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.

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 

up.

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,

and 

I savour

the dark,

the quiet,

the solitude,

the fact

that the only other thing

that I could

or should

be doing is 

sleeping.

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.

68. I Love ... tea

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

comforting.

Tea
with a friend.
Tea
with just me.

67. I Love ... photocopiers

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

prints 

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

photocopiers

at 

Staples.

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 township 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
always
been there.
It a natural thing.

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

So much life in a tiny, tiny spot.

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.

Daisies
 were my wedding flower.

Not exotic.

Not high fashion.

Basic.

Like me.

"He loves me .... He loves me .... He loves me .... "

Forget the 'not'.

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

Remembering the feel of my babies heads

upon my shoulder.

Ahhhhhhhh...

that I shall

never,

ever,

EVER

forget.

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.

Mostly 

just me.

And then they were

gone.

Time

took them from my arms;

Out

into the world.

But I can still feel them.

They are still there.

63. I Love ... Uploading

the convenience of on-line.

Banking.

Ordering stuff.

Uploading stuff to Staples.

Brilliant.

Convenient.

Fast & easy.

Cheaper than gas

and stamps.

Cheaper too

because

I'm not tempted 

by things I didn't know

I wanted

or 

needed.

Things I don't.

They don't jump in my way

and trip me,

yelling

BUY ME! BUY ME!

when I'm

easily distracted
by the next click
and I'm
on to the
next thing.

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.

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.

Climbing,

climbing.

Curtaining the windows

from the outside.

New sprouts

on thick, ancient, gnarled

trunks.

Deep red-orange blossoms

trumpeting 

summer.

Heralding the humming birds:

"Come drink of our sweet nectar;
we have made it just for
 You."