Sunday morning on the back deck. Newspaper and cereal. Flowers and birds. Treated to a brief glimpse of a solitary hummer.
I happened to look up at just the right time, just as a hummingbird paid a visit to the Bee Balm and Monkshood — way at the back of the yard; he was not near and hovered only briefly. But, however brief the sighting, I had no trouble appreciating it, even revelling in it.
When we're up at the cottage, we can see hummers almost any time of the day, only a few feet away. They visit the feeder that hangs just outside the porch window, the porch where we congregate, particularly in hot weather. These tiny critters are bold, not much intimdated by the proximity of humans. They feed at will, constantly coming and going, whirring and buzzing, hovering and darting. Amazing creations they!
How could one not appreciate such visits?
Yet, when I'm up there for several weeks and can see hummers almost whenever I choose, I sometimes forget that this is no common sight, have to remind myself of that.
I don't have to remind myself to be appreciative when I catch a fleeting and distant glimpse of a hummer from my suburban perch, however. I automatically value it — don't have to think about it.
That's part of being human, it seems. When we are surrounded by bounty, we tend not to cherish as we should. We don't mean to be like that, but we tend to need reminding. I am pleased to have been reminded on this fine morning. What a treat!
Sunday, July 18, 2004
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Changing Times or Not?
I was thinking this today while I was standing in line at the coffee shop: there are times in life when we change faster than others. Now, as I reflect more, I’m not sure that I was correct.
It started when I was, for the thousandth time, contemplating our proposed autumn trip. We went Down East three years ago, enjoyed what we saw, but we know that there’s a lot more to see, and we think that we want to go back. Last time, we mostly camped: looked forward to it, enjoyed it. Today, I found myself standing in the coffee shop, musing that camping didn’t seem all that appealing to me. That seemed to be quite a change in three years and led me to reflect that I might be changing more rapidly at this stage of my life.
One can’t deny that there are times in life when we change more rapidly than at others. Young children grow fast. Many teenagers tend to have a growth spurt. I know I did. I ended one school year as a little guy and came back almost full-grown (height-wise at least) the next September. After that, however, we seem to enter a period of stasis.
Undeniably, in my mind at least, from our early twenties to around the mid-forties, changes occur gradually, almost imperceptibly. Basically, we’re in our prime. Both mind and body seem to be in reasonable working order. There are changes to be sure: most of us will fill out at least a little, for example. But it seems to be gradual, not sudden. Granted, if you stand an early-twenty-something person beside a mid-forty-something person, you’ll observe a significant difference, but I don’t recall sudden shifts.
That’s what I thought, but now I wonder because I recall some definite markers. At forty, or close to it, I bought contact lenses for the first time. I gave up on them quickly because I couldn’t see up close with them very well. I switched back to regular glasses that I could easily raise and lower as required. My next pair of glasses was destined to become my first pair of bifocals.
I associate this change with turning forty, and that’s sudden. But would I have noticed it if I hadn’t tried contact lenses just then? Had I already unconsciously been shifting my glasses up and down as needed? I suspect so. I also suspect that many of us peg life-changes to prominent birthdays, that we tend to link turning-forty with anything conspicuous that seems to occur within several years of that milestone.
I noted another change at forty. That summer, I took my younger daughter to an amusement park. I discovered that I wasn’t having a really great time. We had taken the kids several times when we were in our thirties, and I enjoyed myself well enough, but, suddenly, I was no longer having the time of my life whirling around in dizzying circles. Was this a sudden change, or had I been enjoying the rides less and less until … until I finally realized that I was no longer having a blast?
There I was this morning, well into my fifties, closer to sixty than fifty, standing in the coffee shop, thinking that I have changed faster lately because the idea of camping didn’t fill me with enthusiasm. Four years ago, we travelled Out West (why do we go Out West but Down East?) for a month; we camped and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Three years ago, we made a similar pilgrimage Down East. Last year, we adventured by Lake of the Woods. This year, however, camping doesn’t particularly appeal to me. That seems like a doggone abrupt change at first blush.
