9 Jul 2014, 2:30pm
Glad Game
2 comments

Blessings

It’s good to count your blessing while you can remember them. When the neural weather system reverses, they still may be unreachable as something with significance but they might glimmer.

A family reunion was fun. I like having something to do that is needed. So I was in charge of getting people to sign the attendance sheet and write their names on a slip for door prizes, and then going to find the people when they won who had scattered all over, in a circle playing music, or another playing badminton, or kicking a soccer ball,
riverside
or gone up to visit the neighbour’s cows, or down to the river to look for snakes, or gone for a walk around the pond, or sitting in the shade.

Got a chance to have a few words with a few. Lowering expectations to dribs and drabs that may accumulate or not, but being present for little bits.

Mom dropped another couple bags of things I left at her house when I moved out, including the best jeans ever. If I ever return to my 8-year-old frame, I would totally wear those red roadrunners again. Also, this:

tshirt
I do not remember cutting the sleeves off a sweatshirt. Or writing this. Misspelling totally unintentional I’m sure. Did I wear it in public with that written on the back? The past is a mysterious country.

Five social events in 2 weeks. What butterflies we are. And after a sense of well-being. For Canada Day I thought I pulled a muscle in my face from smiling. I haven’t laughed that much in a long while.

Yesterday slow, mellow easy company. Sometimes it feels impossibly hard as such a long pattern and then this. Sometimes one gets the illusion that life might be easy. And/or funny.

Older Ladies by Donnalou Stevens has that wonderful balance of good humour and standing self-assessing as acceptable and self-assured. With 5 million views in a month, seems the world has been waiting for that message.

A time for refusing and reflecting putdowns, not silently shrugging off like that 14-year-old Carleigh. Determine one’s own terms of engagement.

canning
And canning small joys. For almost a month I’ve been planning to try this. (The post at Eaten Up at noon tomorrow.)

It’s a hard sweet spot to hit to want something enough to do it and to not want something so much that it is paralyzing. Stage fright and performance anxiety aren’t just for conversation and presentation. Alone in the kitchen. Until it’s in the thick of it. Then there’s a breakthru in the doing. As with anything else.

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To do something concrete. To saw off 4 limbs and have the backyard less overhung with leaves. I have a sap-lust. Is this how lumberjacks start? Or deserts? If only we could eat Manitoba Maple we’d never be able to go hungry.

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Sometimes I feel darnright domestic without it seeming pejorative.

Imagine all the funny human tricks I can do — like lift a heady pot, or carry limbs again. Or lift laundry onto the line. Or carry a table. It’s been 14 months or so since I was that normal. Sometimes the shoulder aches if I lift too much for too long, or lie on it for too long, but it is largely normal.

A good normal of wanting the well-being for one another, asking after, the casual walk by with a touch on the back or arm. And the longer time off together, with an excuse of food.

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The garden is growing. So are plans for the next. Maybe take out that tree, and put a fruit one. Or move such and such. Nice to see a bit of future instead of being in the smaller now.

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What a profusion of flowers. Everything is blossoming. Except poetry. I’m writing at probably 1/10 or 1/20 of my normal rate but life in general is a creative outlet.

hoppahoppa
Sunny days of zig zag hopping all around the yard. I don’t know how we’ll explain winter to her. A rainy day is lament enough. Her ears back and meowing when it’s raining out not just the front door, but at the back door too. She adds an inordinate joy with her curiosity and innocence.

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The good life must include watermelon in the shade.

And yesterday the sweetness of standing together under a roof in a white out of downpour, sheets of rain blowing down the water-covered river of a street. Cat at our feet. On other verandas along the street other people out watching the torrential rain. I ran out in it for the cold shock and at my squeak, the cat retreated closer to the door then as the rained eased came back to hunker between our ankles.

It’s rather nice that a being so independent could be anywhere and chooses there. I woke to her sleeping against my ankle. Hubby at the other side. Good way to ease into a day.

What a feel-good post – and cool kitty cat action shot! :)

11 Jul 2014, 12:36am
by Jean Van Loon


I laughed out loud at your opening line, all the more true at my age! Great post.

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