A Perfect Hour

In a lot of things we do, it is easy to think that parts of it could be better. “If only” whatever it was … was sooner or later, longer or shorter, darker or brighter. If there had been less fog, or warmer water or fewer people or less noise or ….! Yikes. The list is endless, once you start to think about it. But, in the midst of this clatter and clamour, sometimes there are small islands of perfection, of what a poet I once read called the ‘still centre, the heart of rest’. I think it is probably a really good exercise, when the snow lingers or the guest does not arrive when expected, to search in your memory and heart for these times, recall them, even if not in tranquility, and cherish the memory.

For me, one of these loved times was a fall afternoon, here on our land, taking a walk through the woods on a sunny day, a cool but clear afternoon, with my two little girls. There were a lot of leaves down, still at their crisp, curled best, and the girls ran through them, shuffling and rustling and giggling. They would run ahead of me, the sun glinting off their shiny blowing hair, or dart off to the side to investigate something intriguing. Or they would run back to me to share a perfect scarlet leaf or a tattered last summer aster. Sometimes they were together, sometimes off on solo explorations, but always the music of their voices and the grace of their movement informed the perfect hour. Slanted sunbeams picked up the fine dust of the autumn’s leavings as it swirled from their flying feet. I knew as I walked that what was happening was precious, was perfect, I took a photo.

A photograph can only capture one tiny slice of such a day. Even a video, the kind of thing my camera chooses to take from time to time, would not give you scent, the surrounding tall, enduring trees, the  golden leaves on the trail edges. But if I try I can remember all of it, scent, sound, the golden sun’s illumination, the serenity. Even so, a photo helps. The one above may not be of the day I am describing; the girls look a bit older, the sun is not breaking through. But I can edit it in memory. A place in my life to treasure, forever.

A Drift of Diary Pages

Outside, snowdrifts.  

March 17^th

I feel a bit guilty about not acknowledging St P. today. But not very guilty. I did consider wearing of the green, but on further thought realized that I do not have a single green garment. JG has green shirts in plenty, but his chosen shirt for the day was sort of moss coloured and could not really be said to count. Nor did I launch into making green iced cookies as I have, in the past, done to celebrate. I did make a pie on Pi Day, but it had a plain crust. In fact, I have been negligent in many ways of marking the days. If I were to be really honest, I would say I am marking time, waiting for the snow to go and the birds to come.

March 20

I am, however, continuing to downsize and, with the help of a wonderful neighbour who is coming in one day a week to do the things I can’t manage, I got rid of a lot of stuff yesterday. A lot. All the extras spare bedding went, and a good deal of similar goods, like cushions. When we first got the final furniture for the living room and tv room (both with couches that make into double beds) I bought small couch cushions and fabric to cover them co-ordinated with the armchair. I never made the covers and so unused cushions plopped into the recycle pile. In a chest I found a little blanket that JG’s mother and grandmother had made for one of our girls. I kept it and will mend and wash and, possibly offer it for the new step-grandchild if the ‘girls’ (um, both close to sixty and sleeping in beds) do not want it. The wonderful helper stuffed many, many bags of this pelf into her truck and trucked it all off to our recycle store. I keep one spare bed made and still have enough bedding make up three guest beds - using the couches - if I have to, and that will do me, thanks.

I can now see the counter in my laundry room. Ms Wonderful cleaned it, besides. There are two terrible jobs left in that room though. One is sorting the drawers and the cupboards. All my sewing stuff and painting stuff and wrapping stuff and cleaning stuff is stuffed into those containers. The other Herculean task is is making an inventory of what is in the freezer that lives in there with the laundry machines. I just made up a check sheet, doubled, which I will date and keep one page at the freezer and the other upstairs. If it works. If I do the work. And so, goodbye for now as I stump off with my lists. Report later if this actually works.

March 21^st.

Happy Solstice to you. Well, we tossed a lot of containers, some with labels. Some not, but I spotted the lasagna and we are keeping that. I have not done the inventory yet. I did exhume one drawer, and in it found all the pieces for a baby sweater, not made up. I intend to make it up and give it to the step-grandson and his wife for their baby girl. Not sure if there is such a thing as a step-grand, but I watched this boy and his brother grow up, They spent half time with their mother and half with my ED and her man, whose sons they are, half brothers of my granddaughter therefore, and I am fond of them. The YD keeps referring to her father as the ‘grandpa’ of her dog, much to his annoyance. Relationships are sometimes fraught, eh?

