It’s FRIDAY!!!!

Ah-h-h … it’s here. Friday, at last. We’re on the eve of relaxation and tranquility once again. Ha!

Nightfall

All during my school years Fridays heralded The Weekend. We loved our weekends and the freedom initiated by Friday afternoon’s final bell. Sympathetic teachers sometimes let us out of class a few minutes early. At least, we thought it was because they were sympathetic. After I became a teacher I realized those early dismissals were more likely their way of accepting defeat. We were restless and pretty much unteachable after 2:30 p.m.

For many employees in the workday world, Fridays offered a similar release — two precious days without schedules, customers or commitments. Or so we liked to think. In reality we often saved up a host of tasks that had been put aside, waiting for the weekend’s promise of ‘free time’.

It’s strange how we procrastinate. No matter the job, there’s always a better time to tackle it or something else we’d rather be doing. While we’re living the nine-to-five shift, raising children, caring for aging relatives, or any other such things, ‘later’ is the carrot we promise ourselves as it dances ahead of us. All those things we hope to accomplish are relegated to an indefinite ‘some day’.

Even in retirement we may be waiting for the perfect opportunity — until suddenly we’re lamenting that time did its strange disappearing act and the once endless days have shortened to the point where we can’t seem to get anything done in a weekend, never mind during the five preceding days.

I have a few projects (I should be honest and admit it’s quite a few!) that are in danger of never being completed because I dawdle about even starting them. Some aren’t much of a priority, so if they don’t get done it’s okay. No guilt there. Others, though … they should be a priority. I need to beat up that nasty Procrastination goblin and send him packing!

Maybe this weekend.

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What’s one project you’ve been putting off? What’s keeping you from it?

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Spring Things – 3

A whim took me down our trail to the marsh late yesterday afternoon. I hadn’t ventured in that direction in months, but a few weeks ago my hubby had been given a tiny fir seedling at a special event. He’d planted it in the woods near the edge of the marsh, and today was heading there to water it. I grabbed my camera and went along. (With both bear and cougar in the area these days, it’s nice to have his company.)

Wildwood

The marsh is a transitional mess of lingering brown and gold slowly submitting to new green. Lily pads have already emerged from their winter depths and unfurled over the surface in still places.

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A pair of mallards squawked briefly at our presence (it really couldn’t be called quacking) and disappeared into the grasses.

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I’ve occasionally heard geese flying in, but there was no sign of them today. It was disappointing to discover bushes shooting up from their old nesting spot atop the abandoned beaver house — an end to their unique and safe mid-marsh maternity ward.

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A lone blackbird silhouette was the only other presence. At least, the only one we saw. What lurked in hidden places stayed hidden.

Blackbird

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For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,
so the Lord God will cause
righteousness and praise
to sprout up before all the nations. 

[Isaiah 61:11]

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Does God do it on purpose?

I’m convinced He does … do it on purpose, that is. With the arrival of every spring season I comment constantly on the wonderful progression of new colours.

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Winters on the southwest coast of Canada aren’t extreme, and, while my lawns may remain green throughout, full of moss as they are, deciduous branches everywhere are bare. The woods are stark, the marsh beige and lifeless. The underbrush along roadsides is brown with last summer’s dead grasses and ferns, and rain falls frequently, dampening everything to a grey sodden mess.

Out of the dirt and winter debris of our late January garden poke spiky little green tips from which nodding white snowdrops emerge. On our property they are always the first hint of the coming new season.  They’re delicate … a quiet transition from the winter landscape. From then on, we start discovering a green haze that begins to spread through the woods and gardens. I love all the new greens in their fresh shades of lime and harlequin and chartreuse playing among the darker evergreens. Every spring I exclaim over how many different shades of green there are.

Suddenly I begin discovering splashes of non-green and white shades. Mostly yellows and pinks and purples. Hellebores and Daphne.  Crocuses, Daffodils, Forsythia. Cherry blossoms and Magnolia. (Not all in my yard, you understand, but throughout the community.)

I’m convinced God intended this succession of colours and blooming times. It’s as if He knew we needed a gradual handover from bleakness to beauty, testing and tantalizing our senses with pastels before the bold and brash colours are ready to burst upon us.

