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Yesterday was Mother's Day and the first Mother's Day without my mother.
For years we had spent Mothers Day making it special for my mother and entertaining her, especially since my husband I moved back here after my father's death in 1989, and there were times I longed to just let me be the mother and be made "special" by my family. Well, now I am the mother. It is a bitter sweet achievement.
James and I went out for dinner Saturday night. We are a very small family as it is just us with our son living far away. We enjoyed sharing a meal at the Broaster House : the old people portion - one meal, 2 plates. My mother would have loved it.
The little hat with the flower is in gray with periwinkle flower and a variegated periwinkle, gray green yarn knit with the gray.
The flower and leaves are crocheted.
I'm sort of resting my hands which, after just 3 months, are loudly complaining and growing lumps. Oh to have strong hands and wrists!
Anyway, I found a pattern for tendrils, as seen in the picture below, and I'm back to teaching myself real, two needle-type knitting and doing a bit of crochet which I know already.
I've been watching all the World's in figure skating but they are done tonight unless there is a gala. I may have pushed it as far as I can in that we do share the TV and figure skating is not James' thing.
I hope I've enough "grace" saved up to watch Midsomer Murders when it comes on!This morning as we were dropping off the recycling we saw the first Kill Deer of the season. They are a real sign of spring. Robins may just overwinter somewhere else in the valley but the kill deer actually fly away and then return and it's a joy to see them in their jaunty little formal wear. It's amazing how well they blend with the side of the road when they have such a bright white and black collar.
The swans are also back.
As I drove down Devon Road the other day I saw a large white thing floating down to the flats, and my mind was going "Kite?", "Hang glider?", and then realized I was looking at a swan settling onto a big puddle with about 12 of his buddies. I drove down the little side road to get nearer but the binoculars would have really helped. This time of year they come in and rest at the channel on the south end of Kootenay Lake. A friend from Sirdar watched them flying over for more than 1/2 an hour. They don't stay long and then they are on their way north.
James and Bruce are nearly done the big remodel job for the Wynndel Mudders. After many, many hours of volunteer work I think they are glad to see the end nearing.
I'll try to get some more pictures. They took out walls and post and beamed the roof so it is basically one big room and an added on store room.
James decided he did not want to do the chicken-sitting this summer so we will have both pens to use as fenced, deer proof gardens.
I have just received a first draft of the Barraclough family history. My maternal grandmother was a Barraclough and my second cousin has been assembling this. It should be interesting.
As I wandered the internet reading fabric artists blogs I was challenged to write one of these:
March 11, 2008
I am From
I am from Pacific evaporated milk on hot plum cobbler, from Nabob coffee, and Squirrel peanut butter in the can, and fried bologna. I am from a house of unpainted boards, water hauled from town in barrels, and the outhouse up the path.
I am from rocky hills covered in penstemon, from Avalanch lilies, cowslips, shooting stars and Indian paintbrush, from the red tailed hawk screaming high above the trees and the fine, fat deer tippy toeing through the garden.
I am from New Year’s dinner with all the cousins, and from intense Monopoly games,
From Henry Good and Hulda Lorentzen, from Harry Peterman and Minnie Barraclough,
From Henry and Bette, who once was Margaret and is again,
I am from quick Irish humour and men who shed tears with great pain.
From “Smarten up!” and “Quiet, don’t frighten Grandpa.”
I am from Protestant Irish from County Cork and Presbyterians from York Mills.
I am from church meetings three times a week and a solid faith; faith as natural and deep as breathing.
I am from the Kootenays by way of the praries, from fresh raison bread fragrant with cardamon and wild mountain huckleberries weighing down the vines.
From a mother cutting out cotton dresses two at a time for two little matching girls and a father who, as little more than a boy, took torture rather than put on the uniform to kill.
I am from the farmer who chose the land with the rock hill, and the mother who nurtured her flowers with dishwater and determination,
From farmers and carpenters, and railway men.
I am from dusty albums stored in a trunk and memories of the heart.
Nora McDowell