I read an article the other day about loneliness in old age that has me thinking quite a bit. When we first moved from the city to this very rural home a long hour’s drive outside of it, I knew I would have to make connections and get involved if I were to be happy here. JG got an early retirement and we were both in our fifties. I had lots of energy and it was easy to find things to join and do. Line dancing, board memberships, socializing with the neighbours, giving dinner parties – and going to them – all worked well for me. I went on trips with the YD. JG and I also did a lot of travelling, both in the states and overseas. I was in my early sixties when the grandkid came along, and I drove into the city to babysit as needed. I was busy and content.

And then, crunch, what I was convinced was a bad back turned out to be a bad heart and I ended up in hospital getting bypass surgery, plus surgery on my aorta, plus, subsequently, two knee replacements. Driving vacations and a lot of my activities were no longer possible, for various reasons. The bad back was also real and it was a long fight to get mobility and the basic homemaking chores back to being doable. Now, in my 83^rd year, I am losing dexterity, even though I have had both carpal tunnels fixed, losing hearing acuity, losing concentration ability and, some days, losing my temper all too easily with JG’s loss of ability to either hear what I tell him or remember it.

I note in passing that this situation occurred in my parents’ household and my mother said that on occasion she wrote something down and insisted that her husband sign it and date it.

Yes, I can identify that I am lonely from time to time.

I just opened the drawer of my desk to look for cuticle scissors and found myself picking up my grandmother’s pretty china thimble from the tray. It is a silly thing to keep since it does not fit any finger of mine except the smallest one, but I can see her sewing me doll clothes and that thimble flashing away and I want it, for the link I guess. This was my mother’s mother and the grandmother that babysat me as necessary. I, philistine that I was, took her entirely for granted but I did, one day as an adult, turn on a tape recorder and get her talking about being a wife and mother and housewife and I love to play a bit of that tape now and again. It has my mother’s voice on it as well.

I wonder what my grandkid will take away from her time with me. Not a flashing thimble, that is for certain. I appear to have made the body of the sweater mentioned above from one pattern and the sleeves from another, and I am struggling to remember how to finish the neck. Beyond annoying, how my skills and positive personality traits are leaving me.

And, drat it, it is now almost March 24^th and this nonsense is getting posted. Feel free to have skipped a lot of it. And I don't with all the wool stuffed into those drawers, have one that is a good match to mend the little blanket. Grumble. Grumble. 

Pages

 March 4, 2026

I just looked at my office window and saw two houseflies crawling on the glass, on the inside. They have now been firmly squashed and deposited in the waste bin. Luckily they were sluggish and easy to kill. Ah yes, it is THAT time again. The warmth of the sun brings insects out of hibernation – or whatever it is that they do all winter – and they are back with us again. Our windows are original to the house and showing their age and I think that the flies can crawl into cracks and crannies and work through to the inside.

Just in passing, isn’t ‘cranny’ a lovely word? The online etymological dictionary says this about it. “The word "cranny" originates from the Middle English term "crany," which is believed to be a diminutive of "cran," meaning notch or fissure. It is derived from Old French "cren," and ultimately traces back to Medieval Latin "crenare," meaning to notch or split. The root is also linked to the Proto-Indo-European root *ker-, which means to cut or separate. The term has been in use since the 14th century and is often used to describe a small, hidden, or secluded place.”

You might hear it used in the phrase ‘every nook and cranny’. I could look up ‘nook’ as well, but I am guessing it is Old English. Yep. Interesting that the two words used together come from two different languages. One could speculate that they were used together to make sure of the meaning, and grew into a phrase that way.

March 11, 2026

Ah well. Lost that train of thought. Not even the light on the caboose is still showing. And there is a word. ‘Caboose’, Mirriam Webster tells us, is probably from Dutch kabuis, kombuis, from Middle Low German kabūse. It is 1. a ship's galley, 2. a freight-train car attached usually to the rear mainly for the use of the train crew. 3. one that follows or brings up the rear, or 4. Buttocks. Its first known use is found in 1732, in the meaning defined at sense 1. We are not told how or when it became attached to the train car.

There is something positive to be said of a world in which I can find that information by hitting a few raised keys on a board, rather than trudging off to the library for access to the encyclopedia. Although when I was in senior grade school, my mother purchased a multi-volume encyclopedia set. One book a week from the grocery store. I remember sitting on the basement floor reading odd bits from it, just for entertainment. And I did use it for high school projects. I know that my best friend’s parents had a set; not sure of others. I wonder whatever happened to those books. When I packed up my parents’ house to move them here, the set was no longer in the house.

And as we are speaking of packing, There is a pile of boxes beside my office door into which have been packed, with great care and lots of wrapping, all but one teacup and saucer of my grandmother Holden’s precious dishes. I think this set would have been wedding presents, as ‘good’ china and silverware were often the gifts of choice. You had ‘everyday’ dishes for normal use but on Sunday dinner and for holiday meals, you brought out fine china if you had it.

