The dogwood tree is in bloom in my front garden. It is the most discreet of flowers - you have to pay attention or you think the flowers are leaves due to their soft green/yellow color. But once they have caught your eye the 'eye' of each of them winks chummily.
Saw a young man in a sporty convertible driving along this morning, in the rain, windshield washers wildly waving, top down.
Saw a young woman walking along the street with a black bomber jacket, black slacks, and a slip over the pants, lacey fringe and all.
As I was standing in front of the sink waiting for the hot water tap to bring hot water up from the water tank in the basement I found myself thinking - "I wish this would download faster." Does this mean I've come of age or whatever? Chuckle.
My hair is long enough to pull up on top of my head again and I got some bobby pins to secure the haystack top into a sort of roll. The stretchy circle that holds the hair up there is an improvment on elastic bands which did the job for much of my earlier life with long hair. But it does exert a constant pull on the hair. The other day the pressure of the bobby pins suddenly got to me and it was only after I yanked them out in a can't-take-this-any-more action that I realized just what a relief it was! Then I pulled out the elastic. Ah - freedom! Maybe it's age that has lowered my tolerance for unnecessary stresses and strains. Maybe it's wisdom. I shudder to think that I put up with panty hose and pointy-toe shoes...
Thrift stores, garage sales, church sales have been a part of my life for many, many years. I could write a book about the details, the changes, the raisons d'etre - in fact I started keeping notes at one point with a book in mind - but - it got to be too much 'work' and the time I spend in such adventuring contributes greatly to the 'fun' part of my life, so I stopped recording. (I continue to learn to accept that 'work' and 'fun' can equate: at the moment the income part is the stopgap - the acceptance of income for what I find 'fun' and then I can accept that this is my 'work')
One aspect of what the aforementioned 'consumerism' (and does it now qualify as such even though it plays by non-conventional rules?) gives me was illustrated yesterday in one of my favourite thrift stores, one I tend to swoop through daily as it is on my way home and, unlike 'normal' stores, the merchandise changes daily and invites daily perusal. Yesterday I came across a bar of Cashmere Bouquet soap. A single bar. New. Unopened but not in a plastic wrapper with two others. I could smell the scent as soon as I picked it up. Immediately I flew back in delightful memory to family reunions, held outdoors on a large field to accommodate our very large family, buckets of water and a basin for washing. And - every year - a bar of Cashmere Bouquet soap. Now, I've likely seen bars of this soap in the supermarket over the years, perhaps have remembered that it is the kind that Aunt Barb used to provide at the reunions. But I was never moved to pick up the package, to actually consider buying the soap. But in that thrift store the situation was just right. The single bar. The scent. It cost me 25 cents. It is now in my bathroom, in use. And when I use it I am not just washing my hands but engaging in a journey.
Today they put out wool in that thrift store. Now - what about a bouquet of cashmere........
There's a group calling itself Dan!ce and this got me thinking about punctuation and why we only put it at the end of a word or a sentence. Introduced into words - now - doesn't that add to the whole adventure of grammar. After?life. Gor!ge!ous. Un*bear*able. La$vi$sh. Un%de%cid%ed. What on ea?rth would I Google to find out if anyone else is playing around with this? What! fun!
A lady I know figured out how many stitches she knit into a pair of her husband's socks. How many would you guess? Did you come close to 51,030. Isn't that incredible. Each and every stitch hand formed. Takes her about thirty hours. The results are truly beautiful as she uses good wool and colours and patterns. Such men need to walk around with their pant legs rolled up to display the 'art' on their feet and ankles.
Something took place on the deck last night. I didn't see it so can only speculate on what caused the sisal carpet to fold up on itself and form a tunnel. I looked closely to see if perhaps something was in the fold, but no, the participants had absented. Possibly a cat in sudden flight from sound or another cat, the hind and fore legs unorchestrated so that the carpet gave way under the awkward onslaught. It must have been dramatic. That is quite a tunnel!
There is wonder and welcome at the sight of new leaves unfurling each spring; there is added awe in the evidence of survival in the plants I have transplanted. The catalpa tree, f''r'instance. It was a seedling underneath a full grown tree just down the block whose owner agreed I could dig it up and take it home. It did well last year and formed a miniature of what grew outside my Polish grandma's house in St. Thomas, Ontario, on the Main Street, where a Mac Donald's is now. The memory of Baba's tree prompted my trekking the 'baby' home. Well, there are teeny new green shoots on it now. I gave a hoot of joy when I noticed and touched them gently. It's not that I don't trust trees to get on with life - but - even in what passes for winter here in Victoria involves months when the garden is not daily observed and how would I know if that little catalpa tree had its roots miserably in water for days or weeks on end......... But, all is well. It waves tiny leaves as I walk by.
The forsythia around town right now are in a riot of hand clapping - they catch the attention! Warm days and cool nights are lenghtening the experience this year and the ongoing chance for appreciation is soothing and satisfying after the 'winter'. (I qualify 'winter', here in Victoria, thusly, but it is not Autumn, not Spring... and soothing and satisfying are welcomed.) (Another tangent - there was frost on the rooftops this morning but an extra blanket was not necessary last night - ? - 'winter' chill must soak out of a house with the Sun!) Is there not something special about a plant like the forsythia (and the flowering cherry trees) that bursts into bloom before any trace of a leaf is evident. It's as if they have some extra awareness. I know, I know, it likely has to do with a survival trait of attracting insects earliest and showiest - but - isn't that extra awareness... In any case they provide the most gorgeous display. From a distance the stems look black and the contrast is stunning. It is only on closer inspection that one realizes the stems are a golden brown and I have several times walked close, walked afar, walked close - but never can discover at just what instant the sight goes from black to brown - or why!