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.