My mother’s mother started me on this path at age sixteen. I was marched to a high end store called ‘Birks’ that sold expensive jewellery and high end table furnishings. There I was encouraged to choose a silverware pattern. And, following this, I received from my grandmother a piece of this silverware for each gift-giving occasion that followed. I also received some pieces as wedding gifts and when my grandmother died, age 92 and counting, I was one fork shy of place settings for six. I also received wedding money from her and some great aunts to purchase my china. I bought a set of Japanese dishes that, as I recall, my daughter took from me to use when first employed as a diplomat, as she was instructed to have such a set. I could still use the silverware if I were to polish it.

Just in case you did not notice, I am continuing with the downsizing. The only reason that the boxed china is still here is that on my daughter’s last visit, the laneway was a sheet of ice. Not conducive to carrying boxes of fragile china out to her car. She is now off to meetings in Europe, and the boxes await her return.

The next project will, I hope, be bedding. At one point I had a double bed and four single beds in our cabin, and kept enough sheets, pillowcases, quilts and blankets to dress all of them. Then we built this house and added a queen bed in our bedroom, plus two couches that pull out to double beds. Latterly, we put a guest bedroom in the basement, with a queen bed and shut down the cabin. I have a lot (understatement of the year) of bedding, and I really only now need enough for two beds. There are going to be a lot more boxes and bags. A group in the city runs a 'store' where these items are laid out and can be taken as needed. A fine idea, truly.

Cupboard Love

 March 1, 2026

At last February is behind us and, as I write this, the sun is streaming in my office window and a pale blue sky is stretched overhead. But. The temperature is some distance into the freezing zone, there is a sharp wind whipping through the tree branches and I am enjoying my March day by trying out different ‘come in like’ descriptions.

Not a lion, this day. Certainly not a lamb. A hawk? Wrong colour values. The ground is still deep in shining snow and ice. Yesterday, as we sat at our kitchen table and watched the bird feeders, all the small birds and squirrels suddenly disappeared. To our great pleasure first one and then a second huge owl landed, one in the apple tree and one on a maple beside it. They were absolutely beautiful, graceful, commanding. It was a perfect moment. They did not stay long, as lunch was not making itself seen.

So, March came in like a barred owl. I guess. I have just spent some time looking up information on the barred owl and photos. This one is pretty close to what we saw as the birds came in.

The problem with sunshine flooding a window is that it emphasizes how dirty the window has become. And how dirty they will stay until the weather warms up enough to open them up for cleaning. Our windows are ‘casement’, chosen because they crank open and are, therefore, supposedly easy to clean. This may be true if you happen to have long, thin arms that can manage the aperture to reach to clean the outside. The windows we chose are standard, and the ‘pin’ on which they swivel to open is quite close to one side. I have hired a worker to take on a lot of the jobs I can no longer manage, but I confess I did not check her biceps. Mine scraped.

When I had muscle. This last while I have pushed myself into trying to ‘downsize’ a little, both to make things simpler for me and to make things easier for the daughters/executors. We live in our ‘forever’ house and while we designed it for mature adult living (two bedrooms with a bathroom each), it is still a big house and full of stuff. The outbuildings are HIS responsibility and I am not even thinking about them. But the cabinets and drawers that hold things I use also hold a large number of things that I used to use, or thought I might use, or was given, or inherited.

One of these infestations is my grandmother’s ‘good’ china. My father’s mother probably received it as a wedding gift and it descended from her to my aunt, her daughter, and thence to me, the sole grandchild. It is beautiful. As you see. I have cherished this set, feeling it as a link to a grandmother who, because she died when I was only three, I only know through her things. Sadly, the dishes are not really useful. They have gold rims and, accordingly, must be handwashed and they are a smaller size than we need for celebratory dinners. My grandchild does not want them.

As of Thursday the set is counted, labelled and boxed, ready to go to a resale location that my daughter knows of.

I have also made a start on my closet with things I don’t need or can’t fit into. And, horrible job that it is, the storage room in the basement.

Along with Grandma Holden’s china went a lot of fragile bits and pieces. And some less fragile. I have a small stack of silver plate to clean and add. Last week, in the first stage of the storage room clean, I dispensed with a crystal punch bowl that we got as a wedding present and that I have never used, except occasionally as a display receptacle in the dining room. I have always disliked it. But, wait for this, when my family (well, two members of it) found out it was gone, they were very sad. The offspring would, I think, have taken it.

You know, you can play the game for a long time and not, not even close, ever win.