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.

Butterfly-2

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.)

Butterfly-3

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!:)

~  ~  ~

Happy Birthday, Wild Child!

Clipper-1

Maybe by referring to him as our “Wild Child” we have unconsciously been sending negative vibes that help perpetuate the cyclone-like behaviour. People often say that a Labrador’s brain doesn’t kick in until they are at least three years old. Some warn that it’s more like five or six years, while others admit sometimes it never does. Whatever the case, “Clipper”, our sweet natured but extremely bouncy Labrador Retriever, shows no indication of impending maturity. Of course, he’s only just reaching his first birthday this weekend (on May 15).

We should have named him “Tigger”. He really does bear a striking resemblance, right down to having what we’re sure is a built-in pogo stick.

 

He hasn’t been in a show ring yet. We’re hoping that by the time he gains enough maturity to be able to walk sedately on a lead, he’ll also have outgrown the assumption that anyone stooping down to touch him is extending an invitation to be licked and jumped upon, simultaneously.

Clipper-3

“Who, me??? But I have to show everyone how much I love them!!”

Fortunately, we love him, too. A lot. Otherwise he would have been shuffled out of here long ago.

I’m trying  to figure out a way to model one of my novel’s characters after him, but none of them is meant to have a Jekyll and Hyde personality.

Ah, well … Happy First Birthday, Clipper! No pogo stick for you, or lima beans, but maybe a piece (or two) of cheese and a new toy.

~  ~  ~

 

 

Hanging on to the Inconsequential

They’re scattered everywhere, and at our house if you get up in the middle of the night as I occasionally do, you really need to watch your step.

Cushion-1

I’m quite partial to the décor choices of interior designer Candice Olson. Until her television program, ‘Divine Design’, moved to a channel we don’t get, I watched it faithfully. I also ‘like’ her Facebook page. On it today was a post about a bedroom she decorated, with an explanation of its features:

“To add warmth and personality to this bedroom, we snuggled a settee between two cabinets. Not only did this settee allow us to introduce interesting fabrics and visual warmth in the space, but it serves as that perfectly placed bed pillow catcher!”

That’s when it struck me. Why have we fallen into the decorating trap of piling pillows everywhere?

Before my hubby and I can crawl into bed each night, we must first remove seven pillows. Seven! There’s a pair with quilted shams that match our duvet, another colour-matched sleep-sized pair, two smaller hand stitched matelassé ones plus a square accent cushion.

Cushions-3

Cushions on our living room and family room couches look nice, but every time I sit down I first have to re-arrange them to make room. Often as not they end up on the floor.

Cushion-2

So what purpose do they serve? Other than adding a pretty splash of colour, I’m not convinced of their value, but I can’t imagine tossing them out. They may be a nuisance, but I’m used to them. They’re part of the décor.

In some ways it’s a little like useless passages in our writing – bits of description, mundane dialogue, interesting but unimportant scenes – all inconsequential and irrelevant as far as moving the story forward. They’re of no value but we like writing them and they can be hard to cut. We’ve all heard the saying, “Kill your darlings.” So, should we be ruthless in eliminating them, or does it really matter?

~  ~  ~

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.

~

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

~  ~  ~

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.

Wildwood-1

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

Wildwood-2

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.

Wildwood-3

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

Blackbird

~

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]

~  ~  ~

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.

DSC08850

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.

DSC08849

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!

~  ~  ~

 

 

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.

IMG_3300

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.

IMG_3303

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.)

~

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

~  ~  ~