that I sit there
when I have so many

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

44. I Love geraniums

They spell
to me.

They spell
the best days of summer
before August
starts to brown the edges.

Geraniums belong in a pot;
perferrably a clay one;
or in a 
window box
or a 
wagon ...
something with wheels.

They do not belong
in a flowerbed.

They cry
for a little nest
to make them
look pretty.

Tuesday, February 11, 2014

43. I Love .... listening to anything my grandbabes have to say.

I hate to admit it
I listen differently to my
grandchildren than I did my own children.

Even though,
I knew full well 
that their childhood would be
that they would change 
in a blink of an eye
I hung on as tightly
as I could;
I know that I did not
closely enough
to my children.

There seemed to be
so little time
in the chaos
of getting through the day.

My grandbabes now,
one on one,
when we walk
or just sit and talk -
I listen
so closely
with all of my attention,
with all of my heart.

I listen to their sweet little voices,
their big thoughts
and I marvel
at how 
how deep,
how interesting,
how miraculous
it all is.

And how fast
their childhoods will
through my fingers.

Monday, February 10, 2014

42. I Love ... lamplight in a window.

I am drawn to it
like a moth to a candle.

It makes me slow down
and want to peer in.

It makes me want to
go in
and sit down
and ask them what
quiet task they are about.

It is a gentle soul
that abides by the
soft, golden glow of lamplight.

A soul that would not mind
if I came in and sat quietly
with them for a bit.

I am drawn to them,
to what is in that lamplit room.

it is 
peaceful and quiet,
gentle and deep.

it is welcoming.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

41. I Love ... having energy

Something that I totally
took for granted
in my younger years.

I don't recall
ever feeling like I was
too tired
to do anything.

I think now,
there are times
when I'd just as soon

I much prefer
the feeling of
to move;
to feel like
jumping up
and accomplishing something.

I like feeling
light and agile
cumbersome and old.

I love

40. I Love ... people with 'squints' in their eyes

My Dad's were the first
that I noticed.

I was probably about five years old
when I asked him
"What are those?"
"What" he said.
"Those SQUINTS - those lines that are going into your eyes."

He laughed.
And the squints got deeper.
And he told the story over and over
and laughed every time.

I started to notice
that happy people
had the most squints.

That people who
with their eyes
were fun
and kind.

I sometimes
still see my Dad
in the squints
 of other people's eyes.

Laughing eyes.
Kind eyes.

Friday, February 7, 2014

39. I Love ... familiar voice

can you imagine
not hearing the voice of someone you
for the longest time;
and then
you do.

Can you imagine the 
your heart does?

I sometimes don't 
to the words
of people I love.

I listen to the 
the sound.

It is 
uniquely them.

A voice
leaves a void
never to be filled.

The echo of it
stays with us
for a time;
growing fainter and fainter;
but still there

Thursday, February 6, 2014

38. I Love ... when all my children are happy.

They say that you are only as happy as 
your saddest child.
No truer words have ever been spoken.

When one of my children,
even though they are no longer
are hurting,
worried ...
I am all of those things
as well.

I am of my children -
of all their emotions.

I don't know if that's right,
but it is the way
I am.
It is who
I am.

I carry them,
each and every one,
in my heart so wholely
that I cannot separate their emotions
from mine.

If one is hurting,
my heart is tied in a knot.

The happy ones may dance around it
but the knot is still there.

I love
when my all of children are

Wednesday, February 5, 2014

37. I Love .. Sea Glass

Glass that has been 
by the sea.
Rough and pitted.
The edges softened by the journey.

A tiny little treasure 
that has lived 
before it arrives where it is

A Mermaid tear.
The tiniest wee droplet.
Missed by most eyes.
Often passed over as
not worthy stooping for
by most standards.
Worthy for me actually
of a separate

Of course,
I especially am delighted 
to discover
blue glass.
I suppose everyone is.
Tourquois blue ...
now that is even a greater treasure.

But even white
is beautiful to me;
as much for the 
as for the sight.

A big jar of
fragments from the sea.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

36. I Love ... My Donkeys

Oh my -
I do SO love my donkeys.

They were like potato chips,
there was no way
I could have just one.

June 1981 -
I still have the letter.

Donkey memories -
Donkey Otie having a beer on the patio,
my mother-in-law being shocked
to see me bringing him out the front door
of our brand new house as she drove by.

My very first baby - Annie -
almost hyperventilating as I dragged my
Dad down to the barn to see her.

Nugget - 
my dearly missed Nugget;
and Ransom  - my sweet Handsome Ransom -
big old head, 
heavy head
plunked down on my shoulder
while I rub those gigantic ears
and look into those
deep and soulful eyes.

All my babies - 
such joy - such entertainment.
Watching them kick
and run full out in circles -
or hop with all four feet together
like a prancing goat -
springing with their noses up in the air.

I cannot imagine
this farm,
this life
without my beloved
long earred friends.

Monday, February 3, 2014

35. I Love ... picking up a book that I've written in many years ago.

I love reading it.

I don't technicallylove the fact that all that "time" is being held in my hands;
that it's contained between two covers;
that has gone too quickly.
Ridiculously quickly.

I suppose it's better than not being able to hold it at all.

It slips through our fingers.
Just like that.

I picked up a book that I had written sporadically in
way back in 1970.

I wish I had written more.

Sometimes I surprise myself with my writing.

I am surprised that I have captured my thoughts
fairly effectively.

I am surprised how a particular day can be 
totally brought back;
how I can revisit it completely.
Good or bad.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

34. I Love ... taking my camera for a drive through our neighbourhood.

I don't go far,
just the same old places
that I see every day.

But some days,
I am called to see them
with new eyes.

A Crystal Day.
A Golden Day.
A Monochromatic Day
like today.

A day when the snow is thick,
outling every branch on every 
naked tree;
Laying thickly on the evergreens

Fat snow.
Thick ice.
Fall leaves.
Spring buds.

So many moments
and possibilities
the old
new eyes.

33. I Love ... lengthening days

I get downright
every year.
As if it an entirely 
new concept.

There is not a year goes by
that I don't comment

"Do you notice?
The days are getting 

"Did you notice?"
"Did you notice?"

As if 
I was the only one 
that has.

As if
it is a magic act
that is happening
for the first time.

As if
I don't acknowledge it
give it voice,
it will decide not to do it

One minute,
I'm taking notice.
The next,
they're just there.

7 pm and it's light.
8 pm and it's light.
And it doesn't really matter

It is the process of
that entertains me.

Saturday, February 1, 2014

32. I Love ... salty with sweet

Salt and vinegar chips
with a coke or pepsi.

Pizza with green olives
and a rootbeer.

Salty peanuts
on top of ice cream.

I think I've heard that if you crave
salty and sweet together,
you are missing something.

I don't think you're missing anything at all.

I think you've got it all.