Making Excuses

I missed a week! Lost it entirely. Earlier in the week I looked ahead on the calendar and was sure today would be July 8. Then, during a recent family telephone conversation, the arrival of mid-July this weekend was mentioned. Oops!

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Perhaps I was preoccupied by the church’s steak barbecue that was happening here last Saturday evening. Fifty-three people had signed up for the annual event and, although a committee does the grocery shopping and food preparation, there were still gardens to spiffy up and housecleaning to do in preparation.

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I’ve mentioned our gardens before. Our two-plus acres are surrounded by woods, and much of our gardening takes the form of constantly pushing back the buttercups, ferns, salal and assorted cedar seedlings. It’s an ongoing battle to keep the wildness at bay.

It’s not that we haven’t attempted to civilize the gardens. Through the years we’ve dutifully added trees, shrubs and perennials that are known to prefer our shady, acidic soil. They prefer it so well they quickly overgrow the beds and mingle happily with the wildness. We’re resigned to the ‘au natural’ look.

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Distracting me from the gardening and housework has been the near culmination of another writing project I’ve been working on periodically for several years. I’ve been compiling and editing a book containing all the sermons of the late Reverend Kris Davidson. I took a hiatus to work on the church history, but since publishing that last year, I’ve turned my focus back to the book, which is finally done. At least, the compilation and editing parts are done. Now it’s been draft-printed and the line-by-line proofreading is underway. That is the slowest part of the whole job!

And that is essentially what kept me from realizing I’d missed posting anything last week. So here I am, making excuses. I’m afraid excuses don’t make the best of blog posts, but it’s this or nothing. Hey, I provided garden photos. That’s something, isn’t it?😉

 

Honestly…I DO like birds

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I love birds; I really do. But the last couple years a pair of juncoes have decided they would like to nest in the hanging basket on the deck beside our patio door. I’m sorry, guys, but IT’S THE WRONG PLACE. I have significant time and money invested in that basket and I need to be able to water it daily, fertilize it weekly and regularly deadhead its blooms.

They don’t care. They also apparently don’t care that my hubby barbecues underneath it, that our table is frequently occupied under the umbrella beside it, or that there can be significant activity on the deck around it. For instance, a few weeks from now there will be about sixty people milling around during our annual church barbecue.

We tried surveyor’s tape, fluttering a discouragement. Then we tried hiding the basket out of sight.

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Now it’s temporarily covered by an old apron, barricading against their nest-building access during times when we aren’t around to guard it.

 

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They don’t seem interested in the tubs that sit on the deck — not that I’d want them there either — it’s just the hanging baskets that appeal. They fly in, burrow between the plants and excavate a hole into which they start importing their building material, leaving remnants on the deck underneath. The splats they leave on the window as they come and go aren’t desirable either.

It’s not as if there aren’t other nearby nesting places available to them. We live amidst trees. Lots of them. It’s a forest, for goodness sakes! There’s even a nesting box. But, no, they are persistent. Well, guess what. So am I. If I’m not, there will soon be eggs and babies, and at that point I wouldn’t have the heart to dislodge them. My basket will soon look pathetic as the heat dries it out and kills the plants. So for now I must be vigilant. Sorry, little juncoes, but GO AWAY.

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I tried to extricate a writing analogy from all this, but the only one that comes to mind is the need for persistence. In the goal for publication we first need to research the right places — appropriate agents or publishing houses — and then keep sending out queries until the ideal match is made.

Now if these juncoes would learn that lesson, too, we’d all be happy.

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JUNE 17 UPDATE:

It seems we managed to discourage their occupancy of our hanging baskets, only to redirect their efforts to the deck tubs. Sometime between dawn and 8:00 a.m. they managed to almost complete the construction of a nest in the centre of one tub. ::sigh:: Really, guys, this is taking persistence to a ridiculous level!

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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!

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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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