Bought a gorgeous old typewriter at a garage sale that is so old that to make an exclamation mark you have to hit the apostrophe key and then backspace and put in a period!!!!! Got a bit giddy with the single !!!!!!!!!!!! here!!!!!!!!!! And had a chuckle at the memory of one of my kids, raised on computers, investigating a typewriter for the first time and wondering where the Erase key was. I’ve put the ol’ Remington on display where my eye can gaze on it fondly as I delete and select all and copy and paste………
CBC Radio has been playing this smile-evoking song called When Cats Go Wrong (from a CD titled Orange Cats Make the Best Pets, I believe, by two Ontario artists). Enjoy it each time I hear it. After it was aired this morning another song was played but the lyrics were obscured by the music and, not for the first time, I wondered why this is such a common occurrence. Must be on purpose. Maybe akin to the poetry that one must struggle through (if one chooses to bother!) to get at the meaning. Seems silly to me, particularly since communication is one major factor in happily relating to other human beings. Why cloud it. It’s enough of a challenge when we are trying to be clear and straight forward.
Just discovered Marian Babson and her mystery books. Yippeee! She’s written oodles of them and as far as I know she is still alive and writing. Yippeee again! Nine Lives to Murder was almost a read-at-one-sitting but I resisted and let the book become several looked-forward-to sessions. And I look forward to all those other titles. I have the feeling that if I lived next door to Sue Grafton and saw her out in her garden I would likely shout across the fence, “Rot Rorking Roday, Rue?” Some unreasonable part of me expects her to produce the next in the series as fast -almost! – as I read each one.
The winter jasmine is beginning to diminish in number and brilliance and I notice this on the day I also become aware of forsythia bursting into bloom. Considering that I noted Nov 11 as the first sighting of the first yellow winter jasmine flowers, more than three months of continual sunny offerings seems above and beyond the call of duty!
A fly that flew into the open door of my home and then after a casual browse around made its way unerringly out has me again wondering if anyone has studied insects which are born and bred in a moderate climate to see if they have an added intelligence of direction. Over a decade or so I’ve observed that bugs don’t seem to stay trapped in windows out here– they leave the light and find the open door or the open window where they entered. I also have noticed that if you point a finger at one that seems a bit confused it does seem to benefit from the guidance.
Speaking of weather – got chatting with another person this morning who also has relatives back in eastern Canada where the weather has been distressingly wintery. We were discussing the fine line between mention of our blossoms and green grass and singing robins being seen as “rubbing it in” or examples of choices we have made and why we are here. Without the ‘role models’ of those who lived here already and told me about it I would never have realized this lifestyle and temperate climate existed. And in Canada, at that. Seems those who react badly are those who don’t feel they have a choice.
Our Flower Count doesn’t start until next week and since we are experiencing a spring two to three weeks early I am wondering if we will be allowed to count blossoms that have already fallen from those flowering cherry trees that line the streets and make Victoria a giant orchard. They drop fragrance as well!
We can go back in time and experience a moment, relive it. I have done it often enough to realize how effective it is as a therapy tool for releasing us from frozen parts of the past when we had shut down feeling.
This time I am using it to become a butterfly on the railing of my grandmother’s front porch on the outskirts of the main street, Talbot, in my hometown, St. Thomas, Ontario. There’s a MacDonald’s restaurant where the house once stood. There is no longer an operating foundry across the street.
I want to go back in memory specifically to observe the communication between an Italian lady who spoke mostly Italian and a Polish lady who spoke mostly Polish but seemed to have no problem ‘talking’. They would sit daily on the comfortable chairs on the verandah. Watch the world go by. I was there as a child. I want to be there as an adult. Something will be satisfied and I will be the richer for the experience.
Turning from Dallas Road onto Cook Street my eyes lifted to scan the treetop there and, sure enough, a bald eagle was perched at the tip. I paid as much silent homage as is possible while driving by in a vehicle and then noticed that others on the sidewalk were also an appreciative audience, a couple aiming cameras. Eagles have been roosting there for the decade or so I have lived here, thus the automatic check.
When I got home a bevy of bushtits scattered at my approach from their perch on the many feeders in the garden. I waited until they regrouped and stood there gazing in admiration at them, comparing this with the eagle experience. One large majestic eagle. Many tiny futzy bushtits. Is this the only reason for the difference of attention. Is there a difference in attention or only in my perception.
I wonder how many others there are who would recognize themselves as moneyologists – people interested in the ‘study’ of money. In all its aspects. Who are intrigued by money, by its effect on the individual, who are experimenting with this awareness. Having fun. Experiencing abundance.
‘KNOCK YOUR CHOCS OFF’ BROWNIES
(adapted from the original CHEWY BROWNIES recipe
in Food That Really Schmecks by Edna Staebler)
This recipe is about connectedness. A living legacy. A happening!
Each time I get out ‘Schmecks’ I do a little boogie around the kitchen and think – if not actually shout – “Thank you, Edna!” Her cookbooks have been a part of my culinary life for more than thirty years. She is ‘family.’ She’s introduced me to the Mennonites, and many other Canadians and areas of Canada through her many books and articles.
When the exquisite fragrance scents my home I think again of Edna in her cosy house on the shores of Sunfish Lake near Waterloo. I was born not so far from there in St. Thomas, Ontario. So the Edna experience is a trip ‘home’.
Edna is now ninety-seven, as incredible as always. There is a standing invitation for me to visit at Sunfish and collect one of the catnip mice she continues to knit.
In the meantime, I munch brownies.
¼ c veg.oil l c brown sugar 1 egg ½ c cocoa ¼ c oatmeal (quick)
½ c flour 1 tsp vanilla pinch salt
(those without a lactose intolerance can use butter instead of oil)
Mix in order given. Spread the thick batter in an oiled 8x8 cake pan. It will be a thin layer. Bake at 350 degrees for 20 min. Don’t overbake!
Let cool for ten minutes and cut into squares.
Makes 16 fudgey, delectable brownies. Thank you, once again, Edna!
A dear friend of mine introduced me to the following in her yoga class: There is nowhere we have to go, there is nothing we have to do. At that time it was meant to focus our attention on the moment and it worked.
Since then I’ve used it on many occasions: like a good tool it pops into my mind when I most need it, often when I am unaware that I need it – which makes it an excellent tool!
I’ve found that affirmations, or whatever you want to call them, are like that. They start in the mind as words and then take on a life of their own. They expand from the area of the mind into the feeling part of us and then they become magnets for what we want or need.
There is nowhere I have to go, nothing I have to do. Years ago I understood it on one level. Months ago I understood it on another level. Weeks ago I – well, you get the idea. Now I see it as not only providing a space of calm, of focus but allowing for the vacuum into which comes the awareness that the here and now is the here and now. And that’s it. And that’s perfect.
Now there’s someplace I have to go and something I have to do. And that’s perfect. Because it has come from the space of the “nowhere” and the “nothing.”