But now, I don’t know. If someone were to put the tent up for me and take it down, well by golly, I might still prefer it to an over-priced and over-rated motel room. Or if you could guarantee me good weather, I might yet choose tenting, despite the demands of pitching and breaking camp. On one hand, the fact remains, that not long ago, I was quite willing to camp and decamp with no outside assistance and with no guarantee of propitious weather. On the other hand, it might simply be experience that now cautions me. Had I, in fact, had the same amount of camping experience four years ago as I have now, I might have been just as hesitant.
So, you see, I am not altogether certain in my thoughts. I started the blog thinking one thing but have since waffled, and in so doing have had to revise the blog as I went along. And that's wee bit of an inconvenience to say the least! However, the more that I ponder, the more this opinion is emerging: because there is an accumulation of change, there comes a point when we perceive it more. It’s the perception that’s more sudden than the actual change.
What do you think?
It started when I was, for the thousandth time, contemplating our proposed autumn trip. We went Down East three years ago, enjoyed what we saw, but we know that there’s a lot more to see, and we think that we want to go back. Last time, we mostly camped: looked forward to it, enjoyed it. Today, I found myself standing in the coffee shop, musing that camping didn’t seem all that appealing to me. That seemed to be quite a change in three years and led me to reflect that I might be changing more rapidly at this stage of my life.
One can’t deny that there are times in life when we change more rapidly than at others. Young children grow fast. Many teenagers tend to have a growth spurt. I know I did. I ended one school year as a little guy and came back almost full-grown (height-wise at least) the next September. After that, however, we seem to enter a period of stasis.
Undeniably, in my mind at least, from our early twenties to around the mid-forties, changes occur gradually, almost imperceptibly. Basically, we’re in our prime. Both mind and body seem to be in reasonable working order. There are changes to be sure: most of us will fill out at least a little, for example. But it seems to be gradual, not sudden. Granted, if you stand an early-twenty-something person beside a mid-forty-something person, you’ll observe a significant difference, but I don’t recall sudden shifts.
That’s what I thought, but now I wonder because I recall some definite markers. At forty, or close to it, I bought contact lenses for the first time. I gave up on them quickly because I couldn’t see up close with them very well. I switched back to regular glasses that I could easily raise and lower as required. My next pair of glasses was destined to become my first pair of bifocals.
I associate this change with turning forty, and that’s sudden. But would I have noticed it if I hadn’t tried contact lenses just then? Had I already unconsciously been shifting my glasses up and down as needed? I suspect so. I also suspect that many of us peg life-changes to prominent birthdays, that we tend to link turning-forty with anything conspicuous that seems to occur within several years of that milestone.
I noted another change at forty. That summer, I took my younger daughter to an amusement park. I discovered that I wasn’t having a really great time. We had taken the kids several times when we were in our thirties, and I enjoyed myself well enough, but, suddenly, I was no longer having the time of my life whirling around in dizzying circles. Was this a sudden change, or had I been enjoying the rides less and less until … until I finally realized that I was no longer having a blast?
There I was this morning, well into my fifties, closer to sixty than fifty, standing in the coffee shop, thinking that I have changed faster lately because the idea of camping didn’t fill me with enthusiasm. Four years ago, we travelled Out West (why do we go Out West but Down East?) for a month; we camped and thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Three years ago, we made a similar pilgrimage Down East. Last year, we adventured by Lake of the Woods. This year, however, camping doesn’t particularly appeal to me. That seems like a doggone abrupt change at first blush.
But now, I don’t know. If someone were to put the tent up for me and take it down, well by golly, I might still prefer it to an over-priced and over-rated motel room. Or if you could guarantee me good weather, I might yet choose tenting, despite the demands of pitching and breaking camp. On one hand, the fact remains, that not long ago, I was quite willing to camp and decamp with no outside assistance and with no guarantee of propitious weather. On the other hand, it might simply be experience that now cautions me. Had I, in fact, had the same amount of camping experience four years ago as I have now, I might have been just as hesitant.
So, you see, I am not altogether certain in my thoughts. I started the blog thinking one thing but have since waffled, and in so doing have had to revise the blog as I went along. And that's wee bit of an inconvenience to say the least! However, the more that I ponder, the more this opinion is emerging: because there is an accumulation of change, there comes a point when we perceive it more. It’s the perception that’s more sudden than the actual change.
