Category: Rites of Passage
-
Marshland colour
For a Canadian expatriate, the more brilliant the red leaf is, the more homesickness intrudes. But yesterday afternoon you didn’t have to be a reminiscing Canadian to experience the delight of the blackberry leaves turning crimson, branch by branch. I remember when the new Canadian flag was first mooted. Schoolchildren were urged to create their…
-
This too shall pass . . . the joy of foreknowledge
Feeling just that extra bit stiff and sore this morning — my joints and muscles don’t really want to move around very much. We had our fourth Covid jab yesterday afternoon, the Moderna bi-valent one. I reckon our immune response to the immunological challenge is mobilising, from the lymph nodes draining the injection site, where…
-
Family togetherness . . .
We had a full house over the weekend: blow-up mattress, camping cushions in the living room, and three sets of familiars to accommodate in separate quarters. Kali cat lived in the conservatory from whence she could escape to the great outdoors; growing-up kittens Maui and Leo roamed from lounge to bedroom, enjoying their sequestered eating…
-
The big picture . . .
Funerals are one particular point at which we stop, look back, and consider a life. The obituary is a condensed recitation of the deceased’s odyssey, and in my experience these small and intimate biographies, declaimed from the lectern above the casket, can convey surprising breadth and understanding of where the beloved has come from, how…
-
Soft clean lines . . .
The soft lines of our hedgerows echo the undulations of the fellsides across the valley. This sight is such a joy, especially with the straggly hawthorns trimmed into a presentable state. This was work that was beyond my capacity, so we inveigled a local handyman to work throughout yesterday, to finish today, and to charm…
-
Relief from pain is a kind of odd joy, but gratefully received!
I seem to be losing teeth at an increasing rate, these days! Soon I shall be like ageing Plough, denizen of the field in front of Elpha Green above Sparty Lea, a grand old man of the equine tribe, who finds it challenging to pull up grass and hay. But he copes, and so do…
-
Gasps of the past inform the present . . .
So I wasn’t sure I got much out of the writing workshop on Bank Holiday Monday — it felt rather more useful for beginning writers, and of course I fancy myself a bit with three years of writing group under my belt these days. But I was chatting about the day with our beloved neighbour,…
-
Revelations of family history
Creativity is its own reward, I keep reminding myself. You don’t need accolades or praise if you’ve created something that the inner artist loves. Indeed, critical or adulatory feedback can obscure the joy for the creator, as somehow the piece of work moves out of their personal sphere into the realm of the other audience.…
-
Family fun and frolics
Families are arriving for a big celebration today here in Sparty. We’ve got the lawns mowed (some rather better than others!), hot tub fired up, food gathered in, and the Elf Hole is stocked and ready for a series of prolonged chats. The bartender has his best convivial manner in play, and expects to listen,…
-
Today we look for joy in the midst of sorrow . . .
I’ve been watching a lovely video, called Winifreda’s Return, uploaded last year to YouTube, of Garry sailing the family yacht/fishing boat of ancient vintage, a century old, and describing its history. Although he was a wonderful narrator, as the craft sailed the high seas, I think he was probably even more at home within the…
Roads to Joy 