Wednesday, May 8, 2019

fresh and new

On the weekend, I stood on a rocky, reedy shore, and gazed across the mud flats of Boundary Bay. The tide was out and it was mud flats all the way to Crescent Beach and Blackie Spit. The sand stretched on and on.
A salt marsh separates the path from the sandy shore or I would have had my toes in the cool mud in a flash.
It's just as well I guess.
Here and there are patches of sunken sand, pulled down by some underground current; a sort of beach version of Black Holes.
Instead, we ambled along, admiring the bleached gray driftwood at winter's high tide line.
Ducks and songbirds chuckled and buzzed and pinged.
Butterflies zig zagged, white against the green.
The sun was overhead, but a breeze, the kind that is almost always the saving grace of a summer day at the seashore, blew til I felt fresh and new.

Tuesday, May 7, 2019

low road

It's been a few years since I went to a quilt show. Quilt Guilds and Quilt Shows and quilters clutching quilts of all kinds used to be a very big part of my life. My life and my mothers. We delighted in those times together for a lovely block of years.
She passed away unexpectedly last May. It doesn't really matter how old or frail an elder becomes; their death feels somehow unexpected. Can you plan for death and grief?
Boundary Bay Quilt Guild had a spring quilt show and my husband and I, on a day of spontaneous adventure, found ourselves wandering amongst rows of quilts.
"Oh, Mom would have liked that one," I commented. And then to myself added, "Oh no! Don't think about your Momma."
As, right on cue, the live entertainer began to strum and sing, "You take the high road and I'll take the low road..."
Come ON!!!

Sunday, May 5, 2019

flat as a stone

Peripheral vision is always ON.
My step faltered even before I knew I had seen something,
even as my eyes swung to the left.
There on the hand railing,
snoozing in the sun
sat a tiny green tree frog.
Black bandit eye mask.
Flat as a stone.

When my husband leaned in for a closer look it opened bright black eyes and lifted its chin.
It seemed to be taking a reading on wind direction.
When you weigh as much as a leaf, and live in a tree, wind is something to ponder.

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Saturday, April 20, 2019

more




one rabbit
two rabbit
three rabbit
four
five rabbit 
six rabbit
seven rabbit
more.....

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

dolls are important

Dolls are important. They are the babies of children. 
The dollies these clothes were made for arrived Christmas morning dressed in sleepers. They NEEDED dresses..and bonnets (reversible ones)....and bloomers.....and slippers. (bunny slippers with pink pom pom noses)

 They needed bunting bags.....with detachable hoods.
And I needed an assembly line.

Double snuggle
Double dress-up

Fun x 2.

spring trio

A trio of spring cards.

Friday, March 1, 2019

speech

"I gave my speech at school today Gramma," my grandson says.
"Oh, wonderful," I cry. "What was your topic?"
"Why there shouldn't be speeches at school."

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

like a pearl

My gaze wandered to the clock.
My mind gave a jolt.
Outside I dashed.
Arrhhhh!
The eclipse had already started.
Back inside I dove and onto the phone.
My daughters voice answered.
"Blood Moon," I gasped. "Get the kids to the window!"
I rushed back outside.
A dark thumbprint had crept up the face of the moon.
My husband soon joined me and held his phone up to the night sky.
He has an app that shows the constellations in real time.
I giant crab seemed to be holding the moon like a pearl in its pincers.
Slowly the moon darkened.
Stars glittered far and wide.
Full moons usually glow, flatly white, like a paper disc pasted on the sky,
but as the eclipse cast its shadow onto the surface of the moon it became a glowing orb,
and through binoculars,
a giant fragile balloon,
lit from within.

Monday, January 7, 2019

special sparrow

I wheeled up the drive and there like an ornament was a plump bird perched atop a shrub. It's head was dusky black, belly, roundly white. It was only as it turned and flashed russet that I knew.
A Towhee.
Not an unusual bird but somehow, in the cool afternoon light, it seemed an exotic stranger to the yard.
A special kind of sparrow.

hope on

I heard a sudden commotion behind me in the room.
"Snow!"
"Look, it's snowing."
"There's snow."
I turned and gazed at a cluster of teenage faces and followed their gaze to the windows beyond.
I squinted.
A few sparse flakes were dusting down like salt sparingly shaken.
Only in Abbotsford, I thought.
Only here at the coast would there be such awe and joy over next-to-no-snow falling.
We always hope though.
A few trees are pushing leaves already and bulbs are poking up through the soft, rain soaked ground.
But we still hope.
Pussy willows are just five or six weeks away.
But we hope on.