What do you think?
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Eclectic Ramble
This is my first attempt to use Blogspot's HELLO system to post a photo. Previously, I have posted photos on my own website and just called them up into my blog. You can insert them into the flow of your comments that way, but I think I could do it using this system too ... with a little patience and practice. In HELLO, I began to type a caption but, mistakenly, hit ENTER to start a new line. I didn't realize that ENTER would actually publish the photo. However, I am able to EDIT the blog in the normal fashion, which is what I am doing now. HELLO just gives me another option. This HELLO system would probably be the best option for most people, and I think that I might use it more and more too.
This photo shows the sparrow and birdhouse which were mentioned in my previous blog. I finally got around to taking a photo when we were sitting outside having lunch the other day. However, the birdhouse is not really in the lovely setting that you are seeing; it is actually stationed in front of a rather drab fence where it remains. I only moved it digitally, in this photo, to another part of the yard, and I am much happier with the amended version.
It's nice to take photos again, even a few. For the past few weeks, I have been consumed with arranging and printing wedding photos and have been seriously neglecting my camera. While doing the wedding album, I upgraded to the most recent version of Photoshop which involved a bit of a learning curve. In the course of all of this, I also realized that my basic Photoshop skills have been rusting out. So, I bought a new instructional book and have been working through it, reminding myself of various tools and methods and learning some new ones.
Learning is such fun — so satisfying. I wish that I had known that all of the way through school. I was a typical under-achiever: too obtuse to know any better. I could have loved school and embraced it rather than disliking it and eschewing it.
I can remember a brief interlude when I came to my senses and participated in one particular subject for a while. My marks shot up dramatically: not because I studied harder but simply because I engaged my brain during class and learned naturally, without really trying. What happened what that I was sitting in class one day and was moved to put up my hand to answer a question — uncharacteristic behaviour indeed. Somehow, that activated me and my tiny brain. I soon answered another question, and it got to be a habit — in one class for a certain period of time, that is.
I actually had fun being proactive in that class, but I didn't realize it at the time, didn't apply it to any other subjects, and didn't even continue my new behaviour in that or any other subject in subsequent years. What a waste!
Although I must take responsibility for my own stupidity, I think my parents were deeply implicated in this unfortunate scenario. I can remember being sent off to school with negative comments ringing in my ears: "Oh, they'll make you tow the line," or "You're in for it now." I really don't recall the exact words any more, but I know that those kinds of comments affected my attitude toward school and learning. They were probably made flippantly in a teasing sort of way, but I think they impacted my approach to school and life for a long period of time.
Somehow, I ended up in university where I became a decent student, but I regret not waking up to the joy of proactive learning earlier in my life. It's never too late, but you can't turn back the clock and redeem lost time either.
This photo shows the sparrow and birdhouse which were mentioned in my previous blog. I finally got around to taking a photo when we were sitting outside having lunch the other day. However, the birdhouse is not really in the lovely setting that you are seeing; it is actually stationed in front of a rather drab fence where it remains. I only moved it digitally, in this photo, to another part of the yard, and I am much happier with the amended version.
It's nice to take photos again, even a few. For the past few weeks, I have been consumed with arranging and printing wedding photos and have been seriously neglecting my camera. While doing the wedding album, I upgraded to the most recent version of Photoshop which involved a bit of a learning curve. In the course of all of this, I also realized that my basic Photoshop skills have been rusting out. So, I bought a new instructional book and have been working through it, reminding myself of various tools and methods and learning some new ones.
Learning is such fun — so satisfying. I wish that I had known that all of the way through school. I was a typical under-achiever: too obtuse to know any better. I could have loved school and embraced it rather than disliking it and eschewing it.
I can remember a brief interlude when I came to my senses and participated in one particular subject for a while. My marks shot up dramatically: not because I studied harder but simply because I engaged my brain during class and learned naturally, without really trying. What happened what that I was sitting in class one day and was moved to put up my hand to answer a question — uncharacteristic behaviour indeed. Somehow, that activated me and my tiny brain. I soon answered another question, and it got to be a habit — in one class for a certain period of time, that is.
