overly

I only cried when I thought of the squirrel.
Unfortunately, I thought of it all the way home.
Poor little squirrel.
Run down on the road in the prime of its life.
And by me.
A squirrel lover.
It was all too tragic.
And last summer someone tread upon the cricket my grandson had been playing with.
The cricket he loved.
It was one of us.
We just aren't sure who.
Also tragic.
He took it better than I did.
And once, long ago, my husband made the mistake of stepping on an ant.
On purpose.
It was my grandsons favourite ant.
If this all seems overly sentimental you are likely right.

We have weeds that sprout up tauntingly in the gravel walk way. I have been known to pour boiling water on them, a sort of medieval war on weeds. When I suggested this as a possible, legitimate technique, I was scolded by a woman who asked me in a shocked and trembling voice, how I felt about the worms and bugs I was annihilating so barbarically.
Now THAT is overly sentimental.

gone viral

I've gone viral apparently.
At least that's the doctors view on things.

My doctors office is in Fort Langley.
Such an interesting drive from Aldergrove.
Straight towards the distant mountains.
The road begins to  wind and then there's a slight downwards tilt to the world, sort of a warning of things to come. Sure enough, a corner, another corner and there you are, perched at the top of a steep winding hill, the sort that would have made you clench your teeth in fright as a kid on a rusty two wheeler, the sort that is a tobogganers dream.
Down your car hurtles and you enter another land all marshy and bird filled. Rows of ruby branched blueberries march off into the distance. Heron sweep over head. The Fraser River beckons.

Fort Langley is a pretty charming little town.
I used to wish I lived there.
My doctors office is right beside a grave yard.
Isn't that funny?!
Kill or cure.

When I jumped out of my car this week I found myself gazing into the front seat of a car as is often the case in a crowded parking lot.
"Oh my word!" I gasped.
Outloud.
More like..."OH MY WORDDDDD!"
A large daytimer was thrown open upon the front seat.
I have never seen a busier schedule.
Things were scribbled in every possible space.
And every possible space in the car held something too.
Things.
Papers.
Stuff.
I averted my gaze in sympathy.
Later when I returned to the parking lot, and edged between the cars to unlock my own I found myself, apparently unable to refrain from adding, "Wow," as a parting commentary.
Upon reflection, it wasn't the clutter that moved me.
Not at all.
That is just a temporary condition.
Well, maybe not temporary but easily remedied.
Well, maybe not easily but clutter is neither here nor there.
Well, its sometimes here and definitely there....
Oh my goodness, what am I trying to say....
I think it was the daytimer.
The clear attempt some poor soul was making to reign in their busy life.
To create order out of chaos.
That's it for sure.
There was a sense of danger and desperation about that front seat.
I hope it wasn't one of the doctors cars.

not my kettle

Have you ever loaded your dishwasher
and straightened up
and glanced about the kitchen
and realized that it didn't look any better than when you started?

I've been sick AND busy.
Now that is a lethal combination.
My housework has suffered right along with me.
My appliances have been left to their own devices.
Well, most of them.
Not my kettle.
I've been trying to drink myself back to health.
Mostly hot water but some apple glog (don't you love that name?) and tea of various poorly brewed strengths.
It hasn't worked.
I'm off to the doctor reluctantly today.
Perhaps I am teetering on the edge of wellness and am about to 'turn the corner.'
"Turn the corner' as opposed to 'turn up my toes.'
I'll know soon.

jump right in

I wish I had a dollar for every alphabet book I've ever read where x means xylophone. I'd be a rich woman today.
Sure enough, yesterday as my tiny granddaughter and I flipped the pages together, we found ourselves gazing down at The Letter X and a rainbow colored xylophone. "What's that?" I ask. "A Hellophone," she answers confidently.
I love that so much!
It makes me think of language and learning in general because children are just so very clever aren't they. My daughter called a trampoline a bounce-oline when she was two, although at first, she had called it a tunic. What?? Why on earth a tunic? Turns out that in Winnie The Pooh and the Blustery Day, Christopher Robin takes off his tunic and he and Rabbit catch Pooh as he tumbles from the sky on it and of course he bounces.
Nothing like a good book to enrich your vocabulary.
Especially books with British expressions. Books like Winnie the Pooh or Beatrix Potter's Tales of Peter Rabbit. Children aren't bothered a smidge by the vagaries of the English language. I suppose to the young, all language is mysterious.
They look and they listen and they think.
And they jump right in.

gilds the sky

February mornings have a chill of mauve about them and a marmalade brightness. It's that clash of cool color against the warm that is so breathtaking I think. Makes me think of the old hymn that begin, 'when morning gilds the sky....'

my own heart

"Would you like to go the the story time at the Library?" I ask my littlest granddaughter.
"Yay!!" she says hopping up and down.
Thoughts of fun lead on to thoughts of even more fun it seems and she adds, "We go to the beach? I build a sandcastle?"
A girl after my own heart.

set me straight

I'm not surprised when my baby granddaughter says 'no,' when I ask her if she is a nice baby. No is her new favourite word now that she is two.
"I'm a nice girl," she adds, just to set me straight.