Coal Black was Pink not Blue

Back on June 12th, I announced the birth of my Coal Black Jack, who I named Cole. He's been a very demure little fellow compared to Wild Man Pete - quite shy & reserved and very petite. Where Pete runs around like a mad man, jumps on things like a goat and generally makes his presence known, wee Cole quietly minds his own business.

He was so timid that he refused to cross the brook that runs through the pasture. Everyone else stayed on that side all day - actually for days at a time, but he never would across.

Often, when I'd see him by himself, I'd feel badly that he was lonely & missing his Mom & his donkey friends, so I'd slip over to visit him. Any time I did that, the whole herd would look up & say to each other 'Hey - that woman might have treats, we'd better get over there.' And they'd all rush over & push wee Cole out of the way. But the mission would have been accomplished anyway - he'd have company.

A couple weeks ago when I tried to have a sneak visit with him, no one noticed and it was just the two of us. That's when I noticed that when he relieved himself, the water was coming from a different spot than it should have been. On closer inspection, yes indeedy, Cole was not a Jack at all. Cole was Colette. And it was perfectly fitting that he is demure & dainty - he's a lady.

Some folks connected in regard to a posting I had about having a little Jack for sale. It turned out that they really did prefer a little long-earred girl & I just happened to have one. A couple weeks earlier, that would not have been the case. We knew that it was the right match when it turned out that she had been born on their Anniversary, transferring the tradition of 'Special Days' to her new family. Today, our sweet little Jack-that-turned-into-a-Jenny left for her new home where I know she will be treasured & loved and will live happily ever after, befitting of the little Princess she is.

Lost October

There simply have not been enough. Enough 'Golden Days' this year to fill my deep and thirsty need. October is a Favourite Month. The earthy fragrances. The rustling sound from the ground or goose good-byes from the skies. The first crackling fires of the season. Crunchy Apples. Cozy Sweaters. Wonderful things, all of them, but none compare to an azure sky and the vibrancy of delightfully colourful fall foilage lit by an autumnal sun. It causes me to pause, to halt, to breathe it in, to absorb it and horde it to combat the dull, dreary, draggy days of November. Autumn is Art. Artumn.

We have had too much rain. Too little blue. Too few trees that make me stop in wonder & awe. Too many leaves have left without celebration and too many trees are bare already. So I was especially glad for Sunday - happy to be with dear friends, walking through a woods that did have the leaves & the colour & the glory that I have been so desperately missing. Without feeding my soul, without a single Golden Day, how would I possibly get through what is to come.

More than twenty years ago I clipped this poem. It is the only poem other than 'Flanders Fields' that I know by heart. It has caused me - or perhaps allowed me, to put off work but never play on such a day. Even at the best of times, there are simply too few.

LOST OCTOBER

There never comes a day like this,

All gold and shining like a bubble in the sun,

That I recall the time I told you I'd no time to play,

Work must be done.

Work must be done, and there that gold day wasted,

And there, the mellowness of earth and sky and leaf and air,

Went hour by hour untasted.

For scruples sown too well in such as I.

And there October's brightness faded, turning

Her dear enchantment into dull November.

Setting in my brain one question burning.

What, now what do I remember,

Of work I bent above that day until,

It was too late to climb the golden hill.

Is this not about Life in general? I most definitely subscribe to this philosophy. Anyone who knows me, knows that I never, ever turn down a chance for Play - for chat, for tea, for nurturing friendships & relationships. Indeed, the memories that keep the Golden Days glowing in my heart, come not from the 'work I bent above', but from the wonderful folks that fill my world.

Angel #1 is Eight

Eight years ago Brian and I stood right outside the labour room door while our first grandchild was delivered. I will never forget that feeling when I heard his first cry and I was moved to tears myself. I could not believe that my baby was giving birth to her own baby.

What a ray of sunshine that dear child has brought to our lives. He was a sweet baby, a darling toddler & an adorable little kid, so it goes right along with it that he's a incredibly awesome growing-up-boy. So loving and lovable. All-boy with his passion for every sport going, and cars and guy-things, but nurturing & sweet & wonderful with his sister and little children and especially babies. A real sweetheart.

He's often ran into the house, calling out 'NAN ... your Angels are here!!' When I said one day 'here's my kids', he corrected me with 'We are NOT your kids - we're your ANGELS.' He has proclaimed that they are the Little Angels and I'm the BIG Angel. A little too much emphasis on the BIG.

I phoned tonight and told him I needed to have one last conversation with my 'Favourite 7 year old in the whole wide world'. He was quick to offer his friend, Mattie for that position now that he is moving up to be my favourite 8 year old in the world. He told me 'I'm having my birthday at Chuckie Cheese and you'll be there.' I told him that I wouldn't, that it was going to be for his friends. He said 'Oh, but I want you there. I really like it when you're at my birthday.' I replied, 'That's so nice.', - such a thoughtful child. He said 'Do you know why I like it when you're at my birthday?' 'Tell me', I said, thinking that he was going to say 'Because I love you SO much'. He answered so sincerely: 'Because you always bring me a really nice gift.' Sweet AND honest.

In the Spirit

What a perfectly awesome show we had - even the weather co-operated, which was much appreciated after the Novemberish days that we've been having. The Little Church was filled with inspiring creations from 17 artists - paintings, pottery, designer purses, decorative gourds, carved Santas, creative chairs, floral designs, stained glass and garden art.

It's a very welcoming atmosphere & we were encouraged by the positive and enthusiastic feedback that we had. Quite a number of people came back both days. One dear soul said 'I just HAD to come back - it was so magical that I didn't want to leave.' She brought two car loads of people with her, to share the experience.

It was like one big giantic 'visit' - much different than so many of the shows that I've done where people parade past your booth & if you do get to chat, it's for just a brief moment. It was like each person who came was a guest in our home - we all felt that. It was such a delight to have so many friends come by - besides being fun, their support meant more than I'm sure they know.

We call the show 'In the Spirit' ... inspiration' comes from the word spirit. We find that being in the place, in that space, surrounded by so much creativity and commraderie that we are most definitely 'In the Spirit' ... a joyful spirit.

THANKS giving

What a blessed Thanksgiving weekend we had. There is nothing more wonderful & more important to me than to have all of my precious family together under one roof. Every single one was here for dinner - happy, noisy, boiterous chaos.

For a table centre, I stuck a candle in a wee pumpkin and had everyone add what they were thankful for. It was quite an extensive list. There was all of our family on it & the dogs of course, a donkey & cat & a couple of Scotty's friends, and sports & rain & trees & colour & sunshine & maple syrup & hair & life & the number 3. It generated a fair bit of discussion. It was little 5 year old Lauren who remarked that who really needed to be on it was God. We not only needed to be thankful TO Him, but FOR Him.

Out of the mouths of babes.