I actually had fun being proactive in that class, but I didn't realize it at the time, didn't apply it to any other subjects, and didn't even continue my new behaviour in that or any other subject in subsequent years. What a waste!
Although I must take responsibility for my own stupidity, I think my parents were deeply implicated in this unfortunate scenario. I can remember being sent off to school with negative comments ringing in my ears: "Oh, they'll make you tow the line," or "You're in for it now." I really don't recall the exact words any more, but I know that those kinds of comments affected my attitude toward school and learning. They were probably made flippantly in a teasing sort of way, but I think they impacted my approach to school and life for a long period of time.
Somehow, I ended up in university where I became a decent student, but I regret not waking up to the joy of proactive learning earlier in my life. It's never too late, but you can't turn back the clock and redeem lost time either.
Friday, July 09, 2004
Nature's Little Blessings
Nature seemed determined to bless me today.
It started with breakfast on the deck under bright skies and in moderate temperatures. As pleasant and fine as that was, it turned out to be just the start. After amusing ourselves with our separate but pleasurable pursuits for the morning, we rejoined each other back on the deck for lunch. The neighbourhood birds did everything they could to add to the glory of the day. A pair a beautiful cardinals put in a brief appearance, and then a strikingly brilliant goldfinch perched by a pretty-in-pink Echinacea flower. Sparrows flitted in and out of Sue's two beautifully painted birdhouses. She painted the birdhouses to adorn, not to be functional, but the birds have their own ideas. And when Mrs Sparrow pokes its head out of the portal and peaks about, I consider the adornment complete. After Mrs Sparrow spends a little quality time in the birdhouse, she likes to hop up on the fence and chirp her heart-lifting trills. Perhaps I am deluding myself, but I like to think that she sings for us, that it's her way of thanking us for the little house.
After a little more puttering about in the early afternoon, we headed off to Tim's for coffee. You may have to be Canadian to appreciate this, but permit me tell the rest of you that Tim Horton's is a Canadian marvel. No frilly Starbucks for the average Canuck. You can only have one kind of coffee at Tim's, but it's good coffee: the coffee by which Canadians judge all others. Yes, we have our bit of heaven in Canada: plain, simple, and robust — very much like the people of this country. But I digress.
We took our two extra-large-double-creams to The Bay, sat on a bench, sipped the java, and soaked up the view. Water is so uplifting; and, even if the view on the far shore isn't so grand ... well, we can just ignore it and focus on the positive. After sitting and sipping for a while, we strolled along the flat and nicely cobbled bank, frequently stopping to enjoy the ducks and the geese — some in the water and some on shore. The little ones don't have to do anything to be cute; they just are. The adults amused us by sticking their heads in the water and immodestly raising their fannies skyward. Immodest they may be, but they are also very family-oriented, unceasingly vigilant of the little ones: constantly guarding, diligently watching.
We saw a solitary, white farmyard duckling swimming nonchalantly amongst the mallards. Was he a stray, or a throwback to a recessive gene in some past crossbreeding hankypanky?
I could not tell, but we also saw a goose that was quite obviously a crossbreed: part Canada Goose and part farmyard goose. It had the white fanny of a barnyard goose as well as the larger and orange beak of its barnyard cousins but the distinctive Canada Goose markings on its neck, back, and wings. It's ancestry is unimportant, however, as it acted just like any other Canada Goose and was accepted as an equal by the flock. Indeed, it was either a mother or a father, was partnered with a full-fledged, pure Canada Goose, and was guarding his or her goslings with all due diligence. This moves me: this commitment and dedication to family.
Both the odd, white ducking and the mixed-breed goose were totally at home with their friends, families and surroundings. The critters have no mirrors and are not a bit self-conscious. Their families and friends can certainly see them for what they are — different — but they care not a whit. Perhaps they are genuinely blind to the differences, but I prefer to hold that their blindness is willful — a conscious choice. I choose to believe that they say to themselves and to each other: "We're all geese (or ducks) here; that's what matters. That's what."
I choose not to belabour the obvious application that we could make for our kind. I prefer just to revel in a day when nature blessed me in so many little ways.
There are rich folk in their yachts in The Bay. I hope that they too are occasionally blessed by nature, but I cannot believe that they were any richer than I today.
