Awaiting a Transformation: Butterflies, Bathrooms and Books

Butterflies returned to our garden this week. I see them flitting from one bright bloom to another. This one’s favourite spot to hover seems to be the lilac bush beside our back deck.

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I’ve been hovering out there a lot, too, escaping the dust and noise of the bathroom renovation inside. Not that it’s been a negative experience … the renovation has been going smoothly, well supervised by the cheerful and very efficient contractor. It’s the disruption of our usual household routine, having people coming and going every day, and trying to maintain separation between our curious Labrador and the busy workmen.

This weekend, as work winds to a conclusion, we have a second Labrador here — we’re dog sitting — and she isn’t so much curious as she is affronted at strangers being allowed in our house. We keep shushing her barks and assuring her that they are no longer strangers to us, and they’re creating something new and beautiful out of our twenty-five year old bathroom. Like the butterfly, it has undergone a metamorphosis. (You’re going to be subjected to photos next week.)

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Metamorphosis is a fascinating process (at least, in butterflies, although there are similarities with our bathroom).

First, an egg has to be produced, the larva or caterpillar has to hatch and be nurtured. Then it must pupate while the transformation takes place. And finally, after about a month, the adult butterfly emerges.

In our bathroom metamorphosis, the seed of an idea was first produced, followed by a period of planning, researching products, and finding a contractor. Then we watched and waited as the actual transformation happened. Finally, almost a month later, we’re about to reveal the finished room.

Interesting … it occurs to me that writing a book is a whole lot like this same process. Granted, a book takes me considerably longer than a month to produce, but in due time it comes to fruition. Now, if I could always ensure the end result would be as lovely as my bathroom or the butterfly, I’d be content!:)

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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.)

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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.

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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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Spring Things – 1

 

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“This is the forest primeval.
The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,

Bearded with moss, and in garments green,
indistinct in the twilight,

Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate
answers the wail of the forest.” 
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From the poem ‘Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie’ (1847),
as collected in The Poetical Works of H.W. Longfellow (1855)
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Birds of a feather…

Chickadees! Zillions of them flit back and forth, snatching seeds and passing each other on their fly past between the feeder and nearby woods. Well, maybe not zillions, but certainly millions. Oh, okay, at least a couple dozen at a time.😉

Chickadees

It’s hard to catch good shots of chickadees because they don’t sit still for long. This one was taken on a snowy morning at our daughter’s home. I sat at the family room window with camera poised and took several shots, few of which were in focus. Not until I uploaded them to my computer did I discover that (not counting the Common Redpoll’s little butt), I’d caught two different species of them in one shot — the Black-capped (right) and the Mountain (left) Chickadee.

The Black-capped are common where I live on BC’s south coast, as are Chestnut-backed Chickadees that often travel with them, but the Mountain Chickadees are new to me. Maybe I should say I haven’t noticed any on previous visits. A white eyebrow distinguishes them from the other species, but as they dart back and forth, that minor difference isn’t easy to spot.

One thing I find interesting about the birds who visit our feeders is the variety that often arrive together, especially in the winter. Here at home the Chickadees usual travel with Juncoes, and the occasional Varied Thrush or perhaps two or three Steller’s Jays join them. At my daughter’s, the chickadees arrive with Common Redpolls and Pine Grosbeaks. First a bird or two arrives then the rest swoop in for an early morning feed, and leave for destinations unknown until it’s time to return for the next meal. They always make one last visit at dusk, stocking up extra calories for the night.

I don’t know the origin of the “birds of a feather flock together” phrase, but in the avian world it’s certainly true. Doesn’t matter their colour or size, they have feathers in common and many are happy to hang out together to share the benefits, (assuming we’re not talking about predatory kinds such as hawks).

People are a lot like that, too. We like to hang out with those who think like us, or have a love of similar activities. Even writers, who spend much of the time in solitary creating mode, like to interact occasionally with other writers. We know they understand our quirks and won’t question our eccentricities. They’re generous about sharing experiences and helpful information. And best of all, they commiserate without judgement over our query rejections and writing failures.

It should be like that for Christians, too. According to comments and articles I find on Facebook, however, not everyone has a positive experience in church. I read of discrimination, criticism and exclusion, and that boggles my mind! I haven’t observed that in the churches I’ve attended, but obviously it happens.

When it comes to sharing God’s love, we could learn a lesson from the birds! “Evangelism is just one beggar telling another beggar where to find bread.” [D. T. Niles]

“Evangelism is not salesmanship It is not urging people, pressing them, coercing them, overwhelming them, or subduing them. Evangelism is telling a message. Evangelism is reporting good news.”  [Richard C. Halverson]

Next time I see joyous wee Chickadees flocking to the feeder, I know I’m going to remember this.

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As Sandra Heska King’s “Still Saturday” winds down and merges with Lisha Epperson’s “Give Me Grace”, I link up for today’s transitional posts…

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and

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