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Tulips and Iris, and the dependable Rhododendrons and Azaleas are just arriving now … later springtime surprises. It’s wonderful!  God is much better at planning the seasonal colours than I am at planning a story. He’s such a well organized artist!

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Putting My Imagination to Work

In one of my posts back in 2009 I made a comment about imagination…

“Imagination is a fascinating phenomenon. With it the writer’s mind creates people who don’t exist, places that have never been, events that didn’t happen, and somehow combines them to create a world that readers accept as real.”

Such imagination can be found in more than fiction.

During Spring Break I accompanied my DIL and granddaughter to a local nursery. Their goal was to find a few plants and accessories to make a Fairy Garden.

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No, this isn’t her garden; it’s mine!

This is where I admit to a love of little woodland hideaways and secret places. Stories like The Secret Garden and Alice in Wonderland that feature wild, abandoned gardens or hidden worlds accessed via a rabbit hole still fascinate me as an adult.

I’ve coveted every fairy garden I’ve ever seen, and yet never taken the initiative to create one for myself. I’m not sure what prompted me, but last week, after acquiring a few leftover plants from my granddaughter’s, I set out to make one, too.

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The one resident fairy is probably lonely as she basks in the shade of her miniature gypsy-style wagon, but the garden’s not finished yet. And once it is, I have another project along similar lines, although that one may require some assistance from my hubby. There are a couple stumps in our woodsy acreage, and ever since seeing the video about “The Gnomist”, I’ve been wanting to add a little door or two … access to a tiny new Gnome’s ghome in my woodland garden.:)

It’s all just my goofy imagination at work, but at my age I figure people will forgive my lapse into early senility. After all, we never really outgrow the need to indulge in a bit of whimsy, do we?

If you’ve never seen “The Gnomist” you might enjoy taking a few minutes to view it now. The story behind it is very special. (A Kleenex or two would be wise. Be forewarned.)

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Are you tempted to add a little whimsy to your life now, too?

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Keeping track of what I read…not as easy as it sounds!

Good intentions get a bad rap, but I suppose it’s justified when they end up as only intentions. I know the problem all too well.

Books

Years ago I decided it would be useful to keep a record of what I read. My memory is terrible when it comes to recalling titles and author names. Someone would ask, “Have you read so-and-so’s new book? What did you think of it?” Not until they recounted a bit about the plot would I recognize the book in question.

I started a spreadsheet and added relative information, including a little blurb for each book. And it worked well … for a while. Before the end of the first year I was frequently playing ‘catch up’, trying to remember books that I’d read but already returned to the library, lent to friends or deleted from my kindle.

Blaming my lapses on the inconvenience of having to get the spreadsheet up and running on the computer, I printed out a copy with lots of blank spaces where I could jot down the details until I had time to transfer them to the computer.

That worked until I misplaced the sheet. I mean, how likely is it that a single sheet of paper would get mixed up with others on the desk of a writer? It had to be there somewhere, but I never did find it.

So I hunted up a notebook. The obvious choice, right?

It had to be just the right notebook. Big enough that it couldn’t easily be misplaced on my desk. Not so small it could hide in my purse, but definitely small enough to pop into my tote bag alongside my book-du-jour or kindle. My choice was one of two that were gifts from family — each with a grandchild’s photo on the wipeable, laminate cover. It brings a smile every time I look at it. I enjoy using it when I remember to.

Those good intentions I mentioned at the beginning? Any method would work if I were more self-disciplined, and I intend to be, but in reality the daily distractions and interruptions often mean when I finish a book, I put it aside and move on. The advantage of the notebook with a pen clipped on, is that it stays with the book until I record the details. If a library due date is approaching I’ve been known to renew online to give myself an extra few days to get the task done!

The other benefit to the book is that I usually remember to write down the title, etc., before I start reading, leaving a half page to add the blurb or my reaction/review later.

What works best for me is flexibility, not discipline. I like to be organized, but when I’m not I need a system that can compensate, and my just-right notebook delivers.

Do you think there’s value in keeping track of what you read? If you do, what method works best for you?

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