It started with breakfast on the deck under bright skies and in moderate temperatures. As pleasant and fine as that was, it turned out to be just the start. After amusing ourselves with our separate but pleasurable pursuits for the morning, we rejoined each other back on the deck for lunch. The neighbourhood birds did everything they could to add to the glory of the day. A pair a beautiful cardinals put in a brief appearance, and then a strikingly brilliant goldfinch perched by a pretty-in-pink Echinacea flower. Sparrows flitted in and out of Sue's two beautifully painted birdhouses. She painted the birdhouses to adorn, not to be functional, but the birds have their own ideas. And when Mrs Sparrow pokes its head out of the portal and peaks about, I consider the adornment complete. After Mrs Sparrow spends a little quality time in the birdhouse, she likes to hop up on the fence and chirp her heart-lifting trills. Perhaps I am deluding myself, but I like to think that she sings for us, that it's her way of thanking us for the little house.
After a little more puttering about in the early afternoon, we headed off to Tim's for coffee. You may have to be Canadian to appreciate this, but permit me tell the rest of you that Tim Horton's is a Canadian marvel. No frilly Starbucks for the average Canuck. You can only have one kind of coffee at Tim's, but it's good coffee: the coffee by which Canadians judge all others. Yes, we have our bit of heaven in Canada: plain, simple, and robust — very much like the people of this country. But I digress.
We took our two extra-large-double-creams to The Bay, sat on a bench, sipped the java, and soaked up the view. Water is so uplifting; and, even if the view on the far shore isn't so grand ... well, we can just ignore it and focus on the positive. After sitting and sipping for a while, we strolled along the flat and nicely cobbled bank, frequently stopping to enjoy the ducks and the geese — some in the water and some on shore. The little ones don't have to do anything to be cute; they just are. The adults amused us by sticking their heads in the water and immodestly raising their fannies skyward. Immodest they may be, but they are also very family-oriented, unceasingly vigilant of the little ones: constantly guarding, diligently watching.
We saw a solitary, white farmyard duckling swimming nonchalantly amongst the mallards. Was he a stray, or a throwback to a recessive gene in some past crossbreeding hankypanky?
I could not tell, but we also saw a goose that was quite obviously a crossbreed: part Canada Goose and part farmyard goose. It had the white fanny of a barnyard goose as well as the larger and orange beak of its barnyard cousins but the distinctive Canada Goose markings on its neck, back, and wings. It's ancestry is unimportant, however, as it acted just like any other Canada Goose and was accepted as an equal by the flock. Indeed, it was either a mother or a father, was partnered with a full-fledged, pure Canada Goose, and was guarding his or her goslings with all due diligence. This moves me: this commitment and dedication to family.
Both the odd, white ducking and the mixed-breed goose were totally at home with their friends, families and surroundings. The critters have no mirrors and are not a bit self-conscious. Their families and friends can certainly see them for what they are — different — but they care not a whit. Perhaps they are genuinely blind to the differences, but I prefer to hold that their blindness is willful — a conscious choice. I choose to believe that they say to themselves and to each other: "We're all geese (or ducks) here; that's what matters. That's what."
I choose not to belabour the obvious application that we could make for our kind. I prefer just to revel in a day when nature blessed me in so many little ways.
There are rich folk in their yachts in The Bay. I hope that they too are occasionally blessed by nature, but I cannot believe that they were any richer than I today.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Recommended Reading
My last blog bemoaned the reality that I haven't read any page-turners lately. I remain unsure whether it is I who has changed or whether I simply haven't chosen the right books lately. However, there are several books that I have enjoyed quite a lot and would like to recommend. One is Eats, Shoots & Leaves by Lynne Truss. Believe it or not, this book that I recommend is about punctuation. It is written in a very interesting and humourous way. In fact, it almost is a page-turner for me — comes fairly close anyway. I think many people would enjoy it, and there is the added benefit that one might learn something about punctuating this wacky language. Try it, you'll probably like it.
The second book that I would like to recommend is actually a series about Harmony by Philip Gulley. Gulley is a Quaker pastor who writes folksy anecdotes about a fictional Quaker pastor and his quirky congregation in a Midwestern town called Harmony. It's heart-warming, delightful stuff. My appreciation might be bolstered by the fact that I have a church background and can relate to the zany characters to some degree, but I have the feeling that a whole lot of people would really enjoy these books. If you go to the Amazon link (here and above), you will see his other books listed too. They may all be worthwhile, but I am recommending those with Harmony in the title.
The second book that I would like to recommend is actually a series about Harmony by Philip Gulley. Gulley is a Quaker pastor who writes folksy anecdotes about a fictional Quaker pastor and his quirky congregation in a Midwestern town called Harmony. It's heart-warming, delightful stuff. My appreciation might be bolstered by the fact that I have a church background and can relate to the zany characters to some degree, but I have the feeling that a whole lot of people would really enjoy these books. If you go to the Amazon link (here and above), you will see his other books listed too. They may all be worthwhile, but I am recommending those with Harmony in the title.
Say It Ain't So
I am reading a few chapters of a mystery each night lately: Let Loose the Dogs, written by Maureen Jennings and set in late nineteenth century Toronto. My last book was The Heart is a Lonely Hunter: authored by Carson McCullers and set in the south in the 1930s. I have found neither to be a page-turner and have been content to take in a bite-sized portion most nights at bedtime.
Is it the books or I who are at fault — if indeed there is blame to be assigned? Could it be that I have reached another milestone and that I can no longer be captivated by a story, that I am no longer capable of feeling compelled to read on? Is this yet another life-change? It doesn't seem that long ago when a novel could hook my feeble brain and demand to be finished that night.
Now, I seem to read because I have enjoyed it in the past or because, on a good night, it helps me to fall asleep more easily afterward. It's fine to read in order to relax at bedtime, but I hate to think that I might never again feel compelled to succumb to the urge to read just one more chapter ... and one more ... until I am done and feel somewhat exhilarated by the experience.
I am really hoping that I just haven't found the right book lately, that I haven't really changed that much. Say it ain't so.
Is it the books or I who are at fault — if indeed there is blame to be assigned? Could it be that I have reached another milestone and that I can no longer be captivated by a story, that I am no longer capable of feeling compelled to read on? Is this yet another life-change? It doesn't seem that long ago when a novel could hook my feeble brain and demand to be finished that night.
Now, I seem to read because I have enjoyed it in the past or because, on a good night, it helps me to fall asleep more easily afterward. It's fine to read in order to relax at bedtime, but I hate to think that I might never again feel compelled to succumb to the urge to read just one more chapter ... and one more ... until I am done and feel somewhat exhilarated by the experience.
I am really hoping that I just haven't found the right book lately, that I haven't really changed that much. Say it ain't so.
Friday, July 02, 2004
Remarkable Rose
What could be more banal than this photo of our old air conditioner? Yeah, it is old — over twenty years old. When it was installed, I decided that it was silly to have a rose bush behind it. So, as best I could, working in the narrow confines between the AC unit and the wall, I took my trusty spade and dug, poked, and hacked at the plant. I did my best to get rid of it. Hacked it off well below surface level. Thought I had succeeded in eliminating it. Now, I’m thrilled that I failed.
Slowly, steadily, it grew back. Some fifteen years or so later, fifteen years of total neglect, fifteen years of struggling for life between an air conditioner and a wall, it produced a bloom — a single rose.
Every year since, it has produced a few beautiful red roses.
A few houses up, our neighbours have a full rose bush of exactly the same type. But I am moved by our scrawny little plant with its three or four flowers. I almost get sentimental about it. It does what it can, living in the circumstances in which it does: in a few inches of parched shade between a desiccating AC and a wall.
Nature can teach us lessons if we will allow it. There are probably several that this rose bush can teach, but for one, it brings to my mind the adage: “Bloom where you’re planted.” We aren’t all planted in equally fertile ground. Some are not nurtured as much as others. The circumstances that nature and nurture combine to give each person are not equal. Yet, is it not wondrous when a person manages to produce gorgeous flowers, be they few or many? Is it not even a tiny bit miraculous?
You see: there is something about this rose that I appreciate and admire more than it’s more bountiful brothers and sisters. It does what it can, and in doing so, it moves me.
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